Chageet's Electric Dance

by Ashir, Rebecca

  “They won’t find out,” Barbey laughed as if Sage was being completely paranoid. “I’m not going to tell them. Are you?”

  “Of course not, but somehow they always know when I’ve done something wrong.”

  Barbey led her creation to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and said with gaiety, “You look as yummy as a cupcake!”

  “Oh, my,” Sage stared into the mirror for quite some time. “I can’t go like this. This isn’t me. Barbey, what did you do to me?”

  “You do this every time and after awhile you get used to the new look and grow to like it, so just give it some time to sink in while I’m getting ready.” Right then the ballet slipper phone rang to the rhythm of the Nutcracker.

  Sage protested, “Why do you always choose stupid ballet music for your phone?”

  Barbey quickly answered the phone, “Barbey’s Ballet…”

  “Barbey!” Sage interjected. “Why do I always let you do this to me?” She was referring to her makeover. Appearing disoriented and confused, Sage plopped on the bed in exasperation.

  “Uh, hello, Barbey?” It was a man on the line.

  “Yes,” Barbey hesitated surprised that an older man was calling her.

  “It’s John Prince.”

  “Oh, hi! I didn’t recognize your voice. It was so weird—for a second I thought you were an older man.”

  He laughed and laughed until Barbey became irritated. “So, how are you?”

  “Just dandy. Just dandy. Like a surfer on a wave flying high. Well, I wanted to invite you to do a test shoot.”

  Barbey giggled putting her hand over the mouth piece of the phone and whispered to Sage, “It’s that modeling photographer we met.”

  Sage ignored her, still frustrated that she looked like a sexy cupcake.

  “I’d love to come for a test shoot. When do you want to do it?”

  “Well, let’s meet tomorrow evening, say 6:00? We’ll meet at Sunrise Hotel in Mission Valley, room 402.” He was talking so fast. “I’m using a room there while my studio is under renovations. It’s very chic. I have the lighting set up just so with some killer backdrops. You’ll land a top agent immediately with these backdrops and your hot look, but I need to do some test shots first to shop you around a bit to test the waters if you know what I mean.”

  “Ok! 6:00 it is! Bye-bye!”

  “Wait! You still there?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m here.”

  “Bring a couple bathing suits, something formal in a solid color, some solid casuals, and accessories galore. Ciao!”

  “Great! Bye-bye!”

  Sage rolled over on her side looking at Barbey, “Congratulations,” she said sarcastically. “He wants to take pictures of you?”

  “Yes! Why are you acting like such a jerk? You don’t have to wear that outfit if you don’t want to, but I just think....”

  “Like you said, I’ll just marinade in it while you’re getting ready and then we’ll decide.”

  For Barbey, dress up was like a religion, a way of emulating the Creator of the universe. She could mold an entirely new human race out of puffs and sashes or even dust and ashes (which also could work well as an eye shadow and eyeliner if need be). Straight to fluffy. Drab to sassy. Nice to naughty. Give her a curling iron and a powder puff and the energies of the universe would flow through her. She was like a master magician, a genie in a lamp. Rub the lamp and she’d transform anyone’s cosmetic desires into reality. A producer of impostors. A miraculous mask maker. A costume collaborator.

  A natural brunette, Barbey enjoyed being Barbie-blonde because of the extra attention she received. The bleaching process dried out her hair follicles, but with expensive defrizzing gels and waxes, she was able to achieve a silky natural look. She decided to keep her hairstyle simple that night, so she blew it dry and left it straight with it parted on the side. It was one length and the ends bluntly hit her mid-back. She didn’t mind the challenge of having to touch up the roots every two weeks to give the illusion that she was a natural blonde, because the payoff was so worth it.

  She knew who she wanted to be that night. There was no doubt in her mind that she had to be Marilyn Monroe. That’s why she had bleached her hair platinum blonde in the first place! For the past month she had become obsessed with Marilyn Monroe after renting one of her staring videos, The Prince and the Showgirl. Barbey had fallen in love with the sexy, childish showgirl, Elsie Marina, with her playful, ditsy demeanor. She loved how Elsie appeared naive and empty-headed, yet in truth she was more intelligent than her stuffy, arrogant counterpart, His Highness Grand Duke Charles, played by Lawrence Olivier. Barbey had practiced emulating Elsie Marina every chance she got. She tried to imitate her high-pitched childlike voice in the shower, or while speaking with sales clerks at the mall, and even at the dance studio where she taught tap and ballet to five year olds.

  She would wag her finger in front of the little five year olds’ faces in a drunken, playful manner like Elsie Marina, saying, “Naughty, naughty little girls—your leaps are too low.” Then she’d spin around and giggle gaily, delighted with her performance. The girls thought she was so much fun which encouraged her more.

