Ameera, Unveiled (37 page)

Jennifer shook her head, laughing into her napkin. “I looked like a crazy person,” she confessed. “Short of slapping me, Lara got me back in my seat and told me to get my shit together before we were banned for scaring passengers. I think I passed out.”

“I had claw marks on my arm for weeks,” Lara said. “Jennifer has some control issues.”

“Planes can crash, Lara,” Jennifer defended herself. For me, this made her one of us regular girls instead of my girl-crush diva. I bet she’d been a beautiful, crazy loon.

I pushed my food around on my plate, drifting away from the conversations at the table. I wanted this day to drag. Why couldn’t I be excited like everyone else about the show? What if the audience walked out before we did a full dance? I was supposed to have happy words floating in my head when I heard the word dance. Words like joy, expressive, graceful, or pretty. Instead I was hearing rejection, failure, inferior, and loser. Why’d I agreed to do this? Why was I in the troupe? On this trip?

“Kat? Still with us?” Denise asked, nudging me with her elbow.

I’d hoped no one could smell the fear on me. “I’m okay. Same old problem. I don’t feel good enough to perform.”

I saw the eyes of the entire table focus on me. The knot in my stomach told me to put the fork down. “I can’t stop wishing I’d learned younger and someone had encouraged me to dance.”

“But you’re dancing and doing well,” Denise did encourage me. “You looked really good in Gypsy. No one would’ve known you’d just learned the dance. Have fun with it.”

I forced a smile and told myself to suck it up. “I’ve enjoyed the week so far and bonding with y’all. I’ll figure it out.”

“Let’s get Ameera some tequila shots and watch her let go!” Lara suggested. The mood at the table lightened.

“Yep,” Sybil said, scooting out of her chair. She walked behind my chair and patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. If anything happens, just keep on dancing.”

I nodded and forced another smile. I pictured me behaving as plane-passenger Jennifer did in the middle of our show, turning into a crazy lunatic.

I felt myself drawing away as I excused myself to change. I didn’t even wait for Polly to join me. The week had been shocking, eye opening, amusing, and free from an actual commitment to perform. Unlike Melody’s struggle to redeem her separation from her family by participating in a show, I’d selfishly reveled in the evasive Hedo entertainment manager’s lack of concern. “Okay, Ameera. It’s only a thirty-minute show,” I said, trying to summon my inner diva.

Ameera didn’t respond. Instead, I sensed an underage Hedo guest wearing a pink leotard and straggly blonde hair skipping around me with a childish grin on her face.

“You aren’t supposed to be here. No one under eighteen,” I said in my imaginary conversation.

“We get to do it! We get to do it! We get to wear pretty costumes and play with the new girls!” she cheered. In my mind, the little ballerina was performing Gypsy and ignoring me.

Lara’s Ameera comment probably evoked the vision. I wanted that childlike joy to well up inside me. I turned to look at the path to my room. My little ballerina was flitting to and from flowering shrubs, chasing butterflies and hummingbirds.

I thought about a picture I had at home. It was a simple quote beside the silhouette of a black cat: “Blessed are we who can laugh at ourselves, for we shall never cease to be amused.”

I fell backward on my bed and caught my reflection looking back at me on the ceiling. I pointed and told myself, “You’d better find a lot to laugh about tonight.”

Ameera smiled.

29

“Hey, Kat, mind if I sit here?” Lara asked. Her bikini peeked out from under a sparkly cover-up.

“Not a bit,” I said, applying sunscreen.

“By the way, I was impressed at how well you know my dance,” she said.

“Aw, thanks,” I said. “It’s helped practicing several days in a row. It’s a pretty dance.”

Lara picked her chair up and set it in line with the morning sun. “I’m glad the troupe hasn’t already done a show. Can’t wait to meet the students.”

“Most of them stay over on the Nude side and bring the clothing-optional option to class. Be careful who you stand behind when we bend and stretch.” Lara lowered her sunglasses and laughed. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.

“If we can bring some prettiness and joy to Hedonism, we’ll have demonstrated that our mission statement works,” Lara said.

Jennifer arrived with Melody with Denise and Kelly right behind them. Ruth and Sybil floated in the bay. Everyone rearranged their chairs so we could visit. Polly wandered up, patted my head, and joined our circle. Before Jennifer sat, she waved at Sybil and Ruth. They waved an invitation to join them in the surf. Jennifer responded with a hand signal that indicated she would—in a while.

