A Diet to Die For by Joan Hess

at me as if I’d popped out of a silver saucer. He mouthed something, but I shook my head and pointed at the locked door. After a moment of hesitation, he went through the door in the back of the office and came into the reception area, his brow creased and his eyes narrowed.
    Feeling as if I had wobbly antennae, I managed a smile and again pointed at the door. When he’d unlocked it, albeit with reluctance, he mirrored my smile and said, “We close at six o’clock. Perhaps you might come by in the morning?”
    “I thought there was a family support meeting tonight,” I said, stepping past him into the reception room. “Maribeth seemed to believe her husband would be here, and although I’m not a member of her family, I wanted to discuss her behavior these days.”
    “Tonight? No, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The family support group meets Wednesday afternoons at five. You’re more than welcome to bring up this problem then.”
    He took off his glasses and meticulously cleaned
them with his handkerchief. I suspected it was meant to imply that my visit was over and the door awaited me. Ignoring the message, I said, “This may not be appropriate for a group analysis, and I’d prefer to discuss her problems in private. As long as we’re here, why don’t we sit down for a moment and I’ll explain what concerns me.”
    He settled his glasses back on his nose and pursed his lips. “That’s not possible at this time.” He stopped as we both heard a toilet flush in the back of the building. “I’m in the midst of a private physical examination with one of our morbidly obese clients who refused to come into the center during regular hours.”
    And I was in the midst of painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
    “Dr. Winder,” I said in a low voice, “this will take only a few minutes, and I’m deeply concerned. Maribeth has invested over seven hundred dollars in the program in exchange for ongoing medical supervision, and now I believe she’s having serious side effects that may endanger her health. Her husband may go to court to claim this diet has caused her to become mentally dysfunctional. Surely Ultima doesn’t want bad publicity during its first few weeks of operation. Perhaps your client could read a magazine while we talk?”
    His lips tightened briefly, then relaxed into a professional smile. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Malloy. I’ll go back to the client and ask her to wait; please make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back shortly with Maribeth’s chart.”
    He went through the door, closing it behind him, and after a moment murmured to the unseen client somewhere in the dark halls beyond the office. I studied
the chart on the wall, which in unappetizing detail depicted all areas of the body that could build up slimy yellow deposits of nasty fat and then, according to the fine print, fail to function and result in disability and death. Mildly nauseous, I moved on to framed testimonials of those who’d lost fifty or ninety or more pounds and found a new purpose in life. They’d done so on the Ultima program and were forever indebted to the staff, to say the least. Some of us will read anything.
    I was reading the business hours backward through the glass door when Dr. Winder reappeared, a folder in his hand and brusquely asked me to sit beside him in the row of plastic chairs. He flipped through several pages, then said, “She’s on the third stage of the program, an eight-hundred-calorie level, and is doing well. She takes a B complex and a multiple vitamin daily, along with three sustained-release potassium caplets of seventy-five milligrams each and four calcium tablets that total three thousand milligrams. In that the program is a protein-sparing modified fast, we insist the client include two to four protein supplements, which we offer in a variety of flavors. I devised the diet based on my extensive study of nutritional requirements, and I do happen to be a physician. She