  Tonight would be a perfect night to dazzle the nightclub with a full out performance. But she knew she must not be too obvious in her imitation of Marilyn Monroe because she didn’t want to reveal herself as a wanna-be-Marilyn. That’s why she wore her hair straight and long instead of in curls and a bun like Elsie. She also didn’t want to come across as trying too hard by dressing in a long white evening gown like Elsie had, so she decided to go for the sexy subtle and dress slightly conservative with a hint of suggestion. She dressed in her khaki calf-length skirt with sling-back low pumps and a simple white French cuffed shirt.

  After she dressed, Sage sat up on the bed and said indignantly, “Barbey, I can’t go to the bar looking like a fairy-ballerina while everything you’re wearing looks plain like…” she paused searching for the right words, “…oh, I don’t know—plain like a paper lunch bag. I’m not going to wear this.’ She started to unzip the pink, lacy mini-skirt.

  “Wait,” Barbey pleaded, “Nothing is plain about me with this platinum blonde hair, but to make you happy, I’ll just put on something more fun. Tonight is like gonna be the night of our lives and we, like, wanna have a blast and look like it. Don’t take off the skirt.” She went to the closet and pulled out a just above the knee, lavender, satin skirt with side and back pockets. “How about this?” she asked smiling.

  “Fine,” Sage responded in an irritated manner, “If you wear that with a less conservative top, I’ll go like this.” She then cracked a smile which gave Barbey the impression that she was satisfied with her choice.

  So, she dressed in the skirt, changed into a beaded white cami with lace trim at the neckline and slipped on a pair of lavender, strappy, low pumps. She put on a pair of beaded earrings and a matching choker. This outfit is a little racier, but still not too gaudy. I guess. Frosted lipstick was the final touch. No guy can resist frosted lipstick because it reminds them of James Bond girls skiing through the snow all frosty and cool in their white winter coats with fur trimmed hoods. A subtle hint can suggest an entire fantasy—it’s like a subliminal message that the movie queen of the world has just arrived.

  Sage looked over at the window. “Oh, my gosh!”

  “What?” Barbey asked anxiously.

  “I thought I just saw someone watching us through the window.”

  Barbey looked over at the heart shaped windows. “There’s nobody there.”

  “Maybe we should call the police,” Sage said nervously.

  “Oh, please.” Barbey shook her head. “Let’s get my dad’s gun and take a look.”

  “No way!” She frowned. “Did you hear that?”

  Barbey’s eyes widened. “You mean that rustling in the trees?” She was whispering now.

  “I’m sure it was nothing,” Sage said after a long pause. “I don’t know why your parents
leave you home all alone so much.”

  “They just went away for the weekend this time.” A smile spread across her face. “But, it’s good that they’re gone because now we can take the jeep without them objecting.

  “I can’t believe your grandfather gave that to you before you turned sixteen.”

  “He said he’s been driving since he was ten and he never got caught. When Mama disapproved, he said just keep it in the garage so I can sit in it.”

  Sage laughed. “You’re family is crazy.”

  7

  It was a time for childish laughter, wonder and excitement. Untouched women are open hearts, raw and yearning, crying out to their gods begging to be filled with secret mysteries and sharp cutting ecstasies. These hearts are separate entities, oblivious to predators, served fresh and uncovered, still beating. The Food and Drug Administration only employs laws to protect the consumer, not the product. Before slaughter, the products are fed intravenously through brain washing techniques of mass media and advertisement. They are marinated in sweet smelling perfumes and decorated in sparkly paints. After they are primped and conditioned, their chests are sliced open and their hearts are packaged in colorful wrappers and placed on grocery store shelves for sale. They yearn to be purchased, to be consumed; they yearn to have all of their promises fulfilled. Who is to blame? The heart? The butcher? The consumer? Which is which?

  After paying a five-dollar parking fee, Barbey parked her Jeep on the American side of the border. The windows were down and she could hear the gravel crunching under the tires as the warm air blew through her hair.

  Because the parking lot was on a hill, the girls had to walk down a rocky dirt path to get to the stairwell that led to the other side of the border. The lot was dim and eerie with only one flickering lamp. The dirt path was dark, but Sage used her mini-flashlight that was attached to her house keys. Sage typically carried all sorts of gadgets that her parents had given her over the years because they were into camping and hiking.

  There were three Navy men at the bottom of the hill furtively drinking beers which they were trying to hide under their shirts. “Hey, where you girls going?” one of them asked. He was a hulking man with a military haircut.

  Barbey giggled and brushed her fingers through her hair as she and Sage walked past, “We’re going to…” Sage pulled at her arm and gave her a look of disapproval.

  “We’re meeting some friends,” Sage interjected.