“Hey, Kelly. How’re you doing on your doctorate?” Lara asked.

“Love our boss,” Kelly said. “I’m learning so much about research on MS, but I hate putting the mice down. Denise does it for me.”

Denise nodded and smiled.

Instantly, I felt sorry for the cute, little white mice. I didn’t even like killing a palmetto bug—Charleston’s nice word for a huge roach.

“I hope we’ll find a cure for MS,” Kelly said. “At least the mice have a glorious destiny.” I silently wished it were good for everyone . . . including the mice. It was ironic that Kelly could infect, operate on them, and treat them but not put the mice down.

“So tell us about your new guy,” I prodded Lara.

“As I told you, we met on a blind date,” Lara said.

“What did y’all do?” Kelly asked. “I’m always interested in what a guy decides to do on a first date.”

“We doubled with my friend and her boyfriend,” Lara said. “I didn’t want him to pick me up until I’d met him at least once. Four dozen wings and a couple of cold beers later, I hopped on the back of his bike and we headed out to hear Johnny Mac play at The Dollar.”

“What’s he like?” I asked.

“I love a bad boy,” Lara confessed. “He’s got a black ponytail and beard and wears biker clothes. He’s nice looking. He’s in good shape . . . just a simple, pleasant country boy.”

“So he looks like a bad boy but he’s a gentleman?” I asked.

“Manners and a job!” Lara gave a thumbs-up.

“I met them for dinner before we left for Jamaica,” Jennifer broke in. “Seems like a really nice guy. Kinda quiet.”

“I’m hopping in the water,” Polly announced suddenly, grabbing her float.

“Sounds like a plan,” Melody agreed. She also grabbed a float and trotted after Polly. There was a lightness in Melody I hadn’t seen all week.

I looked at the water and shuddered. The chairs emptied one by one. Kelly belted the last of her beer and waded toward Sybil.

“Coming, Kat?” Jennifer asked. She adjusted her straw cowboy hat. Lara stood and waited.

“Couldn’t stand missing the stories,” I said, picking up my float and cringing at the idea of getting wet. Nevertheless, I settled into the watery round-robin.

“What were you talking about earlier?” Sybil asked Lara. “Anything juicy?”

“My hunk-a, hunk-a burning love,” Lara sang. We all smiled. “I might be off the market!”

“One Forte off the market, one Forte back on it,” Jennifer said. “Dating at this age sucks.”

“Dating at any age sucks,” Kelly added. “I just make it simple: bald men only.”

“What’s your worst dating story?” Sybil asked, looking at Denise.

Denise sorted through mental files. “That’s a tough one. Can’t decide between the drunk Arab or the date with my Bible college music director.” She pretended to flip a coin. “Okay. I was a wallflower in high school,” she said. “My parents agreed to let me go to college if I went to a Baptist college. In my junior year, the music director asked me out. I was flattered. I didn’t date that often, so, of course, I accepted. I dressed up, put on my best jewelry, and waited in the dormitory lobby for him. When he picked me up, he informed me we were going to a movie. He didn’t even offer me dinner. Why wouldn’t I trust a Bible college music director?” She looked at us for some feedback.

I shrugged. I had my own church stories, but I’d refused to let religious institutions spoil my own solace in faith.

“He took us to a drive-in movie, paid for two, and searched the rows for a speaker spot,” she said. “The film was X-rated. I didn’t know what to say. After he set the speaker on the window, he proceeded to make the front seat a snuggly couch, anticipating my participation. I kept trying to find delicate ways of dismissing him. After the show started, he tried to make more advances and I resisted with all my Southern girl training. He finally got the message. We left the drive-in. As he dropped me off at the dorm, he asked if I would not share with anyone about our date.”

“You’re kidding?” Kelly responded—a genuine, dumbfounded reaction.

“True,” Denise said. “I didn’t date much in high school because most of the guys were afraid of my dad. I was so grateful someone had asked me out.”

“I hope you got a good grade that semester,” Jennifer said.

We smiled but sympathized with her humiliation.

Sybil broke our contemplative mood. “Lara? What about you?”

“It’s another blind-date story. After high school, I had a friend in New York beg me to meet her friend from New Jersey. He was a used car salesman.” Most of us groaned. “After the date, I agreed to buy a car from him. It turned out to be a lemon.”

