by Daphne Lamb
“Thank god,” I said. “I was concerned we’d be setting feminism back a peg.”
“Okay.” Rachel nodded. “But no one wants to tell Robert. It might hurt his feelings.”
“I get it,” I said. “No one likes to hear no, but if you appeal to his sense of logic, he’ll get over it eventually.”
“Exactly,” she said. “That’s why we thought you should be the one to tell him.”
I sighed. “Me? Why me?”
“It’ll be one of those feminist things that you really like to do,” she said.
“You don’t enjoy women’s rights?” I asked. “What woman doesn’t enjoy that?”
“Meh.” She was clearly bored by the subject. “Who has the time, you know?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I gave up.
On the onset, I was dead against stripping for money. End of the world or not, I still had morals and I was not going to shame my mother, wherever she might be. I decided I would only say something when he inevitably asked me my opinion. Unfortunately, he never asked me. I waited and waited, watched in judgment as Robert’s wives made homemade costumes and put together talent acts with the minimal amounts of talent they possessed. It was just going to take too much effort, so I let it be.
I marched into Robert’s office, which was just the section with kids’ furniture.
“Robert, we need to talk.”
He sat up in a baseball themed bunk bed.
“What now?” He sighed.
“The girls will come out, but we’re not taking our clothes off.”
He frowned and folded his arms. “Who’s we?” he asked. “You’re not getting ideas, are you? I don’t know if we can afford to lose money if you’re up there.”
“I’m going to ignore that comment,” I said. “But the bigger issue is that no one wants to do it. So we’re doing a variety show, even though some of us aren’t convinced that there’s a lot of talent here.”
“Fine,” he said testily. “If that model doesn’t work, then I’m taking in women who will.”
“Respectful as always.”
“What about you?”
“I thought you said no one wanted to see,” I gestured to my entire body, “this.”
“I stand by that,” he said. “I just need to know what you’re contributing.”
“I’ll count money,” I said. “I’ll schedule acts. You sit here and continue to brainstorm bad ideas.”
I volunteered to set up a meeting room with a schedule for all the women, and that seemed to get him excited. He asked me to do inventory, and that’s when I realized that there would be some things that weren’t going to change anytime soon.
We were getting all kinds of things as trade—iPods that didn’t work, shoes, Wheat Thins, books, action figures, weapons, drugs, etc. Robert just took anything, but after a while I had to put a stop to it.
“Listen,” I said to him after one night as someone had used a broken belt in exchange for admission. “We’re getting a lot of junk here. We’ve got to crack down and start asking for things that are actually useful.”
Rebecca shrugged as she tried to play off her defensiveness. “You didn’t say what I could take.”
She then burst into tears and ran off.
“Honey bunches of oats, no!” he said, running after her. “Come back!”
After that, Robert weirdly agreed and we set up a new system. We took things like weapons, gallon jugs of water, tools for trade and some harder drugs, which I didn’t even want to touch. Some of the girls set up their own bartering system for private entertainment, which ended up being one-on-one conversation behind the aisle of feminine products. It turned out that most men were just really lonely, and the women seemed pretty keen on copies of Twilight books and bottles of perfume.
As much as the feminist in me disagreed with the business, it was doing well, and I was pretty proud of how our hard work was paying off.
Most were still afraid of me, but I helped barter for better things. One night a guy tried to grab one of the new girls to kidnap her. So I snapped to action, and by snapped to action I mean, I first ordered Joaquin to take him down, which wasn’t easy, given that he had downed an entire can of spray cheese and had fallen asleep immediately after. When that got me nowhere, I ran after him, brandishing a defunct fire extinguisher. The scruffy-looking vagrant was in the parking lot with the struggling girl, set and ready to cram her into his Kia Sorrento when I called out.
“Hey!” I shouted.
I swung and missed, but it was enough to strike fear in his heart. His eyes widened and his arms immediately let go of the girl, who fell to the ground, whimpering. He put up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, man,” he said. “I thought she wanted to come home with me.”
He backed away as I came at him again with the extinguisher. I felt real power, which charged through my veins like an adrenaline rush.
“Do I come to your house and take your stuff?” I asked.
He opened the door to his car. “Look, help yourself to whatever you want,” he said. “I got a box of envelopes, some pens, a stuffed animal. I think it’s a squirrel.”
I looked down at the girl.
“You want to go home with him?”
She shook her head. “He was talking to me, and I didn’t want to be rude, so I let him carry me out—”
I held up my hand. “Sir—”
The man ducked into his car and started the engine. I didn’t think anything of the incident until Rebecca approached me one morning and sat.
“I have to tell you something,” she said. “A lot of the girls agree. You did a great thing last night, and we really appreciate you looking out for us.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”
“I have something for you,” she said. “We all picked it out together.”
She handed me a package wrapped in used paper towels. Inside was a green hoodie, something I had been sleeping on for the past few months.