  “Want some company?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” Sage responded nervously.

  “Come on. We can share a cab,” he pleaded.

  Barbey whispered to Sage, “I know they’re Navy guys, but we could save some money on the ride over.”

  “Gross!” Sage said. “There is no way I am going to hang out with military men. Everybody knows they’re perverts.”

  “Oh, that’s true. If anyone saw us with them, they’d think we were pathetic and desperate.” Barbey turned to them, saluted, and then curtsied as she giggled. “I’m soooooo sorry, little boys, that we can’t help you tonight. We’ve got plans with…” she moved her shoulders side to side in rhythm and pushed her chin out like Marilyn getting ready to blow a kiss, “…some big, big boys and …” her voice raised a notch, “…there won’t be room for all of us.” Her eyes widened blankly.

  Sage slapped her on the shoulder. “What are you doing? Let’s go!” She pulled her ahead.

  Barbey genuinely felt sorry for the men and was worried that she and Sage might have hurt their feelings or caused them to feel insecure. “Sorry,” Barbey yelled sympathetically to the men as she looked back over her shoulder. The hulking man was grabbing at his heart as if he were wounded in love while the other two men moaned and said that the girls were breaking their hearts and that they could show them what true love really was, as well as and several other comments that blended into the night.

  The stairwell was well lit when they got to it, but it smelled of urine and vomit. They walked up several flights, crossed a walkway bridge and headed down another flight of stairs. Once at the bottom of the stairs, they were officially in Mexico, so they walked awhile and entered the taxi lot.

  “Hola blondie, donde vamos?” A fast talking Mexican man asked as he approached them. “Where we going?”

  The lot was full of taxis and there was a group of young Americans crowding into a cab next to the man who approached them. “How much to Revolution?” Sage asked.

  “I take you ten dollars,” He said waving them toward the cab.

  Sage responded indignantly, “Ten dollars! Are you crazy?” She was accustomed to bargaining with Mexicans and enjoyed the game.

  “Ok, eight dollars,” he said pulling her arm toward the car.

  Sage pulled back and said, “Five dollars. We’ll go for five dollars.”

  “Five, bueno. Ok let’s go.”

  Sage realized that she should have held out for four dollars because it was so easy to get him to agree to the five, but it was too late. So, she and Barbey got in the cab and he dropped them off on Revolution Avenue. The street was crowded, so he couldn’t pull up to the bar, but that was usual. They just had a couple of blocks to walk to get to El Figurado.

  “Remember to walk fast and guard your butt,” Barbey said. It was common practice that Mexican men grabbed girls’ rear ends as they walked down the strip to and from the bars. There wasn’t any way to avoid the invasions, so women simply accepted it. Even the most lewd behaviors become acceptable when commonly practiced.

  Revolution was lively and so well lit that it looked almost like daytime. Lining the streets were open storefronts displaying leather sandals, piñatas, ceramic piggy banks, sombreros, Mexican blankets, and panchos. On each corner of the street, there were donkeys painted white with black stripes and along the curbs there were taco stands and portable silversmith displays. From the nightclub balconies, music bellowed out like dueling concerts, slamming to the pavement. Women sat on the sidewalks, shaking tin cups and small children aggressively approached Americans, begging them to buy red, green, or pink chicle or yarn bracelets.

  As the girls briskly walked down the sidewalk, a small deformed Mexican man with only short knobby flesh stubs for arms and for legs rolled up to them laying stomach down on a skateboard. He was pushing himself fast with the nubs of his arms to keep up with them. “Senoritas, senoritas,” he yelled out, “necesisto ayuda.”

  “Oh, look at the poor man,” Sage cried out. “We should give him some money.” Sage stopped Barbey and dug around in her purse for some change.

  “Give him a lot—he looks really sad,” Barbey felt slightly sick to her stomach, remembering her French poodle, Toby, who lost his two front legs when he was hit by a car when she was a child.

  “I’ll give him five dollars from both of us,” Sage whispered. “He’s crippled. How’s he supposed to work?”

  “That’s good. Just hurry up.”

  As Sage bent down to hand him the bill, two men came up from behind and grabbed the girls’ rear ends, quickly fondling them, as the deformed man lunged forward, propped himself up suddenly on his rear nubs, and grabbed the bill, brushing his nub against Sage’s breast. Sage jerked upright and Barbey released a startled yelp. The occurrence happened so expeditiously, as if the men had staged the assault. The girls hastily scampered away while the three men laughed in the distance.

  Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the Mediterranean style nightclub. Barbey was delighted to see that El Figurado was packed as usual with familiar faces of high school classmates and kids from other schools in their district. Young men and women stood around gossiping, drinking, and smoking in little clusters and at tall, round tables in the dimly lit club.