Lola had not eaten for five days. She deliberately hung the dress up on her bedroom wall to serve as a warning that she needed to fit her body inside it next week. It was a size double-zero lime sorbet colored sheath with a cinched waist, cascading ruches along the bodice, an asymmetrical hemline, and gold stitching on the hem, sleeves, and décolletage. A small rose of chartreuse chiffon perched glibly on the left breast. The delicate satin was from India, but the dress itself was made by nuns in Italy, the saleswoman at Barney's assured her when she picked it up from the showroom.

One of the few sheath dresses that debuted on New York's ready-to-wear runways in a season dominated by empire waist and trapeze silhouettes, it was also one of the most unforgiving, hugging tightly both waistline and ass. Did you know, said the saleswoman, that the first chartreuse crayon was not, in fact, fifty-percent green and fifty-percent yellow, but a misnamed shade of red? Well, Lola responded, now I know. The saleswoman beamed. So tell me about the dress, said Lola. This dress is absolutely amazing, the saleswoman gushed.

Kitty, Lola's younger sister of five years, was to be married in six days to Philip von Diefdendorf, of the Philadelphia von Diefdendorfs, who owned a large chain of hardware stores in the mid-Atlantic. It was humiliating that Kitty was getting married again, when Lola herself was pushing thirty and had no real prospects since Randall ended things last fall. Even more embarrassing was the fact that Kitty had her three bridesmaids' gowns tailored to double-zero, knowing full well that of Alexis, Byrdie, and Lola, Lola was the only one who'd need seams taken out.

There was a time when Lola's physique was the cause of envy for the women of East 86th Street, but those days were ushered away by a bad break-up, and nights comforting herself with apple strudel, Gruyere, and loaves of artisan breads. Furthermore, less than a year after her first divorce, Kitty was walking down the aisle again. From all accounts, the second marriage appeared to be an upgrade, both socially and financially, though it could not be denied that Philip had a receding chin and a perpetually strained look about him, as if battling mild but chronic constipation.

Lola was miserable. She had promised herself she'd diet responsibly, and even though she did not eat, she made sure to take, each day, three 1,000-mg. Emergen-C tablets with seven mineral ascorbates and 32 mineral complexes, one ounce of Super KMH, one Acai Berry Extract Supplement, one shot of wheatgrass, a chlorophyll pill, one Nature's Way Fenu-Thyme, one NSI Tonalin XS-CLAT, three Natural Wellness tablets, one Beano pill, fifteen drops Super Lysine Plus, and two Kava Kava daytime stress formula tablets.

From her bed, Lola glanced up at her green dress imperiously. The silent, regal dress stared back in open challenge. She was feeling very weak, and soon, even if she wanted to, she would be too tired to haul herself to the kitchen to get something to eat. Maybe when this ordeal was over, she'd be even skinnier than the dress required. Maybe it'd be loose on her, hanging casually on her reedy frame, gaping under the armpits and flaring like a deflated parachute over her flat bottom. Lola smiled and drifted back into thought. She might even take a vacation when it was all done with, her own private honeymoon at the Amalfi Coast. Yes, she'd drive down to Positano and stay at Le Sirenuse again, that charming hotel which made its own perfume—L'eau d'Italie—which she and Randall had delighted over last spring. She'd get a room with her own private terrace overlooking the sea.

From under her, Lola felt her calves fall asleep. Her cold face broke out in sweat. She ignored the dizziness. The dress watched her from its place on the wall. It looked very bright and very, very green. Lola closed her eyes, but the only thing she saw was the dress again, even brighter.

Lola wondered if she was feverish, but the thermometer was so far away. The bathroom medicine cabinet was all the way down the hall. She'd just lie in bed for a little while with a pillow over her face; she'd go check her temperature when she felt a bit more rested.

How she would eat once this was all over. First she'd murder a butter pecan brownie sundae, and then a cookies and cream milkshake. Then another cookies and cream milkshake. There'd be cheeseburgers (with Camembert) in her future too, and French fries from the most expensive steakhouse within a two minute cab ride, big fat juicy ones served with mayonnaise. And she could absolutely inhale a martini in one sip after this was through. She would taxi straight to that dumpy little place by where Randall worked and order a dirty martini with extra olives and just a tiny dash of extra olive juice.

Suddenly, the phone was ringing, sharp and high. It sounded like an ambulance. There were four long, drawn-out rings, then silence. Who had called? It was probably Kitty, bothering her about wedding details. Not that Kitty ever listened to her advice. The phone rang again. "Oh, fine fine fine fine fine. I'm getting up," Lola snapped.

She pushed the duvet off her body and found it hard to catch her breath. She tried sitting up by reclining on her elbows with her back to the headboard but couldn't muster enough momentum. I'll do this in a different way, thought Lola. She rolled over to the left side of the bed, resting precipitously on the edge. She was lying on her chest and her hand hung over the side of the bed and touched the floor. Steadying her arm, Lola tried lowering herself onto the carpet, but at the last moment she lost her balance and her elbow caved, and she fell heavily onto the floor.

She saw yellow. Then black, then blue, then gray. It was hard to breath; the floor was moving. On the ceiling above her was a small crack in the plaster. She made a mental note to notify her superintendent. How odd that the phone had stopped ringing. She had a sudden and intense urge to urinate.

When Lola woke up wet, she touched her fingers to the fabric. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. There was a puddle on the carpet beneath her. The phone started ringing again. Lola, panicking, could do nothing. The phone rang, and rang. Finally, it went to voicemail, and this time, someone was leaving a message. It was Kitty.

"Hi, Lola, I don't know why you're screening my calls. I'm in the West Village but I'm on my way to see you with some fabric samples. For the tablecloths, remember? I don't have my key on me. I need you to let me in. I know you're home. The doorman said you didn't leave this morning. You better answer the door when I ring the bell. Stop being so immature just because I'm getting married." The phone clicked.

She could not let Kitty find her like this. The dress stared down at her from the wall. Lola was close enough to yank it down from its hanger if she stretched her arm far enough. She held her arm out as far as it would go. The wall stood just short of her fingertips. She held her breath, and pushed her trembling body forward. The gown fluttered down and landed in a heap on the floor.

Wriggling out of her wet clothes, she sat up slowly and pulled the dress on over her head. It slid over her body effortlessly. Lola paused for a moment, her hand on the zipper. With her ribcage very straight, sucking in her stomach, she pulled on the zipper. It rose, and rose, and rose. For a moment, when it reached the area right below her shoulder blades, the zipper stopped, but Lola tugged harder, and at that the zipper made it all the way to the end of its teeth and the dress was on. It fit.

Happiness was a green satin dress. Lola was so happy she felt as if she could dance. But the joy took the energy out of her, and she had to rest her head against the floor. She did not care that she was on the floor, that there was a slightly damp patch of carpet beneath her, that she was wrinkling her dress. Lola was filled with the undulating glee of accomplishment, the knowledge that all her tribulations had amounted to something, that she was strong enough to set a goal for herself and reach it.

A key turned in the front door, Kitty's shrill voice complained to the superintendent, "I apologize so much for the hassle. She's been so moody lately." Resting on the floor, drifting out of consciousness, Lola was no longer in her room, but in a convertible driving along the Amalfi Coast. The wind was a gentle comb through her hair, she had her green satin dress on, and she was on the same highway she'd traveled with Randall last spring.