by Lucy Carol
The crowd hollered out their enthusiasm, banging on the tables and floor. Madison was cheering and clapping when someone threw an empty beer can up on the stage. Hey! She looked around, spotting a guy at a table nearby chucking another beer can. That’s my job, God damn it! I’d better get the cans ready. She looked around her table in a haze. Where’d I put the cans? The DJ’s head kept bobbing as the throbbing beat of the music picked up a notch.
The MC continued, “I am Dizorder Lee, your host for this evening! We’re so glad you untangled yourselves and got here! All the suits have gone night-night,” he made a loud kissy sound into the mic as Madison crawled under the table to find the cans, “and the real fun can begin! Our first bout has some interesting guys you’re going to love, and one conceited asshole you’ll love to hate. First up we have Dewwwey Decimator!” Dewey strode out, waving to the audience. He brandished his fists at every table near him. “Dewey was fired from the library when he went postal with his fists, punching everyone in sight when all the late book returns hit in one day!” The crowd waved their own fists in the air in salute to Dewey. “He’s our kind of guy!” Dizorder Lee said. Dewey ran over to stand at the side of the MC, nodding and pointing at random people in the audience.
“Next! We have none other than… Sparkle Pecs!” Sparky danced out in a boxer kind of style, stopping to make muscle poses and show off his strong chest that had glitter rubbed all over it. Dizorder Lee continued. “Sparkle Pecs spent many bored years as a vampire until he dedicated his undead life to fitness! The result being that he has almost cured himself! That’s right! But be careful. If he starts to lose a fight he’s tempted to resort to what he knows best.” The MC turned to Sparky and said, “Don’t make us muzzle you, Sparky. Fight fair.” Sparky acted as if he were thinking about it and reluctantly agreed, nodding his head, and bouncing over to stand next to Dewey Decimator.
Using an annoyed tone, the MC said, “I don’t know what to tell you about this next guy. He gives the fine sport of wrestling a bad name. He’s disgusting! Coming out here half-naked all the time! He makes me sick! And I think we should all—” Atomic Waist ran out on the stage in a fury, grabbed the announcer by the neck and punched him full in the face with his huge fist, then repeatedly pounded on the top of his head. If Madison hadn’t seen it in rehearsal she would have wondered if it were indeed real. The crowd as one gave a loud moan on first impact and began to shout and boo as the announcer collapsed on stage, appearing to be knocked out, his microphone and long cable draped over his belly. Dewey Decimator and Sparkle Pecs in the background acted like they were caught up in a fierce battle of rock, paper, scissors as they were walking off the stage and didn’t notice what Atomic Waist had just done to the poor MC, Dizorder Lee.
It was ridiculous fun and Spenser jumped up, booing and laughing with the crowd. She froze for a second as if she just had remembered why she was there, grabbed her camera off the table, and ran off to find better angles to shoot from.
Atomic Waist held his fists up high in the air as he flexed and roared his rage at the crowd. They roared back, begging for more.
Damn! His real name was Daniel, but Madison had to admit the stage name Atomic Waist was a much better fit for him. Recalling when he and Spenser had first met, Madison had thought it odd that instead of carrying on about that manly body, Spenser had talked about him having an adorable face, with the way his eyebrows drooped at the outer corners like a hound dog puppy. He always looked like he was happy in an apologetic way. Studying him now, Madison decided his face was as exciting as wilted lettuce. But he was built like a thunder god and when he smiled, Spenser fell apart like she was twelve years old again. Must be the goofy smile.
Tonight the storyline that the wrestlers had planned to play out involved Dewey Decimator discovering that his collectible action figure toys were found in Atomic Waist’s locker. And Atomic Waist would refuse to give them back—the bitch.
Madison marveled at how much the downtown crowd loved this stuff. Guys come out on stage in a dive bar and pretend to beat the shit out of each other over imagined offenses. It was Fight Cabaret and Madison had the best seat in the house, right next to the stage. And she’d be damned if she let someone else have all the fun.
