Stripped

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “I meant that I can’t, Stone.”

  “Emelie…”

  “Stone, it’s just the way it has to be.” Please don’t make me spell it out. I have to guard my heart.

  “Okay, I get it. You know, I love those two songs you chose for this dance—Bach and Flo Rida—sheer brilliance. I’ve got a friend who’s a master at mixing. I’ll call him tomorrow and see if he has any openings in his schedule.” He adds, “You’ll have to come with me to meet him and put your vision into it.”

  “That sounds excellent. Would you mind stopping at the store so I can pick up some food—I know it’s late, but I’m sure the fridge at the apartment is empty—or worse, has a monster living in it like in Ghostbusters.”

  He laughs. “No problem. You know, as tired as I am, I’m still pretty wired. Probably because of you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’re fun to be with.”

  I joke lightly, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  He answers in a serious tone. “No, baby, I don’t say that to any of the girls.”

  Could that really be true?

  Ten minutes later, we’re pulling into the near deserted parking lot of the 24hour grocery store. I’m not really paying attention. I’ve been wrestling with his last statement.

  We walk in together. I pick up one of those plastic baskets as I come through the door and head straight to the produce section. Moving quickly, I throw prepackaged bags of fresh mixed greens, snap peas, and mini bell peppers into my basket.

  Stone cozies up to me and peers down at my grocery choices.

  He shakes his head in utter disappointment. “This is all wrong, Princess.”

  “Why?” I’m curious.

  Obviously, so is the man in the apron restocking the heads of lettuce. He looks up at us, listening to the conversation transpiring.

  “All this stuff is small and limp, and since you refuse to come home with me…”—Stone picks up and examines a hefty cucumber—“You need a peen.”

  “I’m sorry, a what?” I could not have heard him correctly.

  “You know, a peen. A penis, a satisfier. Your super supreme, orgasmic, sunshine maker doesn’t come—ha!—until tomorrow.” He’s pleased with his joke. “You need something for tonight. So… what’ll it be? Clancy Cucumber?”

  “I am not the Jolly Green Giant’s girlfriend,” I hiss.

  “You could be for a night.” He thunks it into my basket.

  “How about Cruz Carrot? Or…”—Stone brandishes a long, thick, green squash—“how about Zuri Zuccinni?”

  The store clerk stifles a laugh.

  “I’m going to kill you, and this time I mean it!”

  “But at least it won’t be from sexual frustration,” he insists. “Oh, this is the best…”

  “I’m walking away, Stone.”

  “BUCKY BUTTERNUT!” He says it so loud, the few people at the cash registers look over. “Get it? Buck-y-bucking.”

  I quickly duck down the frozen foods aisle, choose an Annie’s dinner and try avoiding the produce pimp by racing to the checkout.

  Of course, in an instant, he’s behind me. He gets his mouth over my ear and says, all wet and hot and breathy, “What do you think of this?”

  His muscular chest comes up against my back, and suddenly I feel an unusually hard, very long item pressing between us—from my ass to the middle of my back. Stone pushes his hips, curling them so I can feel the full width and girth of this monster while he pretends it’s his cock.

  “You totally need this one—it’s the closest to reminding you of what you’re missing out on with me.”

  “Good evening,” says the disinterested female cashier, who has black punk hair and a variety of facial piercings. “Paper or plastic?”

  “Either’s fine.” I smile at her, then, “Hey!” I cry at Stone.

  The creature between us threatens to cause spinal injuries.

  “This dude is not going to fit into one of those wussy bags.”

  “And to think, you’re suggesting I rub it against my kitten.”

  “Aw, fuck! Thanks for that visual. Now I’m going to get hard,” he whines.

  “Serves you right.”

  “Mister, you have to pay for that beef stick between your legs.”

  I bust a lung with laughter at her choice of words, bend at the waist, and angle myself enough to see his beef-stick.

  Sure enough, swinging down past his thigh, almost touching his knee is a mammoth beef salami the length of a yardstick.

  “Nice.”

  “I’m only concerned for your wellbeing, Em,” he says, feigning distress.

  Unbelievable.

  “She’ll take this too,” Stone tells the cashier and sets the mammoth on the conveyor. “Along with these.”

  Clancy, Cruz, Zuri, and Bucky are obviously coming home with me.

  “Are you sure I can’t come up?”

  “It’s two in the morning, I’m pretty sure you need to keep your job, and now, thanks to you, I have all the peen I could ever need.”

  “And you won’t starve to death.” He laughs.

  Then his eyes hold me there. I could be misreading the signals but it’s like he doesn’t want the night to end. I feel the same way.

  “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

  My heart races so fast I can barely nod. “Yes.”

  It’s so perfectly charming—soft sweet lips with gentle caresses to my cheek. Tenderly, he combs my hair back with his fingers.

  “So, tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Definitely.”

  “WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH ALL THIS PRODUCE?” Vi’s big mouth serves as a reminder of last night with Stone just as I’m waking up.

  “Mmm… look at this beefstick!” I hear Raph purr. “You’re sharing!” he calls out to me.

  I pull the pillow over my head and laugh.