“Surprise!” Jennifer said.

Lara shoved her and continued. “I called him and wanted to return it, but I had to drive it back to New Jersey. After I drove over, he agreed to give me transportation home. As we headed back, he asked if I’d like to stop and have a drink. Two bars later, we had a shooter but I had to go to the restroom. The ladies’ room was occupied, so I went into the men’s. As I finished and was about to leave, some guy walked in and started a conversation with me while I was washing my hands. I was polite and had a casual conversation with him. When I returned to our spot at the bar, the bartender informed me my ride had left . . . in a huff.”

“He thought she was fooling around in the bathroom,” Jennifer finished the story.

“I should’ve paid attention to the number of gold chains on his neck and wrist,” Lara said, laughing and shaking her head.

“Thank God for the 1980s,” Polly added. “Gold chains, big hair, and MTV videos.” Most of the group high-fived each other.

“Jennifer, do you have a bad date story?” Sybil asked. I stared at my girl crush and couldn’t imagine her falling for anyone substandard.

Jennifer stared at the water for a moment. “I can’t give you bad date stories, but does what my ex did to me count?” Silence sent mountains of permission. “I met him at a concert and we hooked up. After only a few months, he begged me to marry him. We had a civil ceremony . . . against my family’s wishes. For our honeymoon, we traveled to Hawaii. Our sexual relationship was strained and I tried to be patient with him. We moved to Charleston near my relocated family. Last year, he announced he was going to Myrtle Beach with a friend for a guys’ weekend. I was cool with that,” she said, paused, and took a deep breath.

“I was already on guard because of his cold physical responses, but after that weekend . . . I was doing laundry,” she continued. “As I checked his pants pockets, I pulled out two receipts to a gay club. Between his physical rejections and my ridiculous efforts to repair the relationship faults, I finally felt free. I feel free.”

She sent me back to my first marriage delusions. I knew the coldness she spoke of. The appearance of a storybook romance but inside the walls, a battle for superiority.

“I’m so proud of you for cutting that off,” Sybil said. Several nodded agreement.

“I’m not sorry about walking out,” Jennifer said. “Y’all have no idea how much Massi encouraged me to embrace myself. I don’t need a man, but it’s okay to realize I may like one. Or I can be without one.”

“Melody, your worst date?”

I watched Melody melt into past memories. “Dating sucks, especially in our late thirties with children,” she said. “I’ve told you—I attract weird guys.”

“But you’re a beautiful woman,” Denise said.

Melody smiled gratefully. “I was a wallflower my entire life,” she said. “Very few guys asked me out; if they did, it was so unusual that I went out with them. I was in my late teens when this geeky guy asked me out and picked me up. He’d been building up our date for weeks to his peers. As we sped down the interstate, he gunned the car several times like he was sending me signals he was the man. I second-guessed agreeing to go to his uncle’s country cabin. He told me he wanted to give me a Christmas present.” She paused.

“We got to the cabin. He had a photo of us in a frame and a piggy bank beside it. He acted like these had something to do with us. I stared at them and didn’t get it. He asked me to freshen up. Said that when I returned to the den, he’d have the fireplace roaring. I played along. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. As I walked downstairs, I saw him standing there with a red bow . . . on his . . .”

“What’d you do?” Ruth asked.

“I took the high road and thanked him for his creativity,” she said. “He insisted I take the gifts. I shook that bank for years. Why’d he give me an empty piggy bank?” she asked. “I told you . . . I attract really strange guys.”

“But, Melody, your hubby’s adorable,” Denise contributed.

“He’s amazing,” Melody agreed. “I pinch myself, wondering how I got so lucky.”

“Kat, your worst date?” Sybil asked.

I filed through the high school dates . . . nonexistent. First marriage? A nonissue. Pre-remarriage dates? Wow—there were tons. One stood out that wasn’t about Steve. My sense of humor kicked in.

“After my divorce, my girlfriend dubbed me a country mouse that needed to be exposed to Charleston by a city mouse—her,” I said. “One night she dragged me down to a place on Market Street. As we hung out, she held court with all of the young guys. A short guy approached me, trying to appeal to me with an offer to teach me golf. I’m good at putting, but I find golf very boring.”

“Not my cup of tea either,” Polly agreed.