A refresher from where we left off at chapter 4:
“But what if I told you that you could earn hundreds—even thousands!—by just eating. One meal. One meal a week. Seriously, Chuck, think about it. You have some natural ability to stuff yourself blind, and you can make it pay.”
Chuck made a face. He drank the coffee, then nibbled his sandwich. “Sounds pretty dodgy.”
“Meet me at All You Can Chow on Tuesday and I’ll show you. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Wilbur downed the second half of his donut and reached for a second without pause. “No, come to my hotel first, then we’ll go the restaurant together.” The retriever stuffed the second donut whole into his cheeks and chewed. “Arrive around three o’clock. Alright?”
Chuck scratched the back of his neck. “Alright…”
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Summary
Chuck isn't so sure about what he's agreed to, but despite his nerves, he meets with Wilbur... and an audience he hadn't expected.

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On Tuesday afternoon, Chuck left work early to catch the bus to midtown. He consciously made the choice not to head home to change first as he had lost a button on his shirt at work and was too embarrassed to face Kyle about it. The parrot had asked for the next size up from his boss right away, and the order was placed. But until it arrived Chuck intended to keep his clothing problems to himself. Wilbur was handy with a needle and thread, so Chuck hoped the retriever could repair the garment.
He'd only have to wear it another week. Maybe it was possible to reinforce every button so that another accident wouldn’t happen. All he had done was bend over. When he had straightened out, yellow feathers bulged from his upper belly between two straining buttons. He found the one that flew off and pocketed it.
When he left work he had pulled his purple sweater over the top to hide his obvious fat. After an awkward bus ride, occupied with feeling the protruding feathers scratching against his sweater, Chuck arrived in town a few minutes’ walk from the Carroway Inn.
He pushed through the revolving doors and stepped into the first open elevator to the third floor.
Wilbur answered the door the moment that Chuck knocked and ushered the parrot excitedly inside. The room was modest, with a king-sized bed taking up most of the available space. The wallpaper was an ugly pink pattern of flowers from another century. It smelled as old as it looked.
“I’m streaming now,” Wilbur said, ushering Chuck closer to where he had a laptop set up on a stool. “My followers can’t wait to meet you.”
“Me?” Chuck asked, blinking. “Followers?”
Wilbur nodded eagerly and his cheeks bounced wildly. “Uh huh, uh huh.”
In front of the laptop, there was a large portable scale. Wilbur tapped it with his toe and it spoke up in a robotic women’s voice, “Calibrating. Calibrating. Ready.”
Wilbur stepped onto the scale, facing the laptop. Chuck could see the retriever’s belly taking up most of the frame on the stream. A constant stream of comments ran up one side of the video. Numbers appeared intermittently followed by dollar bill emojis, indicating donations.
“Calculating,” said the scale.
Wilbur wiggled a little bit in place. “She always takes her time.” He reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. To Chuck’s astonishment, the retriever stripped the garment off entirely and tossed it to the floor. “That will take a couple of pounds off.”
Chuck stared, fascinated wholly by the sheer size of Wilbur’s unleashed chest. Tattoos of numbers and animal prints ran down his front in black and red ink, textured by fur. The retriever swung his paunch around a little for show, sending the stream chat into frenzy. He rubbed his upper belly and played around with his moobs until finally the scale spoke once more.
“Five-hundred and seventy-three pounds.”
“That’s three more than Sunday. Not bad!” Wilbur exclaimed. He twirled for the camera, wagging his booty and bushy tail for them, slapped his belly to send it wobbling, then bent to pick up his shirt again. He grinned at Chuck while his blubber spread across the floor. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Five-hundred and…” Chuck breathed disbelievingly. He watched wide-eyed as his confident cousin shimmied his giant shirt over his head. His swollen biceps bulged like arm floaties at a kids’ pool.
Chuck could have drowned in such a blanket of fabric. The retriever pulled it over his moobs and stretched it out to reach over, then under his belly. He tucked it in, having to twist and bend a few different ways to finish the job, then gestured to the scale.
Chuck stepped back, feeling his feathers rise on end. “Oh, I don’t need to…”
“Don’t be shy!”
The parrot ground his beak nervously. After a pause, he awkwardly stepped in front of the laptop and onto the scale.
“Calculating,” it said.
Chuck waved to the stream. Wilbur crouched down to read the comments. He had to kneel a short distance from the laptop in order to bend over his girth without knocking the device over. He hung his chubby paws on the chair, moobs molding around his thick arms.
“They want you to turn side-on,” Wilbur relayed.
“Oh?” Chuck turned.
“Two-hundred and forty-two pounds,” said the scale.
