Stripped

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  “UGH! You’re so closed-minded,” my mom fires back. “So what—our little girl has grown up—BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG deal, get over it. At least she’s living again, which is a hell of a lot more than she was doing after her life was turned into a dark and dreary graveyard because of him!” She shoves a finger towards Viktor.

  My dad chokes and stammers. “Lover’s spats happen. Viktor’s the best man for our Emelie!” he says to my mom. Then, to Stone, he lashes out, “The only man.”

  At that, Stone’s face turns… well, as hard as stone. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not sure you have all of the facts—”

  “He has all the facts he requires,” Viktor breaks in.

  “You stay out of this.” Stone rises up in a warning to Viktor. “How do you even think you have a say in her life after what you’ve done to her?”

  “I have more than a say.” Viktor regards him with contempt. “I hold the keys to her future.”

  Stone’s muscles coil and he snaps, “Bull—”

  “Shit!” a janitorial worker curses behind us as he comes through the staff lounge door dragging a mop bucket behind him and sees the monkey mess. “You people need to clear out of here. There’s an empty meeting room down the hall if you need it.”

  We pour into the hallway but don’t get much farther. That way, passersby can get an ear- and eyeful of our family insanity.

  “What about the clip where he dances for her by the Jeep then asks if he can be her Prince Charming? Or our daughter’s audition for the contest when the two of them brought tears to everyone watching—including the judges—and received a standing ovation? She’s dancing again, Frank. Stone brought our daughter back to life!”

  “Life?! What kind of life is this?” my dad shouts like he’s ordering plays on the football field. “She’s mocking everything she’s trained so hard for all of her life, and for what? To become what? At best, an instructor at some no-name dance school—or, worse, a stripper?!”

  Viktor listens with a look of feigned sympathy towards my father and authentic arrogance aimed at Stone.

  I think I might like to smack that expression from his face, but I don’t have any time to keep a solid thought or take any action. My feelings zip all over the place, going from deep mortification and utter embarrassment to raging hot anger and sheer resentment every time someone steps up and takes another spin at Emelie’s Wheel of Emotion.

  I’m not going to be able to please all of them—someone is going to leave this conversation fiercely disappointed.

  “You’ve made enough of a spectacle of yourself, Emelie. It’s time to bring you home.”

  At this, Stone comes to stand defensively between me and my father. “It’s possible I’ve made a spectacle of myself, but she’s done no such thing. She’s been only beautiful and talented and courageous.”

  “You don’t even know my daughter!” my father rages, every visible vein throbbing.

  “Sir,” Stone continues, “this is not the way I had imagined meeting you.”

  He had imagined meeting my dad?

  “And I’m sorry for that, especially for Emelie, but I believe in the past three weeks I’ve come to know your daughter very well—she has tremendous spirit, strength, and kindness. You should be proud of her. What she’s accomplished here at these auditions is phenomenal and no small feat; she beat out millions of competitors around the country.”

  “Don’t tell me how to be proud of my own daughter! And you should’ve never met me—you belong on one side of the country and her on the other, and it will be going back to that immediately,” Dad thunders.

  “Mr. Cartier, if I may intervene.” Viktor steps forward with a condescending air. “Had you taken any of my phone calls, Emelie, you would have had a clearer perspective on what was going on back home and at the company. Joanna has stepped down as one of the main choreographers, leaving a space wide open for you.”

  My head spins. “You’re offering me a job?”

  He chuckles as if I’m a silly little girl—I know the sound. “No, Emelie, not a job, rather a position within the company. The New York Ballet is offering you a five-year contract with full tenure.”

  Am I hearing him correctly?

  “I have the contracts drawn up and ready. They only require your signature, Emelie,” Viktor says as he opens the attaché case he’s carrying and holds them out as a display.

  My mother gasps.

  My father triumphantly states, “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. This is everything we’ve worked so hard for!”

