by P. J. Morse
“You know, that wouldn’t be a bad idea for a one-off show. Stripper Pole Nightmares!” Hare sighed.
Kevin paused. “You better copyright that, or I’m gonna steal it. Now would someone get — honey, what is your name? — some ice?”
“My name is Dawn,” she gasped, trying to get up. She was going to be fine, but I was sure she was already dreading watching her accident on television.
I looked up at the ceiling hole, and I looked at Kevin, who was scratching his head. I wanted him to realize just how serious this was, but I tried to make it seem as if I were just musing, not like I was the resident bodyguard on the watch for a stalker. “Are you sure it was secured properly in the first place?” I asked.
The pole had been attached to a ceiling mount, which had popped out along with the pole. I picked up a screw that came out with it and rolled onto the floor. Meanwhile, Kevin was tearing into Greg: “Where did you get this? IKEA? The flea market? I told you to get a professional pole!”
I inspected the bolt, and it looked as if the threads had been filed down. It was only a matter of time before the pole gave way to some overenthusiastic moves, and it happened sooner rather than later. I slipped the bolt in the pocket of my jeans, as I couldn’t give it to Kevin in front of everyone.
A little stripper pole sabotage fit my mental sketch of Patrick’s stalker. Now we were definitely dealing with someone who made it on the show, either as cast or crew, and who was willing to take her time to eliminate the competition one by one.
A member of the crew appeared with a bag of ice, and I helped Dawn stand. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded, tugging her red leather micro-mini down as far as it could go, which wasn’t very far. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m going to be the girl who couldn’t even work a pole.”
“Look on the bright side. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you’ll stand out,” I told her. “Hey, who else was on the pole before you?”
“Oh, everybody.” She proceeded to rattle off a list of names, only a few of which I recognized.
“Wow — it could have been anyone who fell,” I said, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t grilling her. Then again, she seemed so openhearted and innocent, with her huge blue eyes, that she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “Anyone you were surprised didn’t get on the pole?”
Dawn looked at me. “You,” she said. “You look fit enough to be on the pole, for sure.”
After seeing some of my fellow contestants showing off, I wouldn’t have taken a turn on the Atomic Love 2 pole if it were made of platinum and hosed down with Lysol. Not to insult Dawn’s stripping aspirations, I fudged an excuse that would satisfy her: “I always wanted to try it, but I get motion sickness easily.”
“Oh.”
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“Well, Tina kept saying I should go first, but I didn’t see her get on. And Topaz said she wanted to keep her hair looking good.” Then she looked toward the foyer. “Guess I should go get eliminated.”
I offered my hand so I could help Dawn to the tiers. I figured that anyone who avoided the pole, besides me, was a candidate for filing down the screw that kept the stripper pole mount in place.
Chapter Ten:
Lockets Galore
Yet again, we were arranged on the tiers. To simplify matters, we were put up there in the same order from that morning, which probably helped fire up Patrick’s memory. Lorelai, ever the teacher’s pet, kept reminding Kevin of which woman went where.
This time, Wolf was involved in placing the women, and I wondered how much of a say he had in who should stay and who should go. He spent an unusually long time making sure Cookie was placed just so, and I caught him sniffing her hair.
When Dawn was positioned, she was still rubbing her thigh, as the pole had landed right on it. Wolf and Kevin moved away, and I thought I heard Kevin say, “Tell Patrick to keep her… she’s been through enough tonight.” He smacked his hands together twice like that was that.
The members of the production crew set up the rest of the “elimination zone,” in which Patrick would dole out trinkets to those of us who would stay in the mansion. Past dating reality shows all had a gimmick tied to elimination: roses, clocks, backstage passes, or glasses of champagne. Atomic Love was well known for giving out packs of matches, referencing the heat generated by Patrick the former Nuclear King, of course. Last season, he asked the women, “Will you light my fire?”
I presumed one of the living members of The Doors threatened a lawsuit because I didn’t see any matches this time: only a row of lockets featuring half hearts with jagged edges.