  After my roomies leave, I come out of my room. I love them tremendously, I just didn’t want any heavy discussions or questions this morning—I wanted to think and keep my thoughts close to my heart. My hair is up in a bun—though looser than usual, I’m sure because of Stone’s influence—and I’m wearing dance gear. It’s a simple ice blue baby-doll dress. Partially leotard, it’s fitted at the breast, then billows down over the same color boy shorts. It’s made to move in. I lace up the pair of black leather, flat, form-to-your-feet dance shoes I bought on my shopping spree, then head up to the roof with my laptop and speakers.

  Vi brought me up here when I first arrived. She said she uses it as a place to think—calls it her hawk’s nest—invited me to use it anytime.

  It’s time.

  Stone has lit a fire within me.

  It’s like he ventured into the darkest areas of my soul to find the last glowing ember that was hidden there, brought it closer to my heart, and stoked it so it caught flame once again.

  I’ll be forever grateful, and when we move on from this arrangement, I’ll always remember that he was the catalyst, the savior who pulled me out of myself—out of the vortex and whirlwind I couldn’t get out of alone.

  The emotions rush at me, and I have to hold myself still until I can catch my breath.

  Miraculously, Stone made my heart whole again. He accomplished this great feat in two ways—he proved to me that my heart wasn’t broken beyond repair and that I could love dance again and—

  That I could fall in love.

  He’s a beautiful, wild creature, and I’ve never felt so alive as I do when I’m with him.

  My feelings in this short amount of time have grown beyond friendship—and they’ve moved way past the proposition terms.

  It was just supposed to be fun. A fling. Boy, has it ever been fun, but now for me, it’s become more.

  He has become so much more to me.

  But Stone isn’t a sure thing. He’s still a playboy-stripper who knows how to deliver the moves and the charm. I’m positive he wants to keep it in the fling zone.
That’s probably why it’s all so easy for him, believing I’ll probably be leaving again for New York. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong or crazy—if he felt the same way for me, wouldn’t he say? He says everything else that pops into his mind. I feel like my limited experience with men puts me at a severe disadvantage. Especially trying to judge this situation.

  I’m afraid, and my newly repaired heart is tender.

  I can’t allow Stone to be synonymous with dance—not after what happened with Viktor.

  I need to be sure I don’t repeat my last mistake.

  I have to find this strength and passion from inside of me. Stand and dance on my own two feet—figuratively and literally. That way, it can never be taken away from me again—no matter what happens—it’ll be mine.

  If I don’t find my own power, a part of me will always be weak.

  No. I refuse to ever be that house of cards again. If failure happens, I can never crumble like I did. That place was so dark—I can never go back there, no matter what happens in my life.

  Stone lifted me out of a deep pit, but I’m responsible for my own happiness.

  That responsibility begins now.

  I queue Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “10,000 Miles”—and there, on top of the world, looking over the city—

  I dance.

  I dance the piece I’d choreographed for my graduation ceremony—that lovely emotional and passionate piece, an amalgam of contemporary and ballet. I keep off pointe, since it still frightens me and isn’t necessary.

  I open my heart—I feel the wind and become one again with my body in a way I haven’t in so long.

  Endorphins wash over me. Dance had always been my escape, my artistic expression—thoughts without words. It’s always brought out the very best part of me. I lost that in my great depression.

  Here and now, I let the dance come from the deepest part of me.

  Every suppressed idea and emotion is let loose as my soul, spirit, and body become one. Reunited.

  The cohesion sparks renewed life into every part of my being once more. All of my energy funnels into this one moment and I’m re-connected to this universe again in a powerful way.

  I realize I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

  I’m so happy, I cry. And laugh. As I fly through the air and lilt upon strong legs, strong feet. I lift myself into the air, leap and jump, and land again safely.

  The powerful sun shines brightly onto my face—the warmth spreads through my entire being—and I promise I will never allow myself to be swallowed in the darkness again.

  When the song is finished, I stand at the side of the building, cup my hands over my mouth and shout over Los Angeles, “MY NAME IS EMELIE CARTIER! AND I AM INVINCIBLE!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stone

  Fuel for the flame

  Me: So, did the come-inator… Come. In?

  Em: Oh my God, what is wrong with you?

  I bet she’s blushing.

  Me: Did you get it?

  Em: I have a box here.

  Me: Did you open it?

  Em: I’m afraid to.

  Me: Then did you employ one of your fucking vegetables?

  Em: OMG NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I chuckle quietly.

  Me: The salami then?

  Em: My gay roomie confiscated it.

  I’m positive I don’t want to think about that.

  I knock.

  Em: Is that you??

  Me: What do you think?

  She opens the door, and I feel like I’m looking at the sun after a long fucking winter. She’s prettier now than she was when I dropped her off last night.

  “You’re texting me from the hallway.”

  “At least I’m not sexting you from the hallway.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful.”

  “I thought by showing up early, I might have gotten a glimpse of you in a towel.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Could be.”

  “Well, if you came to my house I’d be a proper host and answer the door in a towel.”

  “Well then, I can’t wait,” she says and closes the door as she steps out into the hallway with me and locks the door with her key.

