Saturday Morning
My Apartment
Coffee.
I reached out and banged on the top of my alarm. My hand fell from the clock to the floor.
Coooofffffeeeee.
Twinkles’s warm breath was on my hand, his wet nose snuffled into my palm. No treats there, sorry buddy.
I edged my toes toward the side of the bed and let gravity pull my foot over until my leg draped to the floor.
One hand, one foot. It was progress.
This was not my usual schedule. My body didn’t understand what being awake at six thirty in the morning could mean. “No,” my brain yelled at me, “we wake up for lunch. We work until three in the morning. We go to sleep at four. We get up at noon.”
I pried one eye open.
It was still dark out.
The freaking birds weren’t even up yet.
Well, I actually had no idea about that. The birds had all migrated south. But I could imagine them all snuggled up in their cozy little nests.
I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, only to be double jarred awake when the alarm went off again. And this time, it rolled away.
Darn it, Connor!
This was Connor’s idea of a joke. He’d bought me an alarm clock that allowed me to snooze for five minutes, but if I pressed the snooze button it would punish me. The alarm sounded at twice the volume. And if that weren’t bad enough, it had a cyborg brain. And wheels.
Big off-road battle wheels.
It rolled off my bedside table, making Twinkles jump back with a yip.
Once it hit the ground, its little cyborg brain scanned for an opening, aimed, then rolled out of my room getting louder, and louder, and louder.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Came Mr. Jenkins who lived above me, banging on his floor/my ceiling.
“Sorry!” I called upward as I scrambled around trying to untangle myself from my covers.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Came the broom handle below me from Amy Bowling’s.
“Sorry!” I called again, throwing myself from the bed, my legs still tangled in the sheet, forcing me to combat crawl after the alarm.
I stretched out my hand to slap the stop button, but the cyborg eye rotated toward me. Bleep. Bleep. Whir. The alarm clock edged just out of reach of my fingers. I dragged myself in its direction. Reached. Slapped. Missed!
Flipping over on my back, I kicked at the sheet to get my legs free. Rolling back to my stomach, I pressed my hands onto the floor in a downward dog, trying to get to my feet.
Twinkles came barreling out of my room, boom! right into me, bringing the full weight and momentum of a hundred and forty-two pounds of too many cardiac burgers and too many naps against my still sleep-dazed body.
Floop.
I was on my belly with Twinkles posting his front paws on my lower back. Dripping excited drool onto my skin where my T-shirt had edged up.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Came from above and below at the same time.
“Sorry!”
I pointed toward the alarm clock. “Get it, Twinkles. Bring it here!”
I thought the alarm’s movement would be an enticement, and he’d fetch it like a ball.
But the alarm − still emitting its high-pitched emergency sounds − stood perfectly still.
I waved my hand, hoping it would move, and Twinkles would grab it, shake it, and destroy it. As soon as peace returned, I’d need to find a way to get back at − I mean − thank Connor for his kindness in finding a way to get me out of bed after only a few hours’ sleep.
Though the reason for going to sleep so late still put a smile on my lips − thank you Officer Goodman.
But that didn’t mean this wasn’t a terrible way to start my day.
The cyborg eye turned slowly to face Twinkles and me.
I felt Twinkles’s body clench.
Ruh roh
The alarm rolled back and forth, back and forth as if it were gathering momentum, then launched at Twinkles.
Twinkles leapt in one single bound up in the air and landed on my sofa. Climbed up on the back and pretended like he was a throw blanket.
I swear the alarm laughed.
It spun on me.
Bang! Bang! BANG! Came from above and below.
“Sorry!” I pushed to my knees then did a full-body lunge. I was able to get the thing beneath me. I reached under my stomach, flipped the clock over, and yanked out the battery.
Quiet filled my apartment.
I rolled over on my back, panting.
Well, I’m up.
Bang! Bang! Bang! This time it came from my front door.
My neighbors.
