After knocking around Manhattan for a few months, she enrolled in a fashion-design class at NYU. From that day forward she never looked back. Fashion became her passion. She worked her way through several New York houses, her brain soaking up every last detail of the business. One basic fact became apparent quite quickly. A fat woman was never going to get hired as a fashion designer.

  The year her aunt died and left her a hefty inheritance, she took a dangerous leap and started her own small design shop. Everyone predicted immediate insolvency. Lavinia persevered. This tiny hole in the wall was going to be her ticket to the big leagues. As she failed, as her designs were rejected, she learned. Eventually, her ideas began to catch on, to command attention. Today, the House of Fiore was internationally known and respected.

  Lavinia’s special interest, since she was a large woman herself, had been the creation of a fashion line especially suited to the so-called larger woman. In fact, the most compelling reason she’d gotten into the fashion industry in the first place was because she loved fabulous, gorgeous, outrageous, extravagant, beautifully designed clothing, but no matter how hard she looked, she was never able to find the kind she craved in a size that fit.

  In 1984, Lavinia and a handful of other overweight women began to meet one evening a week at her apartment to discuss their success — or lack thereof — with current dieting fads. She was living in the Village at the time. Her longtime friend, Barbara — Bunny — Huffington, was finishing her doctorate in American Studies at Columbia, and would attend when she wasn’t buried under a mound of schoolwork. Dining that summer and the following fall, some startling, even life-changing conclusions were reached by this small cadre.

  To each of the women, eating and then dieting had taken on the quality of obsession. They were so fixated on food, and their failure to control their appetites and thus achieve the proper female image in the world, that most of them went around in a permanent state of gloom.

  Bunny was the first one to connect this struggle with women’s equally profound struggle for identity in the last half of the twentieth century. As women moved from the home into positions of power and authority in the world, the ambivalence they felt over their newfound status, and the anxiety they experienced over their equally newfound responsibilities, were often played out in their relationship to food. Always the philosopher at heart, Bunny wrote several papers — eventually even a book — on the issues of overweight, food addiction, and society’s physical expectations of women. After all, as she pointed out, at least ninety-two percent of the anorexics in America today were female, and one out of five college-age women supposedly suffered from bulimia. Clearly, women were in a life-and-death struggle with their bodies.

  Lavinia read the papers with interest, yet her approach to the matter was far more pragmatic. Theory might be great, but why not start a support group for women who refused to fight the battle any longer. The image of Sisyphus, that sorry man in Greek myth who spent his entire life pushing a boulder up a mountain only to have it roll back down again, instantly sprang to mind. The boulder, in Lavinia’s scenario, was dieting. Hence, the organization became the Daughters of Sisyphus Society.

  Lavinia wanted to emphasize personal acceptance. She told women, through speeches and in the pages of her now famous cookbook, that they needed to look at themselves in the mirror and love what they saw. Fat or thin. Tall or short. Young or old. They were all beautiful and unique. And even more important, she encouraged women to grow and develop their talents and skills. Only through accomplishment would they come to love and appreciate themselves fully. There were no overnight successes in her book, only hard work.

  While Lavinia made it clear that it was important to be as healthy as possible, fad dieting was public enemy number one. She urged the women of the country to throw away their diet books and stop fixating on every last morsel they put into their mouths.

  Finally, Lavinia insisted that, in our efforts to be trim and healthy, we’d lost something fundamental from our lives. Eating was one of life’s greatest pleasures. Pleasure was good, not bad. To infuse the simple act of eating with such guilt, with such convoluted mental and emotional anguish, was draining our society of joy. And the loss of joy, she pointed out with a fervor bordering on a holy crusade, was a far too terrible price to pay.

  Unzipping her gown, Lavinia slipped it off and then sat down on the bed. She felt a sense of pride when she thought of what she’d created. The D.O.S.S. had grown from a membership of seven to just over seven hundred thousand women worldwide. And it was still growing. To be sure, many were now joining as a means of networking with other like-minded, aggressive, achievement-oriented women. Housewives, mothers, poets, cabdrivers, businesswomen, athletes, academics, anyone and everyone interested in a better, more satisfying relationship with food and their own bodies, had become a part of the organization — some, no doubt, for the sheer pleasure of thumbing their noses at society’s feminine imperatives. But whatever the reason, The Daughters of Sisyphus Society Cookbook and the first D.O.S.S. chapter in New York City had captured the imagination of the nation. And Lavinia, from the first, was at the head of the parade, leading the battle charge.

  Glancing at the clock next to her on the nightstand, she saw that it was nearly nine-thirty. Bunny Huffington was supposed to stop by before ten to go over the revisions for tomorrow night’s speech.