“Oh, how nice,” I said and smiled too broadly.
Rebecca beamed. “You’re so welcome. You look great in that color.”
“That’s really generous,” I said. “I’ll probably keep it with that stack of hoodies I sleep with every night.”
She beamed and went to get up, but stopped.
“One last thing,” she said. “Maritza is pregnant and her water broke. You should probably do something about that.”
She left. I turned after her. “Wait, what?”
Maritza, as it turned out, was the third wife to join about a week prior and had originally been married to a bank manager months before. The Apocalypse happened while he was on a business trip to Minneapolis and she felt that was that. Then she met Robert during a seminar on productivity outside an abandoned RV where she lived with a gang of teenage girls called the Twerknuts. His message enchanted her so much she said her goodbyes and followed him to Costco where she hid under as many layers as she could to hide the fact she was about to pop. She made for a terrible dancer, especially to any song by Nicki Minaj, but at least it now made sense.
I rushed off to mention it to Robert, who rubbed his chin, trying to hide the look of disgust. He had now reverted to wearing robes with nothing underneath. Sometimes he tied the belt around his waist. Sometimes he didn’t and would let nature do what it wanted.
“What are we supposed to do with that?” he asked. “We can’t have a baby in here.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised this place hasn’t become overrun with desperate, pregnant women already,” I said. “Is there any way we can take medical advice as payment tonight?”
“Nah,” he said. “Be serious.”
“You’re running a business,” I said. “In a time of no jurisdiction. I’ve had to stop eight kidnapping attempts, and spearhead a safer
self-defense workshop. I agree. Babies shouldn’t be here, but that’s about to change whether you like it or not.”
“Ask Joaquin,” he said. “Make him do it.”
“That guy is useless,” I said. “Which reminds me, that guy can’t be eating all that processed cheese. He’s going to wipe out the limited plumbing we do have.”
“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked.
“Burn all the dairy products,” I said. “Anything that still exists at this point is going to do nothing but damage to anyone, anyway.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” he snapped. “What about Maritza? We can’t have a baby here!” He lowered his voice. “Do you think we should have a baby raffle for our customers?”
I raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and he nodded in agreement.
“So you agree?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said. “Terrible idea.”
“Well, he can’t wait tables now, can he?”
“Look,” I said. “Rebecca was working as a nurse at the quarantine. And you’re telling me she knew absolutely nothing? She did give me a shot of something that surprisingly did not kill me.”
Maritza cried out in labor pains.
He shuddered at the sound. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t know a lot about her background.”
“You’re married to her,” I said. “You said you felt like you’d spent ten thousand dates with her.
“Marriage can mean anything these days. And I say a lot of things I don’t mean.”
As it turns out, Rebecca knew next to nothing about Maritza’s condition.
“Isn’t there someone else that can help?” Rebecca asked, emphatically shaking her head. “Babies are cute and all, but I can’t go in there.”
“Her water broke,” I said. “She needs help. You think I know what to do?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll cheer you on, though.”
I had Maritza sit on a checkout stand with a thermometer in her mouth while I dragged Rebecca out of the toy section to see her. When I returned Maritza was crying.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “How are you feeling?”
She squealed, and then gripped my arm with talon-like fingernails.
“I don’t know why you think I know anything,” she said. “All I ever did was be an assistant manager at Sephora. Then the Incident happened and I volunteered to assist the onsite quarantine doctor because I thought it was a good place to meet men. Which it was.”
I was incredulous. “Weren’t there any pregnant women in that quarantine?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t see them if there were.”
I sighed. “How do you feel?” I asked Maritza.
Maritza smiled despite being red faced and straining. “Well,” she gritted her teeth. “It really hurts and I feel like I’m straining to throw out a pot roast.”
Her words then merged into more screams.
She pointed to the lower part of her belly. “I thought I had more time!”
“You’re soooo lucky,” Rebecca said and hoisted herself onto the stand. “I’m dying for Robert and I to start a family. The birth process is so beautiful.”
I incredulously looked at her, which she happily gave me a dirty look. I cleared my throat, putting my hands on my hips to give the impression of being in charge.
“Can you at least give her some space?” I asked.
Reluctantly, they stepped back as Maritza gasped under pressure. Rebecca sulkily slid off the counter.
“Watch her,” I said. “I’ll be looking for help.”
Costco has a book section. I thought perhaps they might have a Birthing for Dummies title, but instead, all I found was different diet books, three of them written by Dr. Phil, several Finding Your Independence books and a multitude of cookbooks. Nothing about childbirth. The book section merged into the movie section, where my eyes stopped on a special anniversary edition of Gone with the Wind. Immediately, I heard one of the characters say, “Mamma says to put a knife under the pillow to cut the pain in two.”
