By: Boz
Her nom de pole was Katrina. She had been dancing since Chastity walked out the door long ago–he forgot about Chastity–and she had a way of exuding herself to the bald headed men night after night that was amazing in its fortitude. There was a firm gaze of self-assurance in her eyes, almost too easy to maintain for a woman with her small ambitions, but yet so inexplicable to a man of the world like X. Between his $80,000 Range Rover, his $5,000 mortgage and his PhD in Post-Modernism, X had all the trappings of success. Why, then, did he spend his nights at this sleazy club watching women grind their hips and give themselves wedgy after wedgy with their spangled thongs? Sure, he was divorced and single, set free from the responsibilities of marriage and child rearing (his wife had custody of TJ and Tammie), but did this mean he could follow the spiral of his libido down into uncharted depths? While he had stuffed countless tens and twenties into Katrina’s underwear, and even bought her drinks on a few occasions, he had never taken her home and slept with her. And she would sleep with his kind in a second, being that he was well groomed and respectful of her, never treating her like an object to be drooled upon. This gave him at least some credibility in the lens of his conscience.
X wallowed in these thoughts while he nursed a martini, his eyes turning watery when Katrina bent over to reveal a rotund backside. Three corpulent men in the front row took off their hats and fanned themselves while a forth attempted to climb on stage. He was quickly stopped by a tattooed bouncer. Somehow X envisioned himself living the life he always thought he would live: he was completely alone. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? He may as well have embraced failure head on, at least then he might still be happy and unconcerned–like Katrina.
Just then X felt a vibrating sensation near his right thigh. He forgot that he had turned his cellphone ringer off. Tammie always called him every Wednesday night at 9 o’clock sharp. X flipped open his phone and said, “Tammie, is that you?” “Hi daddy,” Tammie’s voice boomed in his ear. Normally, X would make some effort to be in a less lecherous state of mind while talking to his daughter, but tonight he didn’t care. The deal at his job which he had been working on for months got taken away from him suddenly and transferred to a group of college interns. The only explanation given to him was that he should be doing bigger and better things. “Leave the small stuff to the kids,” is what his boss had told him. Now he was sulking because that deal was more important to him than anybody at his office realized. He was working with an attractive commercial real-estate agent who he had the hots for. She dropped enough hints to let him know she was on the market and he was anticipating their professional partnership becoming more, how shall we say it, personal. He envisioned himself finally climbing his way out of the slump he was in and saying goodbye to Katrina forever.
“Daddy, Niglet’s acting like something’s wrong with him.” X sighed. “Tammie, how many times have I told you to rename that gerbil?” Tammie was obviously too young to understand the racist implications of the name she had chosen to give to her pet gerbil, and his ex Sally neglected to take any action. He knew she did this to spite him, it was as if she was saying, “See, if you hadn’t left you could be dealing with this face to face instead of via the telephone from 3,000 miles away.” “Niglet’s not eating and he runs around in circles,” Tammie said. “Well, how would you like a nice cat named Tigger?” X responded. Gerbil dies, problem solved, X thought. See, I don’t need to be there at all.
The three corpulent men were now all trying to climb on stage at once. The bouncer was pulling them down and two of the men’s cracks were showing. Katrina looked off stage as if she were being instructed by her manager to end the show early. She briefly shook her head as if disagreeing with something, then she preceded to exit the stage from the rear-right. “Let’s hear it for Katrina!” a voice boomed over the PA. There were some boos followed by more scuffling from the three corpulent men and the bouncer and then the lights came back on for intermission. “Daddy, are you in a movie theater?” Tammie asked. Not knowing how to respond, X said, “Sweetie. put your mommy on the phone.”
A crowd of horny men were herding their way over to the bar and X made for the exit to get some privacy and fresh air. There was some sounds from the phone exchange on the other end and then his wife picked up. “What?” she said, her voice was all tiredness and curtness. “I know I’m not being a good father or ex-husband, but can you hear me out for a second?” Sally made no reply which indicated she was in her patient listening mode. “I’m a screw-up, and you and the kids don’t deserve me. You’re better off without me–wait, you know that photo where we’re all at Jone’s Beach together. I want you to cut me out of it.” “Oh, my God! You’ve been drinking,” Sally cried. “No, well, only a little. But I mean it. I’m feeling really down on myself, actually pretty sorry for myself, and I’m finally realizing some things people can only realize when they get to a certain lowness.” Sally made some grumbling noises and said, “Go home and get some rest and call me when you can think. I’m not going to be having this conversation when Tammie’s got a play to prepare for and TJ has his first cavity. Goodbye.”
X stood there listening to the silence reverberate through the plastic phone for a moment before shuffling to his car. Next to his Range Rover–which had been ticketed while he was in the strip joint–stood Katrina smoking a cigarette. She was more subtly seductive now that her white flesh was covered in a pea coat and a hat was pulled tight over her jet-black long hair. Only her high heels and bare ankles seemed to betray her profession. She smiled at him as she took one last pull on her cigarette before flicking it into the street.
“Taxi,” she snorted, sounding embarrassed. “What?” X said. “Vinny makes all us girls take taxis too and from this place. He doesn’t want patrons knowing what kind of cars we drive.” Sometimes when you’re falling backwards and you can’t stop yourself, you know what you have to do–you stop fighting the fall and brace for impact. X gazed at Katrina gracing his ticketed Range Rover, looking as rich and fabulous as any humble woman can look. A quizical smile spread across her face as she looked into his surveying eyes. She was trying to interpret his thoughts.
Just then X felt an intense sense of clarity as the recent events of his life flashed through his mind. Right then he knew what he had to do.
“If Vinny wouldn’t mind, I’ll drive you home tonight,” he said to her.
“What Vinny doesn’t know…” she said, extending a delicate arm in acquiescence.