  Bunny was now a tenured professor of Women’s Studies at White Rock College in Bar Harbor, Maine. She was a no-nonsense New Englander by birth, so Maine suited her just fine. She also remained the philosopher for the organization, writing most of Lavinia’s speeches. Her usual traveling companion, Iris Quinn, hadn’t come along this time. Iris and Bunny had been together for almost twelve years, though Lavinia had recently heard rumors of a breakup. Since Bunny was a very private person, Lavinia knew better than to press her on the subject. Lavinia’s own love life had been something less than stellar. Mainly, she’d had a series of ill-fated love affairs, mostly with totally unsuitable men. She just couldn’t seem to get a handle on personal happiness — that is, until now.

  Hearing a loud rap, Lavinia pulled on her bathrobe, unpinned her hair, and swept into the living room. She expected to see Bunny’s smiling face when she answered die door, but instead, a young man in a bellboy’s uniform greeted her.

  “Good evening, Ms. Fiore. I was told you had a package you wanted me to deliver downstairs to the safe.”

  Of course, thought Lavinia. Where was her mind? She’d called the concierge right after dinner, asking that they send someone up. But that was two hours ago. She raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at the young fellow, about to protest the miserable service. Lavinia was a stickler for punctuality. She also expected to get what she paid for. Part of the price of staying at an exclusive hotel was the special service it could provide. To her mind, at this moment she wasn’t getting it.

  “I’m sorry for the delay, Ms. Fiore. There are so many people checking into the hotel right now, it took me an extra hour to get all the bags delivered.”

  A poor excuse, thought Lavinia, but then, she didn’t have any difficulty believing him. “See that this doesn’t happen again.” She whipped a hundred-dollar bill out of her bathrobe pocket and handed it to him.

  His eyes opened wide. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Elvis.”

  She did a double take. “Well, Elvis, I expect to be taken care of while I’m here. I’ll call for you directly if I need anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned.

  “I believe in paying for what I get. But I have high expectations. I expect fresh ice in my room every evening.”

  “Of course, Ms. Fiore.”

  “Make sure the refrigerator is restocked daily. I drink a lot of grapefruit juice, and I don’t want to run out.”

  “Will do.”

  “And three chocolates on my pillow when the maid comes in to turn the bed down. Not just one.”

  “I’ll inform the housekeeping staff.”

  “Oh, and speaking of pillows, I have very serious allergies, Elvis. I travel with my own pillows instead of using the standard feather variety that hotels provide. Please see to it that they are aired and replaced on the bed every morning. I won’t tolerate any slipups on this.”

  “I understand, Ms. Fiore. Don’t give it another thought.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Also, those little butter cookies I found in my room tonight when I arrived were wonderful.”

  “We make them in our kitchen.”

  “I assumed as much. You know, Elvis, as I think about it I wouldn’t mind having an extra plate of those, too.”

  “Your wish is my command, Ms. Fiore.” He stuffed the hundred into his pants pocket.

  “I thought it might be.” She smiled back at him. “I think we understand each other now, Elvis. I expect my stay here at the Maxfield Plaza to be a joy.” Bending down, she picked up a sealed, document-sized manila envelope resting next to the door and handed it to him. “I want this put under lock and key as soon as you get downstairs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If anyone asks, I gave you nothing. You don’t remember any package.”

  “But” — he looked unsure — “there’ll be a record of it downstairs. And you’ll receive a receipt with your name on it.”

  Hmm. That was a problem. Giving it a few moments’ thought, she said, “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to put another name on the hotel record.”

  “Oh, Ms. Fiore, that could get me in real trouble.”

  She pulled another hundred from her pocket. “Will this take care of the inconvenience?”

  He stared at it for only an instant before plucking it from her hand. “Yes, ma’am. I believe it will. What name do you want me to use?”

  Lavinia allowed herself a private smile. “Martha Finchley,” she said without missing a beat. As she watched him jot it down on a notepad, she heard the elevator doors open. Peeking out of her doorway, she saw Bunny at the other end of the hall, steaming in her direction.

  “Get out of here,” she whispered, pushing him away. “Don’t use the elevator. Take the stairs down to the floor below us.”

  He tipped his cap and disappeared into the stairwell.

  “Bunny!” cried Lavinia, throwing her arms around her friend as soon as she’d come within reach. “It’s great to see you!”

  Bunny gave Lavinia several thumps on her back and then pulled away. “You look fabulous.”

  “As always.” She smiled, standing aside and allowing Bunny to enter.

  Bunny Huffington was a short, square woman in her mid-forties, with close-cropped brown hair and a kindly bulldog face. The dark, horn-rim glasses made her look distinctly intellectual, though she was also quite the athlete, engaging in everything from rock climbing to scuba diving. Setting her leather briefcase down on a small end table, she dumped herself wearily into a chair. “I’m exhausted. And you look as fresh as an Oregon peach. Life isn’t fair.” Eyeing her a moment longer, she said, “It’s none of my business, but have you lost weight?”

  “Almost thirty pounds.”

  “A new diet?”