I frowned as I climbed to my feet. It was rude of me to wake them on a Saturday. I scooted toward the door, bracing myself for the tongue lashing that I richly deserved.
With a contritely bowed head, I swung the door open.
“Look at you! All crazy haired, wild-eyed, and bushy tailed!” Delight said as she walked in. “You’re a hot mess. Do all white chicks look like they wrestled a pack of wild dogs when they get up in the morning?”
“No,” I grumped. “That would just be me.”
“I came right over after I got up. I didn’t even stop for coffee.” She bustled into my kitchen and looked around. “You didn’t make the coffee.”
I lifted a hand and let it fall, feeling defeated.
“You go on now.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “A shower might help. Might not. But you’ve got to do something about that hair. And the sour-look on your face. That’s not a good wench-look. You have to have a nice smile and a come-hither look in your eye, if you see what I’m saying. You show up at the whiskey booth looking like you’ve been fornicating with the Tasmanian Devil, everyone’s gonna give you a wide berth. No one’s gonna drink your booze, which would be a shame for all the police families who would then have to do without the assistance we’re trying to raise for them.”
I pushed some of my hair mop out of my eyes.
“And while you’re in there, I’ll make us some coffee up. Get some breakfast going.”
I slogged off. Good luck on the breakfast thingy. I thought that all I had in the apartment was a half jar of olives in the fridge and maybe some crumbs from the cheese crackers in the bottom of a box in the back of the pantry.
Better, I thought swiping at the steamy mirror. There was the aroma of coffee in the air and it had an amazing calming effect. I had decided not to throttle Connor. When he’d bought me the clock, it was so I wouldn’t miss a court appearance. I was afraid, having to get up in the wee hours of the morning, that I would sleep right through a normal alarm. Connor was on duty that day and couldn’t make sure I was up. If I missed court, the judge would rule in favor of Nicky Stromboli. I could very well have lost my ABC license, and potentially had to close the bar. Connor had bought the alarm to save me. He loved me. He didn’t deserve the amount of venom I had been lobbing his way for the first five minutes of my shower. Hopefully, none of the bad juju travelled the air waves out to reach him. Hopefully, it had all washed down the drain with the hot water.
I dried my hair and wrapped the sections up in curlers, pulled on a thick terry robe in a serene lavender color, and made my way toward a coffee mug.
There stood Delight in her wench’s dress. An apron was tied around her waist, and her boobs spilled copiously from the neck-line. Heck, Delight had better cleavage than I did. My focus travelled to the stove top.
“Looky here, I’m making us up some stamina food. I’ve got us some bacon and eggs, grits with red-eyed gravy, and the biscuits are about ready to come out of the oven.”
I blinked away my confusion and opened my fridge.
Empty − except for the half jar of olives.
I closed the door.
I looked at the stove as Delight peeked into the oven. “Perfectly browned.” She slid on a pair of oven mitts and pulled out the tray.
“I…” I scratched under one of my hot rollers, where it was burning the top of
my ear. “Did you bring this with you?”
“Me? No. Two of your neighbors were banging on the door after you went to clean up. I’ll tell you, they looked about the same state you were in, all bug-eyed and hair-sticky-outy. I’ve never woken up next to a white person before. I’m surprised that you all can stay together seeing yourselves like that. I mean damn.” She pursed her lips for emphasis. “But I guess you’re used to it − you just have to close your eyes from the time you get out of bed until someone has a chance to get into a bathroom and transform into a butterfly.” She gestured toward my robe.
“Anyways,” she said, reaching for a plate. “I asked your neighbors if I couldn’t get some food for you. That you were probably in a bad mood when I got here because all you had to eat was olives and cracker crumbs. They told me if I’d keep you quiet, I could have whatever I wanted. So I went up and helped myself.”
Huh.
Well, who was I to complain about the generosity of my neighbors?