After another round of waiting, during which Casey let out a few scary dry heaves as Greg hoisted her upright, Patrick emerged and stood next to the lockets. He was wearing one of them around his neck.
“So, last season, I asked someone to light my fire. And the woman I chose — damn, she lit that fire — but it turned to ashes. Now I have something else on my mind. Everyone’s gonna think I’m an old man…”
“No, you’re not, Patrick!” we all yelled to reassure him. But he was right. In rock years, he was old. He had to be at least 40, maybe older.
He continued, “But I don’t care. I really could care less. I want to find someone who is the right fit.” He inserted his half of the locket into the other half he was holding, and they merged together in a heart.
“But don’t think I’ve gone soft!” he said. “There’s a mushroom cloud engraved on the back.”
Those of us who got the whole “Nuclear” joke giggled, but some of the women just said, “Huh?” They probably still thought he had been in Pearl Jam or Alice in Chains.
“So, I’m going to call each of you down tonight based on how you fit. And lady number one already knows who she is…” he looked at Andi, his handpicked assistant bartender.
Andi looked back as if to say, “Who?” But she looked hot, so it didn’t matter.
“Andi, c’mere,” he said. He hung her half of the locket around her neck and let her give him a sloppy kiss in return.
“Next is a woman whose talents utterly impressed me. I have never seen anything like it. Cookie!”
Cookie gasped, like a pageant winner. “Really?”
“Do you think I would pass up a woman with your skills?” Patrick asked.
She shook her head and raced into his arms. She also gave him a lengthy kiss, and all of us groaned since he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Unlike Andi, Cookie was far less passive. I glanced at Wolf to see how he was handling it since he seemed so enamored of Cookie, and I noticed cords of muscle bulging in his neck.
“Now — this woman grabbed my attention right at the end of the night. And I like a woman who may have fallen, but she knows how to get up. Dawn?”
Dawn jerked her head back in shock. I hadn’t seen her interact with Patrick except when he mixed her a drink. If anyone might have been lost in the shuffle, it would have been her, but the producers must have decided to give her a special treat after The Attack of the Stripper Pole.
“You can’t get away with being shy for that long, honey! Not with your angel face!” Patrick said. He walked up to the podium and stretched his hand toward her. She walked down and seemed to be in a daze as the locket fell into place. He gently ran his hands through her short blonde hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He would have looked like a real gentleman if he hadn’t been dating 19 other women at once.
“Now — I just picked a sweet little pixie, but I also like them tough, and I just realized I need to watch my step around this woman,” he continued.
I thought he was going to say Topaz or Tina. But he said, “Katherine, my flame throwa?” He spun the locket’s chain around his finger.
I headed down, my boots clunking against the tiers.
“Remind me to keep my lighter away from you!” he said as he put the chain around my neck. Then he moved in for the kiss.
I got nervous, but I had to accept after I gave
him a fistful of hair earlier. I let him zoom in toward my face, but I kept my mouth closed and pressed hard against his lips. While the other women behaved as if they saw stars upon kissing him, I wondered how much saliva Patrick was passing around in one night.
Then again, I kind of enjoyed the brush of his goatee against my face. It tickled. His lips were soft, and he tasted like Chapstick. But I wasn’t sure if that was another girl’s Chapstick or his own, and that sort of spoiled the moment. The cameras didn’t help, either.
Topaz was up next, labeled as another “tough woman.” She stood next to me and gave me a smug look. “At least I’m not gonna set the house on fire,” she muttered.
Patrick said Lorelai’s name and called her a “late-breaking sensation” as she slinked up to get her locket. Other women were plucked from the crowd until Tina, the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra, and a few other women I hadn’t met yet were left. Tina was shaking and looked confused, as if she couldn’t possibly be the last one called because she was so pretty.
“You guys all know the drill. You know how hard it is for me, but I’m not Mormon, so I can’t date all of you.” Patrick held out his arms and gave a sheepish smile.
The women who got the joke laughed. Stacy, Casey, and Tracy had blank faces. Stacy was having trouble looking at Patrick, period.
