Diary of a Mad Fat Girl

by Stephanie McAfee

  “I can’t believe she called me a slut!” Lilly exclaims.

  “Well, I started to agree with her,” I say, “but then I remembered I’m on ‘Team Slut Girlz’ and I’m a loyal fan.”

  “You are such an idiot,” she shakes her head. “I’ll have you a shirt made.”

  “Seriously, Lilly, I’m gonna beat the brakes off that heifer before all this is over.”

  “We should follow her home one night and jump her in her driveway.”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea!” I say. “Let’s turn around and do it tonight!”

  “We’ll definitely put that on our to-do list,” Lilly says, “but tonight we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  “I’d like to fry his ass for real,” I say and glance over at Lilly. “You don’t think we’re wasting our time following him all the way to Memphis, do you?”

  “Not if we hit up the Rum Boogie Café afterwards,” Lilly says.

  “What a fantastic idea,” I reply, “do a little stalking then cut a little rug to some blues sounds.”

  “Hell yeah,” Lilly says and we slap high five like some first class dorks.

  “Where’s that dot?”

  “Appears to be stopped at the Ladies4Gentleman Club,” she says, studying her net book. “You need to take the next exit and then it’s about three blocks west.”

  “What a surprise,” I mumble. “A titty bar.”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about this being a wasted trip.”

  When I pull into the parking lot of Ladies4Gentleman, it only takes a second to spot Richard Stacks’ shiny white Lexus because it’s parked right next the main entrance. I survey the area to make sure he’s not standing in the shadows somewhere getting his fat little weenie waxed by some random lady-for-hire. I take control of the camera because I don’t believe Lilly when she swears the flash is turned off this time for real. I get out and squat down behind his car so I can capture his personalized tag along with the neon sign above the entrance. I snap a few shots then see a gaggle of men walking toward the door so I run back to the car.

  “You wanna go in?” Lilly asks.

  “Hell no! Are you crazy?” I say and turn to snap a picture of Buster Loo standing in the back window with his face and ass both facing forward.

  “You’ve never been in a strip club before, have you?” Lilly asks, like I’m some kind of sissy.

  “No, and I don’t plan on going anytime soon,” I answer in my most puritanical tone.

  “We could dress up,” she says, “like in a disguise.”

  “With what?” I ask sarcastically. “Are you gonna tie Buster Loo up in your hair and go in as Lady GaGa’s long lost sister, Lady BuLoo?”

  “No, you moron! According to this,” she taps the small screen of her net book, “there’s a place that rents costumes just around the block.”

  “You want to go rent a costume in downtown Memphis at nine o’clock on a Saturday night?”

  “Why not?” she says. “Then we could go inside and get some real pictures.” I stare straight ahead and I can feel her staring at me. “Ace, think about it. What are we going to accomplish sitting out here in the parking lot snapping pictures of his car?”

  “What if he leaves?”

  “Well, we’ll follow him, dumbass,” she says sarcastically. “Just like we followed him up here. Now c’mon, let’s go. According to this, the store is only a quarter mile from here.”

  “I don’t know, Lilly.”

  “Ace, would you consider for one second how Chloe’s mind works? Is a nice, glossy picture of his car gonna do it? Hell, no! He can deny that all day long, but if we get a picture of him getting a lap dance, well, now that’s a little harder to explain, don’t you think?”

  “We’ve got that picture of him wearing that dog collar.”

  “Not enough,” she says, “you said that yourself!”

  “Is it worth risking our lives to try and rent a costume in this part of town?” I ask, “and what would we be? White pimps with boobs? Santa Claus and his pet clown?”

  “What? Pet clown? Hell, no!” Lilly sighs with exasperation. “We could get wigs and stuff.”

  “Oh my God, is there a drug store close by where I can pick up some lice shampoo and go ahead and massage it into my scalp?” I quip as I pull out into the traffic.

  “Oh good word!” Lilly hollers. “You can sit in the car and I’ll do this myself!”

  “Nah,” I say, like fickle child picking out a toy, “I don’t wanna sit in the car. I think I’ll try to find a Batman costume.”