They want to wing it? They want improv? She started throwing the cans at Atomic Waist and yelling. “Panty Waist! Hey, Panty Waist!” She threw as hard as she could. The empty cans kept flying and bouncing off of him. “C’mon! Are you afraid of girls?” A look of surprise, then fiendish delight as if he’d just noticed a little bug that needed squashing. He turned his body and his roar of rage in her direction.
Her nerves went on full alert for a second, but all that did was adrenalize her, which she was about to need.
She tore off her shoes, her long lean figure climbing up onto her table, pulling her chair up with her. The crowd started hooting and clapping their approval as she stood on top of the table, waved the chair in the air, then threw it at him. He ducked it easily, crossing his arms as if to say “is that all you got?” Sparkle Pecs was sneaking back out from the side of the stage while Atomic Waist’s attention was on Madison, cheers growing for Sparkle Pecs. Meanwhile Madison had already pulled up another chair on top of her table and sat on it, chucking the last of the cans at Atomic Waist’s head. Several people in the audience shouted, “GO! GO! GO! GO!” He curled his finger at her like “come here.”
Her answer was to throw the second chair at him, but this time he caught it, held it with both hands, and ran across the stage toward the table she stood on. Then, as if Sparkle Pecs and Madison had the same thought, Sparkle Pecs lunged at Atomic Waist from behind, at the same instant that Madison leaped off the table onto the chair that Atomic Waist was holding. She used it as a stepping off platform to plant her foot up on his shoulder and spring up into the maze of low hanging pipes over the stage, hanging on, feet swinging, then used her stomach muscles to pull her strong legs up to wrap around the pipes. The momentum of her spring threw both Atomic Waist and Sparkle Pecs off balance and they crashed together onto the floor of the stage next to the MC, the chair bouncing and rattling off the edge of the stage. The MC was now acting as if he were coming back to consciousness, crawling away on hands and knees.
Dewey Decimator chose that moment to burst onto the stage, screaming that his action figures were missing and he demanded… (*gurgle*). Atomic Waist had stood up during Dewey’s brief rant, dragging Sparkle Pecs across the stage with one hand on the back of his neck, and grabbed Dewey by the throat with his other hand. He then swung them roundhouse style into each other, their faces seeming to collide, their heads bobbing all around like Hawaiian hula dolls on a car dashboard. Madison climbed up even higher as Sparky and Dewey did a slow collapse to the floor, the audience yelling and booing but also pointing up at Madison overhead. Atomic Waist’s head followed the pointing fingers upward and his eyes flew wide as he spotted her. Just then Madison yelled, “Potatoes!” and dove out of the overhead piping.
Chapter Four
Atomic Waist lunged and managed to catch her, the crowd screaming their excitement. As the force of her fall hit his arms, Madison felt his muscles brace, using the pull of her fall to swing them both around in order to break some of the momentum, running halfway across the stage to keep his balance. She saw him break character for a second as fear hit his eyes. Her dark hair fell into her face at that moment. She pushed it away as he came to a halt, studying her face. Her lids felt heavy and she saw him sniffing. His eyes squinted at her as he whispered, “Holy shit, you’re stinking drunk.”
“That was the bet,” she slurred.
“What bet?” he whispered, “We’re supposed to follow your lead.”
“Keep moving,” she urged and began to climb out of his arms, her feet back on the ground as she slapped at the hands that had just let go. He slapped her hands back, she slapped again, till their slaps resembled a windmill out of control.
She broke the slap routine and pretended she was
trying to pick him up. With her arms wrapped around his six-pack waist, she gritted her teeth in an animated grimace and pushed upward as if she’d be able to get him off the ground, appearing to strain herself in the upward effort. After trying that two times, he took a turn and picked her up easily, holding her away from him by her waist and letting her dangle. She proceeded to act as if she were running away as fast as she could while suspended in the air, her teeth gritted, feet running hard, her elbows and fists pumping. The crowd laughed and cheered.
