Home > Kittenfish(4)

Kittenfish(4)
Author: Brenda Lowder

A tear gathers at the corner of her eyes, and she squeezes my hands. “I’m just so glad you’re getting the chance to get married.”

“Um, thank you.” All my middle school insecurity creeps back over me and puts its feet up, making itself at home. Did Mrs. Hobbes think I was so ugly and nerdy and unlovable that I would never marry?

She pulls a handkerchief from her purse and sniffles into it. My podiatrist approaches on the left and pats my arm as she tells me I’m very brave.

I catch sight of Blaire skulking in front of the buffet table, watching me, and make a beeline for her. I step a little too close. I want her attention and I don’t want any of my now-sobbing friends and teachers to overhear. “Blaire? How did you get everybody to come tonight?”

She shrugs. “They wanted to come.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Why?”

She sighs as if she’s never had a friend who was as much trouble as I am. I could tell her the feeling is mutual.

“I may have told them if they wanted to see you, they’d need to hurry because you were running out of time.”

I stare at her, coming up blank. “Running out of time for what?”

She lifts her fingernails and scrutinizes them with far too much interest. “Just that life is short.” She lowers her voice so I can barely hear her over the music and conversation. “And yours might be shorter than most.”

I put my hand on her arm as my gut drops in horror. “Did you tell people I’m dying?”

She reels back and musters a pained expression. “No! Of course not.” I take a relieved breath, but unfortunately she goes on. “But you know how you’re going to be so much less fun once you become Mrs. Liam Hudson? I just told them time was running out to see you and talk to you while you’re still, you know, enough of yourself to care. And they may have taken that more literally than I intended.”

“Oh my gosh. You told people I’m dying.” I put a hand to my head where the ache is gathering force. “I’m going to kill you.”

She folds her arms and sticks her chin out. “What? If people made mistaken inferences about your quality of life and its duration from what I said, that’s their problem.”

“No! It’s mine.” My heart squeezes with shame, and I want to hide under a table just thinking of all of the awkward conversations I’ll need to have in order to fix this. “All these people. My teachers. Sunday school people. Blaire.” I shake my head, unable to articulate further.

She waves a hand and deliberately misunderstands me. “Yes, yes, it’s just wonderful seeing all these faces from your past.”

“Why? Why invite people who wouldn’t want to come?”

Her bottom lip folds over with a pout. “You don’t have that many friends. I had to dig up all of them to fill the room.”

“Oh, Blaire.” I don’t even know where to start the lecture she needs. Before I can begin, she huffs impatiently.

“You can thank me later. What are we going to do about the stripper?”

I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

“We hired Alec to dance for us.” She gestures around the room. Alec is over to the right talking to Mrs. Hobbes, who’s ogling him in appreciation. I shudder.

“But you’re not going to have him dance for us now, are you? That’s way too awkward.” I chew on my thumbnail.

“That’s my point. You went and made friends with him and now it’s much harder to use him as a sexual object.”

“Alec and I were already friends, and maybe it’s not a bad thing if he loses his sexual object-ness.”

She glares at me and taps her foot. “Oh, it is. It’s a very bad thing.”

“Sorry, Blaire. I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“You won’t let Alec perform?”

I shake my head. “I really don’t want him to. It’s a bit icky, you know? Besides, you and Kya have thrown such a…nice…party with all of these people that I’m having a really great time just doing this.” I can spare my guests the embarrassment of a private stripper, and I need some time to reassure all of them I’m not dying. I pat Blaire’s arm. Her heart was in the right place, sort of. She seems to soften a bit. “Thanks for this, Blaire. Really.”

She sighs. “Oh, all right. I’ll let Alec off the hook.”

“Thank you.”

She grunts at me and stalks off. I know she’s unhappy with the turn of tonight’s events, but I’m not. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing than watching a stripper perform while in my present company.

The room goes dark and the music stops. Kya’s voice booms over the microphone. “Ladies and ladies! Would you all please put your hands together for the fantastic Magic Matt!”

Lights come up on a small stage I hadn’t noticed before in the back, really just a raised platform with track lights directed at it. The song “Welcome to the Jungle” blares over the speakers. Onstage, already performing, is someone whose presence commands attention.

Magic Matt is perhaps the most unattractive stripper I’ve ever seen. Granted, my experience is limited. Limited mainly to tonight and the occasional TV show or movie. But Magic Matt is seriously lacking some magic.

Packed into a tiny leopard-print G-string, his doughy white flesh overflows his costume in rounded waves. He rolls his hips, and the resulting undulations ripple from one side of him to the other. He puts his hands behind his head and thrusts his pelvis forward. Mrs. Hobbes gasps and clutches the wall. I don’t know if it’s because he’s not very fit, or because he might bear a resemblance to the ordinary men in our lives, but Magic Matt’s act is uncomfortable to watch. He is neither Chip nor Dale. I want to grab an overcoat and storm the stage and tell him, “Hey, sweetie, you don’t have to do this. The money’s not worth it.” And really, how much money could he be making? He can’t be in high demand. Especially when compared to Alec, who—though I shouldn’t have noticed since he’s my friend—really has it going on.

That’s when it dawns on me. We turned down Alec, so we got Leftover Stripper.

Poor Magic Matt.

“Marissa?”

Kya is calling my name over the speakers. I hunch my shoulders and back away as if I could disappear in the crowd.

“Marissa! Hey, everybody, let’s get the party girl up here.”

My many friends in the room applaud, and a few reach out and propel me forward, laughing, until Blaire is by my side practically forcing me to get up onstage.

“Really, I’m okay!” I say, still trying to escape.

Blaire laughs. “This is what you get, hon, when you turn down the hottie!” Silly me for thinking I’d just get no stripper. “Now get on up there and give us a show.”

She pushes me up onto the little stage, and suddenly I’m in Magic Matt’s tractor beam. His eyes lock with mine, and he pulls his brown feather boa around himself and then tosses it out so it lassoes me.

The crowd oohs and aahs. I have no doubt it’s Blaire trying to fan up some excitement for this little debacle.

Magic Matt shimmies his shoulders back and forth in front of me, his belly shaking with the rhythm. My face on fire, I turn to get away, but he follows me, staying in my line of sight. He rubs up against me suggestively, and the partygoers hoot and holler for more. I guess no one wants to see a sad, chubby guy dancing onstage alone, but if he’s succeeding in embarrassing me it makes for good entertainment. In my peripheral vision, I can almost see how red my face is getting. But if it’s making the crowd happy, I’m game. I smile and wave my arm in the air like I’m holding my own lasso, and my friends laugh and clap for me. Sad Magic Matt’s eyes light up, and he canters around me like he’s riding a horse.

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