  “Oh, good word,” Lilly says again. “I am going to choke you. Turn in right here.”

  “If you choke me, you don’t get to be Robin,” I say with a smirk as I pull into the parking lot of Downtown Diggs and Costume Rental. “Is this place even open this time of night?”

  “Their website says they’re open till 10 p.m.,” she looks at me. “Now move your ass, please!”

  “This place has a website?”

  “Shut up and get out of the car!”

  I get out of the car and do my best to ignore the whistles and caws wafting through the dark, humid air. Lilly struts to the door like she’s on a fashion runway and I scurry behind her like I’m on a runway, too. The runway of Memphis International Airport, that is, about to get run down by a FedEx plane.

  “Act cool,” Lilly whispers, “they can smell fear.”

  “They can smell this,” I say and pat my satchel.

  “Oh my God, don’t tell me you brought your damn gun,” she whispers and pushes the door open.

  “Hell yeah. Got her right here,” I whisper back, keeping my hand on the bulge in my bag. “Never go to Memphis without The Pink Lady.”

  “Have you ever fired that at anything besides a watermelon?”

  “Sure, I hit that fake deer in Ethan’s back yard once, why?”

  “Let’s just find a good disguise and get out of here before you get in a shoot-out with a mannequin.”

  The large lady behind the sales desk eyeballs us as we start to look around.

  “Evenin’ ladies,” she drawls. “Can I help y’all find somethin’?”

  “Just looking,” Lilly chimes. “Thanks.”

  The lady raises her eyebrows as we start browsing through a rack of black dresses. Several look like they might fit me, but even the smallest one looks twice the size of Lilly’s skinny ass.

  Something is not right.

  “Are you all sure I can’t help you?” the sales lady asks, making her way over to us. “My name is Mrs. Ella Mae,” she says and smiles a big, warm smile, “and I really think you girls could use a little assistance.” Her voice is smooth and beautiful and I start imagining her crooning old southern hymns on Beale Street.

  “Are these all plus-sizes?” I ask, holding up a dress that looks like it might fit me.

  “Sweetheart, those are men’s sizes,” she says and gives me a look of genuine sympathy. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  I stand there like a statue staring at the dress dangling from the hanger and all I can think about is that blue dress that belonged to Monica Lewinsky.

  “Well,” Lilly says, unaffected by the fact that she was just sifting through garments worn by drag queens, “we need to get in that titty bar down the road and get some pictures of our friend’s husband and we don’t want to be recognized but we don’t want to draw a lot of attention to ourselves either,” she pauses. “Do you have anything we could do that in?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Mrs. Ella Mae says, still smiling. She turns Lilly around in a circle, sizing her up. “Must be a good friend of yours to go to this kind of trouble.”

  “It is and he’s a piece of dog shit,” I offer.

  Mrs. Ella Mae laughs out loud and takes me by the hand. “Now let me see what you’re working with, sweetheart.” I turn for her and she nods her head and says, “Looks like I need a 2 long and a 16 short,” she looks back at forth between us, “that sound about
right?”

  “Sadly, yes,” I say and she laughs out loud again.

  “I like you alright, sweetie,” she says, “and I’m gonna fix you two gals up. Just take me a minute.”

  I give Lilly a smug look. “She likes me,” I say with a snort.

  “She wouldn’t if she knew you were packin’ heat in her store.”

  “She might like me even better,” I reply smartly.

  “You girls try and find some shoes that fit you on that back wall over there and I’m going to roll out the wigs for you in just a minute,” Mrs. Ella Mae calls from behind a blue paneled wall.

  “Shoes and wigs,” Lilly says. “This is fun!”

  “Do you think catching cooties is fun, too?” I ask.

  “Shut up and come on,” she snarls at me. “Ace, I swear, you’re not near as much fun as you used to be. Loosen up a little and let’s have some fun!”

  “Oh,” I say, stung by the quasi-insult. “Pardon my ignorance.”

  We try on all shapes, styles, and colors of stiletto heels because stiletto heels are the only shoes they have on the shelf at Downtown Diggs. I pick out a black pointy toe pair embellished with rhinestones and Lilly chooses a leopard print peep toe with red trim and black bead cat-eyes sewn onto the top. I remind her that we’re aiming for low key and she reminds me that we’re going to a strip club.