Delight was arranging the food on a plate and handed it to me. I put it on the counter and poured kibble into Twinkles’s bowl. He was still pretending to be a blanket on the back of the couch as I sat down to dig in.
The first bite made me groan. Oh, so good! I shoveled up two more bites as Delight came to sit next to me.
“I’ve got your costume done up. I’ll show you as soon as we’re done eating,” she said. “I think you’re gonna like it.”
8
Saturday Morning
My Apartment
“Ah, Delight?” I called from the bathroom. “I’m…I can’t…” Maybe it was the second helping of biscuits and gravy…
She opened the door to find me red faced and struggling.
“You need a hand?” she asked.
“I think I need a few more inches of fabric, to be honest,” I said, as I released the zipper and turned to face her. “It’s so beautiful. Your workmanship is really lovely, but it just doesn’t fit.” I’d wear a pair of jeans and a bar-logo t-shirt instead.
“What do you mean it doesn’t fit. I can see from here,” she said from the doorway, “it fits just fine. The problem is, you’re breathing wrong.”
I blinked. What?
She took a step forward. “Yeah, just look at you putting all of that air up there in your chest.”
“But that’s where my lungs are.”
“Didn’t you ever hear about belly breathing? Breathe into your diaphragm. That way, the bodice can, you know, squish any extra fat upward and fill out your boobies.”
“I have extra fat?”
“Well, you’re skinny as a chicken bone, but if you’ve got any fat to use, I wanted to make sure I have use of it.”
“By squishing it upward, by making the dress tighter than a sausage casing?”
“You’ve got bangers on the brain.” She tsked. “I made sure there was plenty of room in the belly area, by the way, so you could eat your fill. The tight stops once it hits your belly button. Now turn yourself around, and we’ll get you zipped up.”
I knew it was going to be impossible, but Delight had gone through all this trouble, so I’d just let her see for herself.
“All right now, here’s what you do,” Delight said. “Take a deep breath and suck in your belly.”
The belly part hadn’t been a problem, it was my rib cage. I sucked in some air and held my stomach as flat as I could.
Delight zipped.
“Okay now, I just hook this here hook and that way the zipper can’t slip down. Oh, you can breathe out now.”
I released the breath.
“Yes indeed, this is plenty big,” she said. “We just have to move some of your skin out of the way. Don’t mind me.” She reached down the front of my dress and pushed and pulled my skin around. “Hold it there, that’ll get the next hook done.”
I held very still, hearing the zipper budge up another couple of inches. “Okay this is the third we’re aiming for.”
Okay, third one. This was the one where she’d discover that I had a skeletal structure. Then she’d unzip, and I could breathe.
“Now, this is real simple when I say go, you exhale all your air in one big burst like your blowing out all the candles on your birthday cake. And when you get them all blown out, you get you a nice prize, see? And at the same time, you need to squeeze your ribcage together.”
My eyes got a little buggy.
Delight focused on the mirror.“I see that look you’re giving me. You don’t believe it’ll work. But I do this all the time when I’m competing. Just look at me in my dress. See all this wonderful cleavage? Not a bit of it is real. I’m as flat-chested as a boy. But this dress design really gives a girl her powers of persuasion.”
I knew it wasn’t going to work, so I just did as I was told. I pretended that there was a delicious birthday cake in front of me with all twenty-two candles blazing. Then I blew hard and squished my ribs with my hands.
ZIP.
I couldn’t believe it.
She got the zipper to the next hook.
I grabbed hold of the sink, so I didn’t pass out.
“Last one,” she said.
“Could we just leave it there? Do we have to do it all the way up to the top?”
“This last bit makes the girls pop. Besides, if you don’t zip your dress all the way up, it looks like your dress doesn’t fit right, and I made this dress exactly perfect for you. You’ll see.”
I did little goldfish breaths, hoping that speed over volume would get enough oxygen in me that I didn’t die.
“Last step. You put your hands together over your head like you’re diving and arch back, yup, just like you’re going to dive into a big old lake. See how that moves your shoulders and your shoulder bones in small? And here we go, three, two, one.”