  They both laughed at the absurdity of the notion. Lavinia moved over to the bar to pour drinks. “What do you want? I’ve got Scotch, gin, champagne, brandy, several wines, and the usual sodas and fruit juices.”

  “Make it a brandy,” said Bunny, lifting her feet up on a footstool. She was wearing her usual well-worn jeans and chambray shirt. Fashion had never been high on her list of personal imperatives. She continued to stare. When Lavinia handed her the drink she remarked, “Pardon me, but one does not lose thirty pounds without a modicum of effort.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Would you believe I’ve given up chocolate?”

  “Not unless you’ve had a lobotomy.” Bunny opened up her briefcase and removed a stack of papers. Dropping them in her lap, she continued, “I’ve highlighted the changes I made in your speech. Maybe we could go over them now.”

  Lavinia nodded, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Bunny, clearly not getting the humor in the situation.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why are you smiling like such an idiot?”

  “Oh, don’t ask so many questions.”

  “That’s not an answer,” said Bunny. “Come on, give. What’s going on?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I’ll see what ?” Her exasperation was showing.

  “It’s a surprise,” said Lavinia, sitting down on the couch and leaning back expansively against the cushions.

  Any good humor remaining on Bunny’s face was now gone. “I don’t like surprises. You know that.”

  “You’ll love these.”

  “More than one?”

  Lavinia lowered her eyes seductively. ‘Two.”

  “Jeez, Lavinia. Why do we always have to play these silly games? Just tell me what’s going on so I can brace myself for the worst.”

  “Oh, come on, Bun. You’re ruining my fun. Besides, timing is everything, you know that. And this is neither the time nor the place.”

  “For what!”

  “Revelation, Bunny dear.”

  In exasperation, Bunny downed several gulps of the brandy. “You’re giving me an ulcer, you know that? More than twenty thousand women have signed up for the convention this weekend. We’ve got to give them a good show. Surprises are the last thing we need.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Bunny groaned. “And you know what else? I don’t have a clue why you insisted the Upper Midwest convention be held in St. Paul this year. We’ve always done it in Chicago. It’s been a nightmare to reorganize.”

  “St. Paul is better. It’s prettier.”

  “That was your reason?”

  “We needed a change. Otherwise, things get stale.” Lavinia switched on the light next to her. “Give me the revisions.”

  Bunny handed one set of papers over. “You know, not to belabor the point, but you weren’t the one who had to do the grunt work of reorganizing the event.”

  “Meaning you were.”

  “Among others, yes.”

  “Have I failed to say thank you?”

  “Jeez, Lavinia.” She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Sometimes I’m not sure I even like you anymore. You’re so frustrating!”

  “I’ve always been frustrating.”

  ‘True.”

  “It never stopped us from being friends before.”

  “There wasn’t so much at stake before.”

  “Bunny, listen to me for a minute. When you think of all we’ve accomplished together, all the years we’ve been friends, you can’t get angry with me just because I want to keep a couple of secrets.”

  “But —”

  “Admit it, Bunny. I’m simply too lovable to stay mad at.” She flipped her mahogany hair behind her back and mugged a wounded expression.

  Bunny shook her head, her anger dissolving into resignation. “All right. You win.”

  “I don’t need to win.”

  “Funny, I thought you did.”

  “No,” said Lavinia, pulling her robe more snugly around her body. “But it would hurt me a great deal if I thought you were really upset with me.”

  Bunny gave a deep sigh. “Good. I’d like to think I provide some sort of check and balance to your shoot-from-the-hip style of leadership.”

  “Is that how you see me?” She was intrigued. Bunny had never said anything like that before.

  “Let’s just get down to business,” said Bunny, adjusting her glasses and shuffling the pages in front of her.

  “First things first,” said Lavinia with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m hungry. What do you say we order something to eat? I just had a bite in the coffee shop a couple of hours ago. Not enough to keep a bird alive.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Lavinia tapped a long red nail to her cheek. “We could start off with some shrimp? Then maybe some nice pate and crusty French bread. For dessert, how about some fresh strawberries and cream?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Fabulous.” As she walked over to the phone she said, “Say, what about after the opening ceremonies tomorrow night? Have you arranged with the others from the old college gang to meet here for our reunion?”

  Bunny laughed. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? After all these years, so many of us in the same city at the same time. What a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, amazing.”

  “What’s it been? Twenty-three years? How did we get so old? Yes, I talked to Sophie and Cindy last night. They’re both planning to come. Sophie’s even booked us a small room off the main lobby. She said it was usually used as a hospitality suite, but she’s reserved it for the evening and is having a meal catered for us.”

  “Good old Soph.” Turning her back to Bunny, she added, “Oh, by the way, Adelle Purdis is coming, too.”

  “Adelle?” Bunny sounded truly shocked. “She’s here?”

  “Another coincidence. It seems the entire Purdis clan is in town for Tabernacles Week. Remember that?” Lavinia’s look was amused.

  “It’s so weird. All that religious stuff seems so long ago now.”