  Lilly tries on every wig on Mrs. Ella Mae’s wig cart and, after several minutes of self-admiration, decides on a long, sleek black one with blunt-cut bangs. I don’t try on a single one and instruct Lilly to get me the short blond bob with tapered bangs and I don’t intend to put in on my head until I run in a drug store and get a shower cap. And lice shampoo.

  “Alright, ladies,” Mrs. Ella Mae says as she emerges from the back of the store holding a dress in each hand. “Here we go.”

  One dress is a slim tube of red silk and the other is a strapless black number shaped like a keg barrel and both garments look like they could stand straight up on the floor like garbage cans made of fabric.

  “I think these will work just fine,” she says in her melodic tone. “I just had to make a few adjustments to the bust size on yours, honey,” she says, looking at me.

  “Well, thank you so much,” I say and tell myself to take that as a compliment. “Why is it so thick and stiff?”

  “Coverage, sweetheart, the men who wear these dresses don’t want their secrets given away by loose fabric.

  “Oh, perfect!” Lilly squeals. “It matches my shoes!”

  I roll my eyes as we walk back to the curtained stalls to try on our man dresses.

  “Let’s just keep them on,” Lilly hollers from behind her curtain, “so we can hurry up and get back over there.”

  Reluctantly I slip my big black dress over my head and, much to my surprise, it looks fabulous. The stiff fabric does wonders covering flabby rolls of flesh.

  Mrs. Ella Mae brings our shoes and wigs and, thankfully, hair nets and a moment later, Lilly steps out of her stall looking like a Hollywood A-lister and I wobble out of mine with my wig on crooked and stray waves of dark hair flying everywhere. Mrs. Ella Mae takes the wig off my head and uses her fingers to comb my hair back.

  “Lord, child,” she says and I start to wish she was my grandmother. “You ain’t cut out for this business, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I say as she strokes my hair and twists it up into a tight bun. “Not cut out for it at all.”

  She eyeballs Lilly, who is admiring herself in the mirror. “You a good girl, ain’t you?” she asks as she adjusts my hair net and wig.

  “Well,” I say, “I try to be, but I miss the mark most of the time.”

  She secures the ensemble with bobby pins, then steps back and says, “Look at you. You look good as a blonde.”

  “Thanks,” I say and have no trouble accepting that as a compliment.

  Lilly foots the bill for the rental and Mrs. Ella Mae gives us some garment bags and a key to the drop box outside.

  “Just leave the key in the box with the clothes and stuff, girls, and, if you can, you need to let me know how this little adventure turns out for you.” She hugs us both before sending us on our way. “Good luck! You all be careful now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lilly says and pushes open the door. “Thank you so much!”

  The whistles and caws erupt double time when we get out on the sidewalk and Mrs. Ella Mae walks out behinds us and scolds the men for being so rude. Lilly smiles, waves, and winks at the pack of bellowers.

  I stick my hand in my purse and wrap my fingers around The Pink Lady.

  32

  The doorman at Ladies4Gentlemen looks down at my license, up at me, back down at my license, and then back at me.

  “It’s a wig,” I whisper and he glares at me like I’m not worthy of his presence.

  “Cover’s twenty dollars,” he grunts and I fork over the money while giving him my best Go F yourself in the A look. I push through the turnstile and quickly surmise that this could possibly be the worst mistake I have ever made in my entire life.

  And I’ve made some bad mistakes.

  The bumping bass music rattles my skull and the smoke haze is so thick that I can literally feel cancer cells forming in my lungs. I stare at the back of Lilly’s head until she stops and I bump into her from behind.

  “Jeez, Ace,” she hisses, “ease up on it!”

  We sit down in padded chairs next to a table that looks about as big as a Frisbee and twice as flimsy. I tell myself to be calm as I cast my eyes upon the t-shaped stage where there are five topless Barbie doll-looking women twisted into various positions of peccadillo. Two are bumping and grinding on the stage extension directly in front of us, two are doing the same at the opposite end, and the one in the middle appears to be waxing that fire pole with her twat.