Madison grabbed both of his ears and pulled his head towards her, as if she were trying to pop his head off. But she leaned in and whispered, “Get mad and spank me.”
“What?” he whispered.
“You heard me,” she whispered. “Do it.”
“That’s enough!” He roared, and got down on one knee, bent Madison over it and proceeded to spank her, the crowd whooping and screaming with approval. But without skipping a beat, Madison, “OW—” grabbed the microphone cable on the ground, “OW—” and pulled the mic over to her.
“Take it easy—OW!” She reached around to his backside as his big hands spanked her bottom. She pulled his tight little sparkly spangly bathing-suitie kind of thing open and shoved the mic down in there, far enough that it came out the leg opening. A girly squawk came out of him as he shot up onto his feet, Madison simultaneously falling between his legs, as she grabbed the mic that was hanging out of his tight little sparkly spangly bathing-suitie kind of thing.
Then she pulled.
With desperate speed he grabbed onto his front waistband with both hands as the cable pulled through and through so fast that he felt it burn where it pulled across the skin of his butt. He instinctively did a little dance trying to get away, but that only made it worse, pulling his tight little sparkly spangly bathing-suitie kind of thing open in the back, exposing a bit of his high and mighty rear end. Madison now had a long enough length, so she stood up and began to jump rope with it. The audience was in hysterics as the MC came over and jumped in with her, both of them keeping the rhythm of the skipping rope. As the cable made each circle, the stretchy waistband on his backside would dip down and spring back up. The DJ quickly added classic strip music, and Atomic Waist was looking around in a panic, not daring to let go, not able to walk away, not sure what to do. On the sides of the stage, other wrestlers were out, bent over with the kind of high pitched laughter that men only produce when they are helpless with mirth. As the crowd cheered, Atomic Waist finally shrugged and took a grand bow. Madison, exhausted, had stopped jumping and stood there swaying, thinking about vomiting, mic and long cable now hanging loose in her fingertips.
One last empty beer can came flying and hit her on her temple. “Oh!” She looked out in the audience, flipping the bird saying, “Show yourself, you mother fuc…”
That was the moment Madison saw her mother standing in the back of the room. Ann was quite still, looking down at the floor. Then she turned and walked out.
The audience whistled and pounded on their tabletops, as empty beer cans rolled, rattling a hollow sound across the floor.
*****
Madison sat on the carpet, leaning against the wall of her living room. A couple of tears from earlier had already dried at the corners of her eyes. A wet sniff lingered.
Spenser had driven Madison home in Madison’s car and was now rummaging around in the refrigerator, packing away leftover tacos that they had picked up in a drive-thru on the way home. “Are you sure it was her? The room was dark, and you were pretty hammered.”
“Yeah. It was her.” With a heavy sigh, Madison rubbed her eyes hard, probably making those black smears under her eyes but she didn’t care at the moment. “I think she was trying to call and tell me she was in the audience. But I never answered.” She looked at her bare feet stretched out in front of her and thought how nice it would be to have pretty toes right now. When you can’t get yourself a new life, you may as well settle for a pedicure.
Spenser shut the refrigerator door and came over to sit down but had to look around for a spot. The couch had little room since it was covered in boxes from Madison’s recent move, their lids unfolded and hanging open to reveal an assortment of items that were unrelated to each other. Empty flower vases, books, candle holders, and lots of picture frames shared boxes with sandals, computer cables, and a tire pressure gauge. Madison jumped up, held the wall a moment to steady herself, and took a few boxes off of the couch, leaving a clear spot for Spenser to sit.
“Sorry,” she said, “Told you I was still living out of boxes.”
Spenser sat down and said, “Would it do any good if I asked you never to be that stupid again?”
“Spenser…” She closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel a mild headache already starting to come on. “I was sure I’d be all right if they followed my lead,” Madison insisted.
“You’re going to feel like an idiot tomorrow when you’ve finished sobering up.”
Madison already felt stupid but didn’t want to admit it. “There was one thing I didn’t expect,” she grumbled. “The paycheck was double the amount as promised, but they said not to cash it yet. It won’t be good for another week.”
