"Wilson, F Paul - Implant (aka Colin Andrews)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

back now, from the far side of a medical education, Gin realized Pasta
had sunk into a clinical depression. She'd tell people she didn't care
about her weight or what anybody called her, and to prove it, she'd b inge. Especially on lonely weekend nights. Primarily on chocolate.

Pasta loved chocolate. Chocolate cake, chocolate donuts, Hershey's
with almonds, and Snickers. God, she loved Snickers. And bingeing
only made her fatter, which made her even more depressed.

Pasta missed the junior and senior proms, and lots of other high-school
activities in her self-imposed exile. The only bright spots in those
dark days had been her novels and her part-time job in Dr. Lathram's
office. Her grades began to slip but not enough to keep her out of the
Ivy League.

The summer before going off to college she realized that she had a
chance to start all over again. The kids in Princeton had never heard
her called Pasta. She vowed that none of them ever would. She began a
strict diet■no bulimia, no starvation, no trading one problem for
another, just low fat and calorie restriction, plus a grueling exercise
program. She remembered the constant hunger, the burning lungs, the
aching legs as she forced her body to jog one more mile . . .

just one more. By the time she registered at Princeton she was proud
to be merely overweight. According to her charts, her weight hit the
fiftieth percentile for her age, height, and sex during sophomore year,
as a junior she overshot and got too thin, so she backed off. When she
graduated she was the person she wanted to be, She had her BS in
biology, was on her way to U. of P. med school, and she liked what she
saw in the mirror.

She'd maintained that weight through four years of med school and three
years of residency. Pasta Panzella was gone.

Well, almost gone. The ghost of Pasta still haunted her, and every so
often she'd propel Gin to the chocolate section of a candy store, and
Gin would give in and let Pasta have a Snickers. But only once in a
while, and only one.

And now Gerry Canney was asking her out. Strange how things come full
circle.

She frowned. Hadn't she heard somewhere along the line that Gerry was
married?
She wanted to get to know Gerry■she certainly hadn't known him well in
high school■but she wasn't into games.

Pasta Panzella had been a vulnerable adolescent.

Gin Panzella, MD, was anything but.