And here's why a self-defense class or two might have come in handy. Then, when the sliding door to the black van slid open and three incredibly fit men in form-fitting lycra gym wear and woolen ski masks leapt out, Robyn might have had the presence of mind to kick one of them in the groin, drive her fingers into the eyes of the second, and stomp her heel down on the instep of the third. 

But instead, she struggled against a restraining arm to get the spoon of ice cream into her mouth. 

She won that battle, although this was scant comfort as she was carried squirming to the van and thrown inside onto the heavily padded floor. The sliding door slammed shut. And she was in darkness.

The tires screeched as the van raced up the street. On the back, a bumper sticker read: Lose weight now, ask me how.

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Flash! A blinding white/blue light. A spectral after-image floating in the darkness, then fading away. The high-pitched whine of a camera battery recharging. And a man's voice again, from somewhere in the shadows.

"Once again. Arms at your sides, please." The cold, bare, locked room felt threatening, but the voice did not. If anything, it sounded bored, as if there was nothing in this world less interesting than Robyn's shivering, naked body.

"Why is this necessary?" Robyn asked. She was instinctively stalling for time, as if more time would somehow make a difference. As if a S.W.A.T. team would come bursting through the door and spare her the embarrassment of being photographed naked. 

"For future reference," the voice said enigmatically. "Arms at your sides, please."

Robyn obeyed and dropped her arms self-consciously to her sides. She knew it was impossible to hide the thirty pounds she had not yet lost. (Well, thirty-five, technically, but she had already revised her goal.) And vanity being what it is, she sucked in her stomach as much as she could. But it was a Band-Aid at best. And try as she might, she could not think of a way to suck in her thighs.

She flinched as the flash went off.

"Turn around, please."

Turn around? Jesus Christ!

——————————————

But having her ass photographed was nothing compared to the humiliation of hearing her weight read out loud. It was a large and hateful number. A number without pity. A number that prowled the streets at night, murdering children.

"That's not right," Robyn protested as the man made an entry into his tablet.

The man stepped into the light and Robyn could see him clearly for the first time. It was Dave, the gorgeous and arrogant Tenacity trainer who shared the office with Debbie.

"Is that so?" he said, and his smarminess transformed Robyn's embarrassment into acrimony.

"Yes, that's so," she said in a mocking tone. "I weighed myself this morning. Your scale is heavy."

The corners of the Dave's mouth twitched as a smile almost, but didn't quite, appear on his face. "Here," he said, tossing her some clothing. She reflexively caught it with her right hand. In the process, she briefly exposed her breasts, which elicited no reaction from him whatsoever. Clearly, Dave did not see her as a sexual being. He barely seemed to see her as any kind of being. "Put them on."

Robyn examined the clothing and her anxiety grew. It was a two-piece set of black lycra gym wear that, she judged, could only fit over her body with intense effort. And the results would be profoundly unattractive.

"I can't wear this," Robyn said. 

"Then don't," Dave replied indifferently, without even looking up from his tablet.

"But it'll make me look fat."

Another near-smile flickered across his face. "You are fat."

——————————————

"Hi, Robyn!" a familiar voice twittered, and Robyn was immediately filled with dread.

Debbie was sitting behind a glass desk, wearing the exact same outfit that Robyn was, although the effect could hardly have been more different. It was like one of those Slim Fast before-and-after photos. And Robyn was decidedly before.

"Thanks, Dave," Debbie said. "I'll take it from here."

Dave left.

"I'm sorry it's come to this,"  Debbie said with genuine regret.

"Come to what?" Robyn demanded. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Have a seat," Debbie said calmly, indicating a straight-backed chrome chair with black padding.

"I want these off me," Robyn said sternly. She was cuffed like a federal prisoner awaiting transport, wrists shackled to a chain around the waist, another chain running to leg irons. "Now!"

"I don't think that would be such a good idea," Debbie said apologetically, thrusting out her bottom lip in a pout so adorable that Robyn could think of nothing else but strangling her. Which was probably why taking the shackles off wasn't such a good idea.

Robyn shuffled towards the chair. "What is the point of all this?"

"We just want to give you an idea of how serious we are,"  Debbie said.

"I kind of got that message when I was abducted in broad daylight."  Debbie sat down in the chair, keenly aware of the rolls of fat gathering at her midriff.

Debbie and her perfectly flat stomach laughed light-heartedly. "Sorry about that. But you didn't leave us with any other choice." She reached into the file drawer of her desk and pulled out a folder.

"Um... what?"

Debbie opened the folder and tapped a piece of paper with her unpolished nails. "There," she said. "You told me you wanted to lose thirty-five pounds by September 17th. How's that going?"

"Fine," Robyn said.

"Really? Because according to your weigh-in, you've gained nearly three pounds since you came to see us three months ago."

"I've been under a lot of stress," Robyn said reflexively. "And I'm retaining water."

"We don't believe in excuses, Robyn,"  Debbie said. "We believe in results. See what it says on the form? 'One hundred percent success rate. Results guaranteed.'"

"Everybody says that."

