Then she shakes her head, as if coming out of a trance. “So, should we head to the bedroom and get this done? You two are my last.” She takes us arm in arm and marches us toward the house. Alice awkwardly turns her body sideways to shoot me a quick glance. She doesn’t seem the least bit afraid, just amused.
Kate leads us into a palatial bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows. On the wall, there’s a large canvas print signed by Matt Groening. It’s a drawing of Gene, in the style of The Simpsons. The character is dressed exactly the way Gene is dressed tonight. He is also holding a champagne glass. Underneath, there’s sloppy writing: Gene, the house is marvelous. Thank you.
“The bathroom is through there,” Kate says, pointing. “Strip as far as you like. Don’t be modest; I went the full monty myself. Every ounce counts. The requirement is that you must always remain within five percent of your weight on the day of your wedding.”
“What if I was fat on the day of my wedding? I wouldn’t be allowed to lose more than five percent of my body weight?” I wasn’t, but it’s a fair question.
“Oh, that never happens,” she says, smiling. “All of our members, as you know, are vetted thoroughly before being invited into the fold. Anyway, the penalty for the first violation is a Misdemeanor Six. After that, things get a little sticky. You two really need to do your homework.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say jovially, trying to play along.
“Who’s my first victim?” Kate asks.
“That would be me.” Alice moves toward the bathroom. “I need every last ounce I can shed. The collar puts me at a disadvantage.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Kate says. “It’s three pounds, two ounces, we have it in your records. The weight of the collar is subtracted.”
While we wait for Alice to return, Kate fiddles with a sleek scale on the floor, then opens a laptop on the dresser. I watch her access a website featuring a blinking blue P and a log-in bar. She types quickly, and in an instant a spreadsheet appears on the screen. On the left of the spreadsheet is a row of photographs—Alice and me among them. Next to the photos is a series of numbers. I move toward the dresser to get a better look, but Kate snaps the laptop closed.
When the bathroom door opens, Alice is standing there in just the collar, her bra, and underwear. She steps onto the scale. Kate reads the number and punches it into the laptop. “Your turn,” she says to me. I follow Alice into the bathroom.
When the door is closed, I whisper, “This is so freaking weird.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve skipped those beers beforehand. I was in here trying to pee as much as I could.”
“Good idea,” I say, standing in front of the toilet with the heated Japanese seat. “Should I fully strip down? And how the hell do they know what I weighed on our wedding day?”
Alice puts her clothes back on as I take off my shoes, pants, and belt. I leave the underwear, shirt, and socks on. “Honey,” Alice says, “you might want to lose the rest of it if you think it’s going to be close.”
I think for a second, then strip off my shirt and socks. “The boxer briefs stay,” I insist. Laughing, Alice opens the door, and Kate looks up from her computer and winks at Alice as if they’re in on some private joke.
I step on the scale and suck in my stomach, not that it will make a difference, but still. Kate reads the number aloud and punches it into the computer. While I’m getting dressed in the bathroom, I can hear Alice and Kate talking in the bedroom. Alice asks how we did.
“Oh, that’s not in my duties; I just punch in the numbers.”
“How did you become responsible for the weigh-in?”
“It was like any other directive. One day I received a package by messenger. It contained instructions, some access codes, the glass scale, and this laptop. As far as Pact jobs go, it’s not a bad one.”
“Does everyone have a job? I haven’t heard anything about that.”
“Yes. Soon, you and Jake will be assigned duties according to your abilities and skill sets, as determined by the Work Committee.”
Alice raises her eyebrows, surprised. “What about my actual job?”
“I’m certain you’ll find your duties in The Pact are an actual job. I assure you, the Work Committee never gives a member more than he or she can handle.”
I step out of the bathroom. “And what if someone refuses?” I ask.
Kate gives me a slightly disapproving look. “Friend” is all she says.
We head back to the party. The dinner is a salad and a small slice of tuna on a bed of rice. Bland but serviceable. I’ll try to talk Alice into stopping for a burger on the way home. After everyone has helped clear the plates away, Gene and Olivia appear from the kitchen carrying a three-tiered birthday cake, lit with dozens of candles. All of the members who have had birthdays this month stand up as we sing “Happy Birthday.”
JoAnne approaches the cake; apparently she recently turned thirty-nine. I haven’t talked to her all night. For some reason, whenever I look for her, she is on the far side of the party. The assigned dinner seating had me between Beth, a scientist, and Steve, her news anchor husband. JoAnne was on the other side of the table at the far end. Now, as she walks past, she doesn’t even acknowledge me. I suddenly realize that she’s the only one who hasn’t greeted me with an overly generous hug and the words “Hello, Friend.”
JoAnne is wearing a conservative blue dress. She looks thin and pale. On the back of her calves, I notice marks, maybe bruises.
Later, Alice and I are talking to a couple, Chuck and Eve, on the patio, when I see JoAnne heading inside the house. Her husband, Neil, is standing with Dave, Alice’s counselor, at the far end of the yard, where a big screen has been set up to broadcast tonight’s Warriors game. They’re leaning against a wide, low concrete wall, about four feet high, that seems more sculptural than functional. I slip away from the conversation and follow JoAnne inside. I don’t think she’s seen me, but as I round the corner to the bathroom she’s standing there waiting for me.
“You can’t do this, Jake.”
“What?”
“You have to stop going to Draeger’s.”
“What?” I’m confused and embarrassed. Has she seen me and said nothing? “I have so many questions—”
“Look, I shouldn’t have said those things. My mistake. Just forget it. Pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I can’t. Can we just talk?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Not here. Not now.”
“When?”