  Staring on, dumbfounded, I can’t find any words. A moment later, I sense more than see Stone take a couple steps back out of the way.

  “It is a yes or no invitation. You will not be offered the position again.”

  My body begins to shake, and I’m overwhelmed with the idea of finding and crawling into a big bed and pulling the covers over myself until my mind clears. And I can figure out what to do.

  A hand bumps mine—it’s my mom. She twines our fingers and squeezes with support, and I’m so incredibly grateful.

  “To accept, you’ll need to resign from this competition.” He holds the word like it’s a bad taste on his tongue. “So that we can salvage your reputation and smooth over the damage that’s been done.”

  “THERE HE IS!” a voice screeches and reverberates through the hall.

  “Oh no, it’s my entire family,” I hear Stone say as the air heaves from the lungs behind me. “Kill me already.”

  “You have so much explaining to do!” Linda is half bleary-eyed and tear-streaked mascara and half wild beast in mid-pounce. “Get your things, Stone, we’re leaving.”

  My father looks extremely pleased with this development.

  “Mrs. Wright…” I begin.

  “Dear, this doesn’t involve you. It’s a family matter.” She looks over sweetly, pausing her assault on her son. “And we don’t hold you the least bit accountable. Stone, on the other hand…” she growls.

  “Come on, let’s head up to the room and discuss the matter in private,” Jack suggests with a quiet authority.

  Stone and I catch each other’s eyes. We have the same expression, as if they’re tearing us apart.

  “This is ridiculous!” Stone’s sister Glenda puts in, exasperated. “Just let him dance.”

  “We heard quite enough of your opinion on the flight here. And I still can’t believe the two of you were working at a strip club!” Linda erupts, the words strip club coming out in a strangled squeak. “You represent Wright Properties! What you do is a—”

  “Linda, they’re not children anymore.”

  “They’re my children!”

  “Give me your hand, Em, and we’ll just walk away. Together,” Stone says to me, trying to stay under the radar, using the cover of our parents’ erratic behavior and noise as they’re commiserating and arguing around us. “We can lock ourselves in our room until they get the message that we’re not coming out until they all go the hell away.”

  I open my mouth to answer when several very large men in blue uniforms stalk up to our gathering, nearly surrounding us.

  “Hotel security,” the biggest one says in a gruff tone.

  “Are you Sylvester Stallone?” my mom asks, hopping into the middle of the fray. “You look just like him!”

  My dad rolls his eyes.

  “No, ma’am, I am not. This entire meeting needs to move out of here.”

  Maybe because I’m the closest to him—or maybe because I’m the centerpiece in this mega-display of crazy—Sylvester lays his hand on my shoulder and tugs me away.

  At the exact same time, Stone and my dad demand, “Get your hands off her.”

  “Oh yeah? Which one of you is gonna make me?” Come to think of it, the guy sounds like Sylvester Stallone too. Maybe my mom was right after all?

  “Mister, we’ll get the hell out of the hallway like you’ve requested, but she hasn’t given you any trouble or reason to be touching her so�
�”

  “Hmm… I think I’ll put the cuffs on this one,” Sylvester says as a challenge to Stone. “You know I have the authority here, right?”

  Random thought: Maybe this, and everything else that happens in life, is serendipity—a happy accident. Maybe it’s the fates—creating chaos and weaving choices and scenarios for each of our lives. Maybe it’s just a security guard being a dick. Then again, maybe it just is what it is, and it’s our job to make the most out of our own happiness, despite whatever monkey shit gets thrown our way.

  Stone launches himself at the gargantuan guard. I get shoved aside as the two of them go at it in a death match on the horribly patterned hotel rug—why do they make them look like that, anyway? They should have seizure warnings nearby.

  Before he’s pulled off by the other security forces, one holding each limb, Stone gets a few good punches in and gives Sylvester a bloody nose.

  His father looks proud. My father looks impressed and actually less angry than he has since he got here.