Chuck leapt off, stumbling and falling to the floor. “Two… Two-forty!” he cried. He smacked his hand-feathers hard against his brow. “That’s thirty pounds more than last time! B-Blistering beans!”
“When was last time?” Wilbur asked.
“I don’t know. Three months ago? We don’t have scale.”
Wilbur whistled long and slow. “You’re a born gainer, like I said.” He scooted in front of the laptop and waved to his viewers. “All right, chunks! Chuck and I are going out. If you want to catch up with us for dinner, head over to Chuck’s new channel where we’ll be streaming together for his first vid. See ya soon!”
Once he had closed the laptop, Wilbur crawled over to his cousin. The retriever patted his shoulder and smiled. There was food stuck to his teeth. “Nothing wrong with putting on a few pounds, buddy. It looks good on you.”
Chuck moaned quietly and looked up. “What’s this about my first video, Wil? What have you done? What did I agree to?”
“Don’t worry, old pal.” Wilbur pressed his paws against the bed to help himself rise, then offered Chuck a pudgy paw. “I’ll walk you through it.”
***
Wilbur’s junker barely made it to the restaurant. He insisted that it always rattled like that. It was no problem that the engine light was on, and it hardly mattered that there was no suspension whatsoever and every bump in the road shook the whole cabin. The brakes screeched, but Wilbur stated that there was no point in getting the pads replaced when the whole car was going to get scrapped in another day. If it screeched, it screeched. No biggie.
Nevertheless, Chuck’s ears were throbbing by the time he staggered onto the safety of the concrete mall parking lot. He had only a moment to recover before Wilbur hooked him in the pudgy crook of his elbow and walked him onwards.
Chuck went along as he was steered despite the queasy uncertainty rumbling his gut. Why was Wilbur carrying his laptop into the restaurant?
Wilbur brought him through the door of All You Can Chow and proudly presented two fingers to the server at the podium. “Reservation for two, for Wilbur, please!”
The platypus slid a webbed handpaw down a page open in a thick planner on the podium. She nodded, smiled mildly, and held out her arm. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
Chuck hadn’t noticed before how widely spread the tables were leading to the extended half of the restaurant. With Kyle, they always aimed for a spot right up close to the buffet so that they could eyeball what they wanted before choosing their plate sizes. Invariably large.
The tables were clustered in a regular pattern that way. Where they headed now, every set of chairs seemed miles away from the next. The chair types changed, too. Wider, lower, without arms. The backs curved in a way that looked much more comfortable. Their most peculiar feature was their lack of legs. Like beanbag chairs, but sturdy and solid.
The tables were lower, too, balanced on one central leg and bolted to wooden paneling beneath. They had hinged panels so that they could extend. Chuck noticed a markedly rotund raccoon in one corner pumping her table upwards with a foot pedal, like a surgeon’s operation table, prepared with instruments of fork and knife and spoon to dissect the mountainous platter before her.
The parrot distractedly sat where Wilbur placed him, watching curiously as the raccoon folded and locked down one table hinge so that it flattened her upper belly and positioned her meal comfortably within reach.
Chuck crossed his legs, twisting his ankles tightly around each other to diffuse a nervous sensation ruffling his feathers. He had a wooden chair, the kind he was used to. Wilbur wiggled into a wide seat across the table and leaned forward to grin at his cousin.
Chuck could see the dog’s golden tail wagging vigorously and hear it thumping against the curved back of his chair.
The platypus server left them with two menus and a pitcher of water. Chuck reached across the table, frowning quizzically.
“Menus?” He had never used a menu at All You Can Chow. “Don’t you just—”
“You’re a V.I.P, today, Chucky boy,” Wilbur interrupted loudly, hardly capable of waiting for the bird to finish his sentence. The dog rubbed his paws together, still wiggling in his seat and quivering with energy. “Forget the buffet! It’s table service here, and it’s the best service you’ll ever have, and you’ll love it and you’ll never go back. I’m so excited. I’m so glad. I am setting up my laptop, I am typing in my password, I am doing all the things, and boy, I’m starving. Are you starving, what?!”
Chuck rubbed his cheek. “Take it easy, Wilbur, or you’ll start panting.”
“Works up the appetite!” The dog exclaimed, already rolling with short quick breaths. He smacked his thick, stubby fingers over his keyboard, then raised his handpaw with a flourish. “Now!”
Chuck crossed his legs tighter and ran his fingers through his risen headfeathers. He swallowed. “Now what?”
Wilbur’s finger came down on one fateful key, and the screen that faced Chuck erupted with texts and symbols and words of encouragement, and of lust, and of menu items.
“We are live,” Wilbur answered, and he winked.