ZIP!
“All hooked up. You can put your arms down now.” She turned me around and forced her hand down in my bodice a bit to get my girls more symmetrical.
It reminded me of the time when I tried to get on that really tight pair of jeans from high school that I thought I might still fit into. I started on the ground on my back, rolling from side to side as I yanked, then finally crab walked my hands up the wall to get myself vertical, so I could use gravity to hold my body down while I hiked the jeans up with the belt loops. After a good twenty minutes of torture, I’d finally had them around my waist and shambled into my living room where I did a back bend over the sofa arm to stretch my belly as long and thin as I could in order to do up the button and pull up the zipper.
Inevitably, when I came back upright, I’d discovered how badly I needed to pee. It was all that compression. Yes, I risked a kidney infection to hold my bladder because, the cotton in the jeans needed some time to release and stretch. And also, I didn’t have another forty-five minutes to get the jeans back down and up again.
Stupid, I knew.
Delight was right, though, about my body conforming. I could feel my stomach expanding under the full skirt that she’d designed. I thought probably all of my intestines had squished down toward my nether regions. I remembered pictures I’d seen of where the Victorian women’s organs were displaced from wearing their corsets. I hoped a kidney didn’t come shooting out of there and plop on the ground as I walked along.
“You okay?” Delight asked.
I nodded my head vigorously.
“You don’t look okay,” she said. “I’m going to give you a moment to acclimate while I go get your bustier and sash. Just look at your boobies spilling out of the top of that dress. That’s a good look on you. You should consider wearing something like this more often.
I nodded my head vigorously.
I honestly didn’t think there was enough air in my body to form words. Or enough oxygen to form complete thoughts for that matter.
When I turned back to the mirror, I saw Delight’s beaming reflection. She was proud and happy with her costume creation. If I made her get me out of this thing, she’d be so disappoin
ted.
I could probably deal with this for an hour, maybe two. I’d just pack a pair of yoga pants, a bar t-shirt, and a nice, roomy, comfy hoody to change into.
It would be okay.
Sure, it would.
Delight moved out of the bathroom, and I texted Kay:
If I die, please know that I loved you very much. I trust you to take good care of Twinkles. Tell Connor he can have his half jar of olives he left in my fridge. Good-bye.
9
Saturday Morning
The Celtic Festival
Delight followed me as we drove to Victory Fields where the Celtic Festival took place each year. The rain over the last few days made the ground soft and gooshy under foot.
I was wearing my wellies under the voluminous skirt of my wench’s get-up. I’d lifted the sides of the dress and stuffed them under my bustier so that the hem didn’t drag in the mud, sipping water up the fibers and making the dress heavy and cold. It was already a miserable experience. I didn’t need to add anything to it.
The wool in the cloth was a nice tight weave, and where it covered me, I was both toasty warm and horrendously itchy. There was a lot of me left uncovered, from nipplage to hairline.
I had planned to tuck Dick’s recorder in my bra. But no bra fit under this dress. Luckily, I discovered it had pockets. They were deep enough to put my phone, my wallet, my car keys, and the recorder. But, I couldn’t imagine Sal going to the Celtic Festival.
I found Kay standing outside of my tent in her feis dress and rain boots.
Though it was now fashionable to dance in cupcake skirts that looked like the dresses that were worn in children’s beauty pageants, Kay stuck to the simplicity of her dance school uniform, a red velvet dress with a stiff standy-out triangular skirt. It was embroidered with a scene of St. Patrick ridding the Emerald Isle of snakes, from modest jewel collar to the hem − exactly the length of her hands. It looked like a stained-glass window. In the sleeve, there was a tiny medal that was blessed by the Pope. Kay thought that gave her the good juju she needed for her bird leaps and Gini kicks. I thought it was hard work and decades of training that provided the good juju − but whatever.
If You See Kay Jig Page 6