  My mom is trying to convince me to escape through the laundry hatch on the other side of the hallway, while Linda stands back with her eyes closed—like maybe she can make the whole farce stop using sheer willpower. Glenda is laughing.

  Vegas police now enter the scene and, of course, crowds are gathering in closer while recording or snapping photos.

  “You’re under arrest,” the officer says to Stone.

  “He started it! Mall-cop here was using unnecessary roughness with an innocent woman.”

  “We’ll let the judge sort it out.”

  Oh shit! Judge! Stone has another round in the competition coming up soon.

  “Officer, can I just say—” Stone tries.

  “Don’t make me Taser you,” he warns.

  “Sir, you don’t under—” I begin and am immediately interrupted as he finishes cuffing Stone.

  “Ma’am, stay back,” he says in a Robocop voice. “If you have information regarding the events you’re welcome to come to the precinct and file a report.”

  “You’re not going anywhere except for home,” my dad blusters as I watch them walk Stone away down the hall.

  “EMELIE!” Stone’s raw shout startles me, and my hands fly up to cover my mouth as he twists in the cop’s hands to face me.

  “I KNOW I REALLY BLEW IT. I SHOULD’VE TOLD YOU SOONER BUT I NEED YOU TO KNOW… BEFORE YOU LEAVE…”

  I hold my breath.

  “I LOVE YOU, EMELIE!” Stone shouts. “I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

  And it could be my imagination, but I swear I think I hear him say, Don’t give up on me.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Stone

  It’s over

  (Figuratively and literally)

  The back of the cop car stinks—in so many ways!

  It stinks because I’m in it!

  It stinks because I’m going to miss the next dance session, which will put me in serious jeopardy of forfeiting the entire competition. And they might just boot my arse anyway for not showing up!

  It stinks because it’s going to take me God only knows how many hours before the arrest is processed to get back to Emelie to tell her I love her again, the right way, instead of shouting it like a madman while being dragged away by cops in handcuffs!! I don’t even know if she heard me over all the noise and confusion.

  It bloody well stinks because…

  Because—

  Fuck, I can’t even bring myself to think it.

  Because all of her wishes just came true. She got her dream job with the prestigious New York Ballet. She can finally make her dad proud. She’ll go back to New York and everything will be wonderful for her.

  What stinks most is that I’m not in any of those plans.

  As sure as the back of this squad car smells like old spilt beer and stale sweat.

  What stinks, too, is that I won’t even get the chance to say goodbye. I’m sure her father is getting her into a speedy taxi, headed for the airport at this very moment.

  I’ll never see her again.

  That bit of thought serves up a powerful fist right between my eyes. My nose stings and I feel my eyes tear up.

  In the next couple weeks, I’ll go to the apartment and talk to Violet and Raphael, and they will have packed up all of Emelie’s stuff and mailed it back to New York for her.

  The room she lived in for a time will look like an empty hotel room again, and all sign of Emelie ever having been there will be gone.

  I lost the girl.

  I lost the competition. I lost the respect of my parents. I’ve been arrested for assault and…

  I lost the girl.

  I could—and willingly would—give up any and all of those other things to keep Emelie.

  I shouldn’t have kept the competition a secret from my parents.

  I should’ve told Emelie that I loved her. Might’ve given her the chance to say it back—even just once. I would have liked to have heard that. Very much.

  It doesn’t take long to get to the police station, but when we get there it’s nothing short of a bloody circus. I’m sat in a chair and cuffed to an adjoining bar so I can’t run off. I’m stuck between a bloke who looks old enough to be Father Time—long white beard and hair, smiles with only half a mouthful of teeth and looks like he’s going to keel over at any second—and a younger guy about my age dressed like a biker with some serious facial modifications going on.

  It’s like I have a front row seat on the crazy train.