  A gorgeous young lady with the biggest fake tits I’ve ever seen in real life saunters over to our table and asks in a sultry voice what she can do for us. Lilly smiles and bats her eye lashes and the girl takes a seat on Lilly’s lap and starts writhing around like she’s possessed. Which she probably is.

  “That’s free for you, beautiful,” she coos to Lilly and Lilly smiles and blows her an air kiss. Then she comes over to my side of the rinky-dink table, straddles my lap, and starts shaking those gigantic melons in my face. I’m afraid one of those rubbery-looking nipples is going to touch my nose so I squeeze my eyes shut, turn my head to the side, and curse the day I was born.

  She gets off my lap and asks if I’d like a drink help me loosen up. I want to scream at the top of my lungs that there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make me want her big, fake boobs crammed into my eye sockets, but Lilly is giving me that I’m-gonna-kill-you-grave-yard-dead look so I smile and order a draft beer. Lilly orders a shot of tequila and that makes me cringe for real because nothing good ever happens when Lilly shoots tequila.

  The waitress and her boobs bobble away and return what seems like ten hours later with the smallest mug of beer I have ever seen, a shot of tequila, a lime wedge, and a bottle of salt.

  “That’ll be fifteen dollars, ladies,” she says with a smile and Lilly slides a twenty into her thong.

  I pick up my tiny mug beer, take a big swig, and it’s all I can do not to spew it across the room. In the mean time, our waitress is shaking salt in between her watermelon tits and just when I think I’ve got my gag reflex under control, Lilly drags her tongue across that salt patch, tosses back the shot of tequila, and starts sucking on that lime wedge like a runt pup on a fresh tet.

  Now I’m seriously about to hurl.

  A group of male patrons stare at Lilly like a pack starving dogs slobbering over a choice cut sirloin and I ask myself how much lesbian action these perverts need. I mean, there’s a full blown orgy taking place up on the stage.

  I’m about to pass out from overexposure when our waitress finally leaves, but not before promising to bring Lilly another shot.

  “What the hell are you doing?�
�� I scream whisper. “That is the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, calm down,” she says, with her eyes on the stage, “it’s just a body shot, you ignoramus.”

  “How many other people do you think have been licking that part of her body tonight,” I ask and shiver with disgust, “and who knows where else.”

  “Ace,” she turns to face me, “when did you get so uptight? She’s at the bar right now swabbing that area with an alcohol wipe.”

  “Oh, that makes it so much less gross,” I say. “So sanitary.”

  I’ve never been more desperate to escape a situation in my life. I’m seriously considering bolting when my eyes fall upon the face of Richard Stacks the Fourth who is sitting in what must be some kind of V.I.P section because the furnishings are much more accommodating to the purpose of the club. He has one topless girl on his lap and another behind him rubbing her tits on his neck while caressing the rubber nipples of the lap dancer. Multi-tasking at its finest. Oprah would be so proud.

  “Lilly,” I scream whisper, nodding my head in his direction, “look!”

  She discreetly scans the crowd and when she sees him, her expression turns to stone.

  “Give me the camera,” she says, not moving her eyes.

  “Lilly, you know your history with this camera and Richard Stacks. Why don’t you let me do it?”

  “Give me the fucking camera,” her eyes do not move. I reach in my bag, grab Chloe’s camera, double check to make sure the flash is off, and hand it to her under the table. She throws the strap over her shoulder, tucks the camera under her arm, and makes her way to the other side of the club where she sinks into a crowd of people at the bar.

  She pulls the camera up to her face then jerks it back down by her side. The entire motion is literally quick as a flash and no one appears to notice. She moves around and repeats the motion a few more times, completely unnoticed.

  She makes her way out of the crowd, but instead of coming toward me, she starts walking toward Richard Stacks. She’s out in the open now, walking full stride, when she pulls the camera up to her face again and this time people notice. A clamor for security makes its way through the stinking, smoky air and I watch in shock and she continues to walk toward Richard Stacks holding the camera up to her face the whole time. Big bulging men that look like WWF rejects are moving her way when Richard Stacks notices her.