In the silence that followed they heard a tweeting sound from Madison’s cell phone. She had voicemail from Phil, her agent. As she listened, her face became elated.
“Yes! Emergency gig tomorrow. Phil wants my fairy godmother character for a children’s birthday party. The usual. Painting faces, balloon animals. He sounds desperate. He already emailed the gig sheet to me in case I say yes. I usually get $200 for birthday parties, plus tips from the parents. I need to call him back right away and say I’ll do it.”
Madison punched up Phil’s number on her cell phone, but a knock on the door made her stop and hang up before it went through.
“There’s Daniel,” Madison said, standing up. “Thanks for driving me home, Spenser.” She went to the door to look out the peephole, hoping to gauge Dan’s mood before opening the door. But the person she saw standing there was her grandfather.
What the…? She was still a little drunk and didn’t want him to see her like this. She quickly wiped under her eyes in case her makeup had smeared, one more wet sniff, and rushed her hands down her hair to smooth what she could. She opened the door and put on a cheery voice, “Hi, Grandpa.” Spenser, right behind her but more surprised, said, “Hi, Mr. Cruz.”
He walked in, mild surprise on his face. “Well, hey there, you two.” He gave Madison a little hug. “I see Spenser is still putting up with you.”
“Always,” Spenser smiled.
“Well, if anyone can, it’d be you. I’d trust you with anything. You’re like family.” He looked around asking, “Everything okay here?”
Madison shrugged. “Sure. But did something happen? It’s so late.”
“Oh.” He seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart; I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I, uh… came to get my drill.”
“Why didn’t you just call me? I could have brought it by in the morning and saved you the trip.”
“Well, I wasn’t home by the phone and—”
“Use your cell phone.”
“I can never get those things to work. I think mine is broken.” He took it out of his pocket.
“You have to turn it on,” she said, reaching over and turning it on for him. He looked at it as if the phone had somehow betrayed him. “Oh. I see.” Though his head was inclined toward the small phone in his hands, Madison could see his eyes had already wandered away, lost in thought.
“Grandpa, are you all right?”
He looked up. “Hm? Fine. Why do you ask?”
“You seem unhappy. Did Mom call you about me or something?”
His look of distraction melted away as a laser focus replaced it, zeroing in on her.
I had to open my mouth.
“What happened?” he asked. He seemed to be holding his breath. She thought of a few ways to dodge and dazzle
and get out from having to admit to the bet she’d won tonight, but he would probably find out tomorrow anyway.
She braced herself and said, “Mom showed up.”
“And?”
“I was performing.”
“And?”
“I was…” she stopped herself, then said, “Inebriated.”
He stared at her. “You were drunk?”
“I said inebriated. You said drunk.”
“Just how inebriated were you?” He sounded incredulous.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah. Try that.”
“Shit-faced.”
A freeze frame of confusion, the sorting and filing of information that Madison could see going on behind his eyes had not registered yet on his face. One more second.
His voice getting louder with each word, he asked, “What were you thinking?”
“Grandpa, it was a bet, I swear! The money—”
“And in front of your mother!”
“I didn’t know she would be—”
“How often do you drink like that?”
“I don’t! Remember when I got mad and told them I could do it drunk and still do a better job?”
He closed his eyes and expelled his breath, shaking his head, saying, “Madison.” Resigned, he kissed her forehead but his voice was still stern saying, “We’ll talk tomorrow,” then turned and walked out into the enclosed apartment hallway outside her door. Looking up and down the hallway he said, “Lock your door, sweetheart. Don’t open it for any strangers no matter what they say.”
She felt a tug at her heart and couldn’t bring herself to close the door as she stood in the doorway, watching him walk past other apartment doors. Something about his demeanor felt familiar. She wanted to run after him and give him a big hug. But instead she called to him as he reached the stairwell at the end of the hallway.
“Goodnight, Grandpa,” she said.
He turned around and said, “If Jerry hadn’t made her work late—”