  Women in strategically placed flouncy feathers walk by, along with three Elvises, a band of guys dressed like the Village People humming “YMCA,” and a dude in a Bart Simpson costume, to call out a few. During my extended wait, a group of hobos are released, a guy that looks like Al Capone is brought in, threatening everyone at the station with a Chicago-style accent, and as a scantily clad lady-of-the-night is processed, she throws a wink at me from over her shoulder.

  When they finally come for me, it’s been over two and a half hours.

  “You’re lucky. I’ve been sitting here forever,” Father Time tells me, making me wonder if it’s the truth.

  I’m asked a hundred questions, have my mugshot taken, am fingerprinted, asked another hundred questions, and thrown into a holding cell.

  The wall clock proves I’ve been here nearly five bloody hours.

  Emelie could be halfway home to New York by now.

  I try to console myself with the thought that at least we’ll talk on the phone to say our goodbyes and have-a-good-life speeches.

  Then she’ll delete my number. And all the photos we took together. There will be no more embarrassing ringtones, no more wild road trips or sexy impromptu selfies… no more of her sweet laughter or twinkling eyes to get lost in, no more staying up until all ungodly hours of the night talking because I’d do anything to keep her talking just so I can hear her voice.

  I told her when we began our relationship that I’d be exclusively hers for as long as she’d have me.

  I had totally meant it.

  Now what we had will never have been long enough.

  When I knew I had fallen in love with her, I should have told her. I shouldn’t have waited. I shouldn’t have been so careful not to put any pressure on her. I was only trying to protect her and let her make up her mind to stay or go without added stress, but it only bit me in the arse in the end.

  I’m guessing she hadn’t even heard me yell my profession of love in that hallway— action-grip-cop certainly didn’t let me turn to get a look at her face, so I have no way of knowing for sure.

  Now I’m stuck in this hole with no way to bloody fix it.

  Think about it, Stone. What a great impression that would’ve made on her already upset parents to have me blustering through the hotel that I loved their daughter right before being stuffed into the back of a police cruiser. Not to mention the impression it would have made on Emilie herself.

  Oh yes, Emelie, he’s definitely the one! Yeah, right.
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  They’re going to hate me forever anyway. The stripper who was the worst mistake of Emelie’s life—that’s how I’ll go down in the history books with her father, anyway.

  “Hey, man! I’ve seen you before,” a guy says from behind me. I ignore him, but he doesn’t stop there. “You’re that stripper,” he says as he drunk-walks towards me and stumbles into my arms.

  Whew! Guess this cell serves as the holding tank too.

  “I’ve watched you and your girl on YouTube,” he slurs, delighted.

  “She’s not my girl.” I sour.

  His dark brow creases. “Are you gay or something? I mean it’s cool if you are.”

  “No, I’m not gay,” I retort, then soften. “She had another life waiting for her and she chose it.”

  “Did you fight for her?” He makes a weak fist, tries to swing, and almost falls to the floor. I sit the older man gently back on the bench.

  “When I could, of course I did.”

  “How about when it counted the most?”

  God that stings. To say I tried sounds lame, even to me. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, mate, but this has been the bloody worst day of my life and I really don’t want to talk about it with you. Or anyone.” I go back to peering between the cell bars.

  “Worst day ever?”

  “Worse than when I got injured on the footy field and lost my scholarship.”

  “If you could go back and do anything over, what would it be?”

  Maybe I’d start with the wish I made on the airplane that night, and I’d wish to nullify her wish, I think. I could be a dick like that—instead of wishing that all her dreams would come true, like I had.

  “Did you tell her you loved her?”

  “Yeah. But it was too late. I’m not even sure she heard me.”

  “She heard you,” a familiar voice says.

  “DAD!”

  “I always figured I’d have to bail you out of jail at least once. I’m surprised it took you so long.”

  “She heard me, Dad? Are you sure?”

  “Son, everybody has heard you by now. Your heartfelt declaration is probably on every social media site, working its way onto the most watched video list.”