"We mean it!" Debbie sounded angry, treating Robyn's lack of self-discipline as a personal affront. Debbie closed her eyes, silently chastising herself for losing her composure.

She took a long, cleansing breath.

"Sorry," Debbie said. "But I told you, Robyn, that it would only work if you worked it. But you didn't eat the meals we gave you, you kept missing your appointments, you stopped taking our calls..."

"OK, fine," Robyn said sharply. "Then I quit."

"You can't quit." Debbie almost chuckled at the absurdity of the idea.

"I can quit! I do quit! Now let me go!" Robyn said vehemently.

"You can't quit," Debbie said again.

"Why the hell not?"

"I already told you," Debbie said, with a hint of exasperation. When Robyn looked at her uncomprehendingly, she sighed and added, "Results guaranteed."

——————————————

Dave kept a hand on her shoulder, prodding Robyn forward gently but insistently as she shuffled down a concrete path, her chains jangling softly. The surreal events of the day had mostly numbed her, but she still registered surprise when she saw the bucolic nature of the grounds.

Tended by a gardener far more skilled than the one Robyn herself employed, there were flower beds and healthy, leafy deciduous trees that provided refreshing shade for the freshly painted benches. Were it not for the high walls and guard tower, this could easily have been mistaken for an exclusive spa.

"This is kidnapping, you realize," Robyn said.

"Is it?" Apparently, Dave realized no such thing.

"It sure as shit is," Robyn maintained. "I was in law school for a year."

"Were you?"

"Yes. I was." She wasn't. But she had nothing to lose by committing to the lie.

"Did you get to the part where they tell you to read the fine print?" Robyn stared at him. What the fuck are you talking about? A self-satisfied smirk appeared on Dave's face like a neon light flickering to life. And then it was gone.

They continued on in silence, passing a handful of small, charming Spanish bungalows, with arched doorways and red clay tile roofs. She dimly recalled having paid nearly three hundred dollars a night to stay in a very similar bungalow during a vacation in Palm Springs. Although that one had a hot tub and no iron bars on the windows.

And there was something else. In what appeared to be the center of the compound, gleaming in the sunlight on a square patch of golf-course-quality grass was a large metal box. Robyn judged it to be maybe four feet high, four feet wide and six feet deep — although judging size was never her forté, as her grateful fiancé would attest — with a small square door on the front, padlocked shut. With all her mind had to absorb right now, she almost didn't notice it at all.

Until it spoke to her.

"Robyn?" 

Robyn looked around, to see if there was anyone else named Robyn whom the metal box might be addressing. "Robyn, it's me. Kendra."

Robyn squinted at the box. She could see two beautiful blue-green, gold-flecked eyes staring out at her through a small grate. "Kendra? What are you doing in there?"

"They won't let me out!" Kendra always had a knack for stating, or in this case wailing, the obvious. "I don't care about bathing suit season anymore! I want to go home!"

Dave pushed Robyn. It was not a jarring push, but firm pressure that gave her no choice but to keep moving.

"I have to go," Robyn said.

"I want to go home, Robyn!"

"I... I'll talk to you later."

"She tried to escape," Dave explained, although Robyn hadn't asked. "She almost made it over the wall, too."

"Kendra did?" Robyn had seen Kendra get out of breath just standing on an escalator. She couldn't imagine her climbing anything, much less this foreboding brick barricade that practically blotted out the sky.

"She's doing great!" Dave said, startling Robyn with his enthusiasm. "Wait 'til you see her!"

——————————————

The inside of Robyn's bungalow-slash-prison-cell was sterile and plain, but really no worse than a room at a Holiday Inn Express. Instead of bland corporate art, there were framed posters. An eagle soaring over the Rockies, an improbably sexy pole vaulter launching herself over the crossbar, godly rays of sunlight bursting through dark clouds. The symbolism was subtle, but Robyn was pretty sure she understood it.

There was also a treadmill in the middle of the room, facing a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Dave explained to her that she could jog on it while she watched an inspirational movie selected from their extensive collection. In fact, she'd have to jog on it, since the treadmill was a generator for the television.

The cheesiness of this Gilligan's Island technology almost made her laugh, until she noticed that there was absolutely nothing else to do in this room.

"So I need you to wear this," Dave said, handing her a high-tech bracelet, black steel with tiny LED's.

"And what if I don't?" She was doing her best to sound defiant.

Dave shrugged. "Then don't. But just so you know, it's an activity tracker and it lets us monitor how many calories you burn. We use that to determine how much you're allowed to consume."

Robyn snapped the bracelet onto her wrist. It chimed cheerfully and the LED's spelled out the words HI, ROBYN! in twinkly dot-matrix colors.

"See you tomorrow," Dave said, heading for the door.

"Unless I've killed myself before then," muttered Robyn.

"You won't," he assured her.

"How do you know?"

"Because we won't let you. Bad for business." Robyn wasn't sure, but she thought he might have winked.

He left, bolting the door from the outside.

All at once, Robyn became aware of how terribly tired she was. And hungry. She opened the mini-fridge, already knowing what she would find. 

Yup. Nothing but bottled water.

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