“This locket is going to Tina,” Patrick said.
Tina rushed him, threw her arms around him, and gave him a lingering kiss. She even stroked his cheek. “Why’d you wait so long, baby?” she asked.
It was a reasonable question. If we were being measured by Playboy standards, then Tina was easily the most beautiful of all of us. Patrick told her, “Well, I’ve been on this merry-go-round before, you know?”
She nodded.
“And I don’t need another woman who has one eye on me and one on the camera. I just need to be sure of you, Tina.”
Patrick had whipped up a nifty moment. Kevin was off to the side, rubbing his hands together. He and Patrick had probably sketched it out when they determined the elimination order, and it came off beautifully.
Tears glittered in Tina’s eyes. “You can be sure of me, Patrick,” she said, gripping his hand as he guided her toward the rest of us. To show off, she wedged her locket into her cleavage.
All the other women remained on the tiers. Casey asked Tracy, “Wait — does that mean we didn’t win?”
“Who cares, let’s get ourselves a drink for the road!” Tracy shouted. She spun around like she was going to make a beeline for the bar, but the last thing she needed was more booze.
While Casey and Tracy were taking Patrick’s rejection in stride — sort of — Stacy wasn’t taking it well at all. “You’re all fake! Fakertons! Fakerellis! Fakewads! Haters!” she screeched. “My sister made it to the semifinals of Sexy Single Dad! This is supposed to be my time!” She pounded her chest. “My time!”
“You mean your 15 minutes?” Kevin asked, looking at his watch. “Well, you are on minute 14, plus 30 seconds, and it is time to leave.”
“I’ll do anything to stay!” Stacy screamed, shaking her head so hard that one of her extensions fell out. “Anything! This is my shot!”
“You blew your shot,” Kevin said. “You were unconscious ninety percent of the time. C’mon, tell me what you did in the past hour. Do you remember?” Then he tilted his head in Wolf’s direction. I realized that Patrick had completely disappeared from the scene.
Wolf folded his arms across his chest and advanced toward Stacy. “I told you not to upset the rooster when he is in the garden.”
Stacy didn’t give a rat’s ass about roosters or gardens. “Do you see how I’m dressed?” Stacy asked, pointing to her boobs. “I broke out all the big guns!”
Wolf kept moving toward her, his face stony.
“Look at my sexuality! I ooze sexuality!”
The word “ooze” made Wolf stop. He frowned and told her, “You should think before you speak.”
As soon as Wolf got close enough to touch her, Stacy slipped off her shoes and ran for the pool.
“Stop!” Kevin barked.
Stacy kept wailing and tugging off her dress. The hot-pink spandex tube crumpled up like a deflated balloon, her flask clattered to the ground, and she dove naked into the pool.
At first, I thought Stacy might swim through the pool and run off into the woods. Once she surfaced in the water, however, she panicked. None of the women had entered the pool that night, and it must have been deeper than she expected. She splashed around and went under, disappearing for a moment.
Recognizing the liability issues, Kevin ran up, but he stopped about a foot away. “No, no. Not getting in that. Can someone get this woman, please? I can’t swim!”
Some water splashed up into his face, and he immediately flicked it off. He saw me looking at him and just said, “What can I say? I’m like a cat. Wolf! Fix this!”
Wolf was the right man for the job. He stepped into the pool on the shallow end and just started walking toward the middle. He kept walking in his determined fashion as the water crept over his chin, mouth, nose, eyes, and forehead, until his head was completely under water. Stacy’s flailing stopped suddenly. The water became still. I was worried he might have injured her under there or applied some sort of Grunge Rock Death Grip.
Then Wolf walked out of the pool the same way he came in, with Stacy’s naked body limply draped over his shoulder. The entire time, the expression on his face did not change. His job was to protect his cousin from any danger, distraction, or annoyance. But I could also see why Kevin hired me. With all the random contestant freak-outs, Wolf was going to have his hands so full that he couldn’t keep an eye on someone sneaky enough to sabotage a stripper pole.