  “Wait a minute, are you serious?” I’m a bit dumbfounded, between ogling the length of her legs, along with her figure, in that tiny dress and what I think I just heard her say.

  “No, not at all.” She smiles sweetly and starts down the stairs. “What’s on this evening’s agenda?”

  Now she’s got my mind racing. “Unless you give the word to go back to my place, we’ll stop at my friend Matt’s studio so we can develop a good mix of the two songs you picked for the choreography.”

  “Cool.”

  “That won’t take more than a couple hours, and I thought if we finished up with rehearsal a little early, we could go to Foreplay for some karaoke.”

  She busts up laughing.

  “Is that good or bad laughter? ’Cause, honestly, it sounds a bit mental.”

  “I am never stepping foot into the place again!”

  “Come on, it’d be fun and you can meet my sister Glenda.” I open the passenger door to my Jeep, lend her my hand, and watch leeringly as she climbs into the seat. “Think about it. It’s not the Friday night crowd, and it’s not like the owner put your photo on the wall above the bar like a celebrity or anything.”

  I shut the door just as she shouts my name, so her scolding tone is muffled.

  After giving her a second to cool off, I hide my grin and slide behind the wheel.

  Matt is great to work with, and in less than three hours we have an excellent mix of Bach and Flo Rida that sounds a lot like victory imbued with Emelie’s magical touch.

  Tonight during practice, Emelie is like a different person. She’s spirited—full of confidence and passion. Instead of mainly giving me instructions with a little shadowing, she’s completely letting go, dancing fully beside me. Not only is she directing me in the ballet and executing the steps along with me, she’s trying to catch on to the hip hop moves!

  After some time I ask, “Hey, why don’t we cut the music for now and go through the routine slower. Help us both pick up those steps.”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  For the next few hours we practice—hard. Em is relentless as she sets her mind to learning each step.

  “Jesus, you’re going to have the entire number down at this rate. I am impressed.”

  I desperately want to know what the change was, how it came about, and how she’s feeling, but until she offers to tell me, I think I don’t want to push her—especially away—so I’ll wait until she makes the decision on her own.

  “That was really fun,” she says, glowing radiantly between sips of water from her pink carry bottle.

  “Yeah it was!” I agree.

  “So, Foreplay, huh?”

  “Really? We don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” she decides. “I need to get over my tragedies.”

  The car park at Foreplay is virtually deserted save for a couple handfuls of vehicles. That’s what eleven o’clock on a weeknight does. I throw on a ball cap and a pair of Ray Bans.

  “Sun too much for you?”

  “I don’t want to be recognized. Better to go in stealthy and see who’s there first.”

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes but grins.

  I take her hand in mine. I want everyone looking to know she’s with me.

  “Stone!” Glenda comes bounding out from behind the bar to greet me. “Oh my God, you must be Emelie!”

  Or rather, to greet Emelie.

  Glenda scoops her into a hug. My fam isn’t big on personal space. Thankfully, Em plays it cool and returns the embrace.

  “Stone can talk of nothing else,” my sister tells my not-girlfriend and drags her by her hand to the bar. “You’re just as beautiful as he says.”

  “Glad I don’t embarrass easily,”
I quip.

  “Are you kidding, if you’re going to keep this one you’ll need all the help you can get.”

  Yeah, my little sister can dish it out.

  “What can I get you, Emelie? On the house,” Glenda gushes.

  “Thanks so much.” She’s blushing. Even in the low lighting I can tell. “Um, a Corona would be great.”

  “Coming up!” My sis disappears behind the bar.

  “She’s so lovely,” Em says. “She looks like an elven fairy.”

  “It’s the pixie cut,” I respond. “But don’t let her fool you, she can spit venom.”

  Glenda comes back and gives Em her beer with a smile before scowling at me. “You can get yours the old fashioned way.”

  “What did I do?” I bark.

  “It’s what you didn’t do.”

  “Jesus, am I supposed to read your bloody mind?”

  She just stares at me. Immediately it’s like telepathic brain waves flow between us.

  “Shit!”

  “Yeah, shit! When are you going to tell them?”

  “Tell who and what?” Em joins in, her gaze switching between the two of us.

  “Our parents. Johnny Castle here hasn’t told them he’s going for the Then Prove You Can Dance audition—that is only three weeks away.” Glenda directs that last bit at me, her voice brimming with reprimand.

  Em turns to me. “Why don’t you want to tell them?”

  “Because I have to work with them on a daily basis, and it’ll make them both pissy with me.”

  “What’s your plan then, bro? You gonna wait till they see you on the telly?”

  “Maybe I will, Glen. Maybe that would be easier for all of us,” I answer. “At least then I wouldn’t have to go into the office.”

  “Why wouldn’t they approve?” Em asks. “It’s just a competition.”

  I can’t fault her, I never really told her my entire plan—

  Of course I don’t need to, because Glenda does it for me. “Because this idiot wants to use it as a springboard to become a professional dancer.”

  “How professional?” Em looks up at me.

  Glenda answers again. “Like, quit his job with the ’rents, professional.”

  “We never did discuss my long term goals.” I’m almost apologetic to Emelie.