I ran back to where Maritza was still parked, groaning and sweating, while Rebecca now had the thermometer in her mouth while the rest of the women gathered around the scene.
“Okay,” I said. “Now if I remember my movies correctly, we need some hot water and some sheets.”
“Aisle 23,” Rebecca said. “Maybe 24.”
“Can you get them?”
She rolled her eyes.
I leaned forward and jabbed her with my finger. “You’re going to help me or I sell private dances for you in exchange for superhero shirts.”
She grimaced, but moved toward Aisle 23. In the meantime, Maritza grabbed my hand and moaned even louder. The girls gathered closer, realizing what was going on.
“Anyone know anything about this?” I asked. “Anyone want to pitch in?”
They all shook their heads, but started to chatter about every birthing story they knew.
“My friend had a baby that was born C-section and couldn’t breathe at first. It’s fine now, though.”
“My cousin, Beth, took thirty-six hours to have her baby and then it came out black. Her husband is white so that was super awkward.”
“This one girl I knew in college didn’t even know she was pregnant. She went to the bathroom at a rest stop. Next thing you know, she’s got a baby and doesn’t even remember having sex to begin with.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said. “All of this is really helpful.”
Maritza was in full-blown pain. I tried to comfort her while she screamed and helped her breath, but there was very little I could do. Eventually Rebecca returned with the water and two sets of sheets tucked under her arm.
“What took you so long?” I asked. “She’s in a lot of pain.”
“Calm down,” she said. “Besides, I discovered a whole section back there with pens and stuff.”
“How would that be helpful?”
She pulled one out. “I can write down the baby’s measurements.”
She turned to Maritza. “How you doing, doll?”
“Make it stop,” Maritza said. “Make it stop!”
The women were still loudly talking over each other, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robert slowly pass by, but then do a sharp u-turn back to the other side of the aisle.
“Hey!” I shouted.
The women immediately shut up.
“Maritza is having a baby and no one knows what they should do. If anyone has any helpful advice,” I emphasized the word “helpful,” “then I suggest you say it. Otherwise, we should probably try to keep her calm.”
One of the women raised her hand. “I heard that singing calms things down.”
“Then by all means,” I said.
I don’t know how they did it, but eventually the women decided on a song, TLC’s Waterfalls and sang the chorus about fifteen times. And it did calm Maritza down until her contractions kicked up again, and all I could think to do was instruct her to push.
“Don’t go chasing waterfalls,” they sang.
“Push, Maritza!” I said. “Push, push, push!”
The women turned into cheerleaders and started to chant. “Push, push, push!”
Three hours later, with twelve of us gathered around, I pulled Maritza’s baby boy out of her. He was a screamer, and we immediately wrapped him in a blanket, handing him off to his mother. At first, Martiza looked at it as if she held a swaddled bomb, but she slowly relaxed and beamed down at him. Unfortunately, all Rebecca could find was some gardening shears so we hacked at the umbilical cord until the kid was free.
Maritza was exhausted and the experience had drained her, so I let her pass out on that check stand while the rest of the women fawned over the baby. I was exhausted, so I collapsed onto the floor away from the mess.
; Robert eventually came around to hold him. “What are we calling him?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That should be the mother’s decision.”
He scowled slightly. “So we’re not calling him Robert Jr?”
“Ask her,” I said.
“I mean, the reason she’s here is because of me, so…”
Long story short, we called the baby Robert Jr.
The women and I were bonded now. Maritza’s birth episode drew us together, and finally, I was considered a hero, valued more than Robert the guru. I was a ringleader and giver of birth, now allowed to sit at the breakfast table, best of all, now my word meant more than Robert’s. Sort of like the time, years ago, when Robert’s assistant made a scene at the Christmas party and I drove her home. Two months later, I got negative comments on my performance reviews for having her being at my desk all the time.
One of the wives led a yoga session, which I was finally allowed to participate in, when Robert came and found me. He tapped me on the shoulder while I struggled to keep my balance during a warrior pose.
“Walk with me,” he said.
It took him a lap around the store to get his thoughts together. He frowned a lot while his open robe flared out, exposing everything.
“I have a dilemma,” he said. “And you need to make the decision on it.”
“Is it about that draft you’re undoubtedly feeling?” I asked and gestured toward his uncovered junk. “I can suggest a solution for that. Aisle 22?”
Robert waved it away. “No, no, no.”
“If this is about the smell coming from the far end of the store, I’m right there with you,” I said. “I’m not going to name names, but I will say I blame someone whose name rhymes with Joaquin.”
“Not that,” he said. “We’re running low on supplies.”
“Here?” I asked. “We just walked past an aisle that’s nothing but three-pound boxes of Splenda.”
“We can’t feed each other on Splenda and you know it,” he said. “Our customers are eating us out of house and home, and I suddenly realized it yesterday.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said. “I was trying to cut back by only offering customers Ritz crackers and hot mustard.”