Cookie gazed at Wolf and said one single word. “Badass!”
Wolf threw Stacy on a hammock and tossed a canvas tarp over her. He mused, “When the ball is lost in the tall grass, it must learn to roll on its own.” I wasn’t sure if Stacy was going to roll herself out of there, but I had to agree with him about the lost ball part.
Kevin stepped up. “Somebody towel her off and take her to the Travelodge. Now, anyone else who didn’t get a locket, follow me! We’re getting your luggage!” He began rotating his arm like a windmill as he moved toward the front door.
The remainder of the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra and a few of the quieter women trailed along obediently. If they had tried to make a break for it, Wolf would have put a swift stop to it. As a bonus, he would have also thrown in a Zen koan.
With Patrick gone and the rest of the crew busy, the remaining contestants were at a loss. Andi returned to the bar and poured herself another glass of peppermint Schnapps, but I was exhausted. Cookie, Dawn, and I followed some of the crew to the front yard, where our luggage had been tossed. After fishing out our luggage, we went upstairs to choose our rooms. We were still mic’d up, and Tortoise and Hare followed us. I looked back at them, annoyed. “All the partying is going on downstairs. We’re just going to bed.”
Hare, who was growing more jittery by the second, said, “I don’t go away unless you’re asleep or taking a — ”
“Thank you,” I said. “We’re just unpacking. I don’t think anything exciting is going to happen.”
“The ladies downstairs are covered. Like I said, I don’t go away unless you’re — ”
“Gotcha.”
Tortoise, who had at least two decades on Hare, advised, “Kid, keep your mouth shut.”
“Sorry,” Hare said and then added, “Just forget we’re here.”
Although I was skeptical, that would be surprisingly easy. Even though they were crawling everywhere, like roaches, I couldn’t remember exactly where all the camerapeople had been.
Besides, Tortoise and Hare came in handy as we were looking for our rooms. Tortoise liked saying, “Warmer… colder… warmer… colder” until we found an open room to stash our stuff.
Once Cookie flicked on the light switch, I thought we had wa
lked into the middle of Summer Camp from Hell. Despite the house’s dazzling architecture, the walls of the women’s rooms had been painted salmon, and each of the bedspreads looked like they had been designed for little girls, all covered with flowers and butterflies. Someone must have told a designer to make the rooms “feminine,” but the designer had never spoken to a woman, much less asked her which interior decorating style she preferred. Five beds, two bunk and one regular, had been wedged into the room.
“Barf,” Cookie correctly stated.
“Is this what they think of the female mind?” I asked.
“What? You don’t like the rooms?” Hare asked, obviously trying to goad me into a fit. I had a feeling that shot was going to be used in the final cut to make me look like a bitch.
I opted to backtrack. “That’s not it.” I looked at the camera and threw my bag on a top bunk. “If a girl’s gonna live the rock ‘n’ roll life, she’s gotta be able to sleep anywhere.”
“Thatta girl!” Cookie cheered, rolling her suitcase over to the opposite bunk.
I stuck my head in the bathroom so I could stake out a spot to stash my stuff. I saw a huge sign above the toilet that read, “If I am not TP / Pretty please don’t flush me! Love, Management!”
Then I heard a loud snore. Dawn had already collapsed on the bunk beneath me.
“Lemme show you something,” Cookie said. She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a shirt. She didn’t seem to mind the fact that Tortoise and Hare were looking into the suitcase, too. “A Nuclear Kings shirt from ‘95. God, I was a kid then.” She unrolled it. It had been signed by Patrick Price. Then she took out a Nuclear Kings CD and waved it in the air.
“Wow. I didn’t even think to bring my stuff.” I stroked the T-shirt. She smiled proudly, almost like a mom showing off to the next generation.
“Oh, you would have if you had seen it live. I mean, he is great now, aged well and all that… but back then. He was magnetic. It’s just… now it is so different. And he’s kissing all these other girls!” She sighed and held the T-shirt to her chest.
