Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters)

by Robyn Peterman

  After so many beautiful words, the last couple of sentences made me remember how crazy Kim really was. I nodded, afraid if I spoke, I would say something insulting about insane people.

  “Well, dear, it was lovely chatting, but I need to keep distributing my pubic hair.” After another quick hug she was off.

  The morning in the woods was eventful. The bald photographers, whom we’d never been introduced to, were thrilled and shocked to be the lucky ones to first spot Bigfoot’s private hair. There was hair everywhere. That merkin sure packed a punch. Heidi examined the hair and took copious notes.

  Mariah and the old ladies stood in the shadows behind the largest trees they could find and tried desperately not to laugh. I was having a difficult time myself. Boo, Kim, and Rich were the only ones who were able to play it off as if they were surprised and delighted by the amazing discovery. Hugh was too deeply ensconced in his music to realize anything was amiss. Edith kept mouthing the word merkin to me when no one else was looking. I literally mutilated the inside of my mouth trying to hold it together.

  Stuey had the strangest reaction of all. He was baffled by our findings. As the morning progressed and more hair was discovered, he behaved like a child on Christmas morning who’d never experienced Santa’s bounty before. Stuey was so excited it was almost alarming. He even did a rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama” with Hugh. That one would take shock treatments to remove from my brain. By the time lunch rolled around, I was exhausted from holding back laughter. Heidi, with her notebook in hand, was interviewing everyone. Especially Rich and Stuey.

  “I think we’ve found enough pubes to agree that Sasquatch has been here,” Kim said, grinning from ear to ear. “I vote we come back to this exact spot tomorrow.”

  Everyone cheered and agreed . . . except Stuey. “I’ll have to check with Stan on that,” he mumbled, not making eye contact with anyone.

  “Why?” Heidi demanded. “Is Stan the boss of you?”

  “No, baby,” he stammered. “I just have to . . .”

  “Tell that shiny mute bastard Stan, bless his heart, that we’re coming back here tomorrow or we all quit,” Edith said. “We know Bigfoot is here and if that slimy little asshole has a problem with it, his testicles can have a conversation with Mariah’s knee.”

  Boo chose that exact moment to start sobbing and Mariah began stretching her limbs to kick some ass. The old lesbos had done their threatening job well. Stuey paled, and his only friend, his singing partner, Hugh, deserted him to stand with his beloved wife, Kim.

  “Um, okay,” he whispered, knowing he was outnumbered. “We’ll come back here tomorrow.”

  We walked our twenty minutes back to the cabin, happy that the real Sasquatch, if he truly existed, was safe for another day. Stan couldn’t have been less impressed about the pubic hair if he tried. What in the hell was his deal? Did he suspect we were pulling something over on them? Did he know where Bigfoot really was? He was so cold I wouldn’t have put it past him to kill our hairy hero . . . and why in the hell did they need us if they were just going to harm Sasquatch? Maybe they were setting us up. Maybe they were going to place the blame of Bigfoot’s death on us. Wait a minute . . . Had I totally lost my mind and entered the land of Psychoville?

  Yes. The answer was yes.

  Heidi was furious that Stuey and Stan locked themselves in a room while we ate lunch. She tried wheedling and begging and then swearing, but to no avail. I thought it was pretty funny, but Rich seemed oddly disturbed.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, handing him a Rose and Popo’s sub.

  “Um, yeah. Why?” he asked, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite.

  “Well, Heidi seems to be really bothering you.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head, swallowed, and ran his hand carefully through his gnarly hair. “I’m just a bit concerned for the safety of Sasquatch with the paper covering us so closely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just hope that woman doesn’t reveal our location. All sorts of local yahoos will start coming out here to hunt down Yeti.”

  “Assclowns,” I muttered. “I hadn’t thought of that. Should we talk to her?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  I was relieved that I didn’t have to go toe to toe with Heidi again. I glanced around the room and realized Edith and Mrs. C were missing. Damn it, they were outside emptying the mysterious contents of yet another suitcase. Tomorrow I would slip out and follow them. If they were doing something illegal, I would stop them. As much as they still drove me to want to drink heavily, I did not want them getting in trouble with the law. I wasn’t exactly sure what I would do if they were burying dead bodies, but the more I got to know them, the more certain I felt that their covert activity was something far more creatively disturbing than burying the dead.

  “Time to go,” Stan said as he rejoined us.

  “So we’ll be searching the same area again tomorrow?” Boo said, not trusting that Stuey had informed Stan.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said. “Just find Bigfoot.”

  “We’ll find him,” Hugh said, slowly sliding into the splits. “Don’t you worry about that, my man.”

  Stan gave him an odd look, pulled out his cell phone, and left the cabin.

  “Nice talking to you too,” Mariah laughed and flipped Stan’s back the bird.

  “Sorry about Stan.” Stuey stared at the floor and his shoulders drooped. “He’s a little shy. He’s really excited about all this, he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

  We all stood silently and stared at Stuey.

  “So, um,” he continued after the awkward silence refused to end. “We sent some footage to TIT and they loved it!”

  “That’s wonderful, Stuey,” Kim gushed. “They must be so proud of you.”

  She embraced him and Hugh gave him a high five.

  “It’s not me,” he said modestly. “This whole trip is working out the way it’s supposed to because of you guys.”

  “Stuey, you’re no slouch,” Boo said, squeezing his hand. “You’re a wonderful singer. You and Hugh make a great team.”

  “Really?” He blushed furiously.

  “Absolutely,” she said, smiling.

  “Okay.” Stuey was a little puffed up now that he had fans. “Let’s get you kids back to the lodge. Heidi?”

  Heidi’s head jerked back to the action in the middle of the room. She had been in deep and animated conversation with Rich. “What?”

  “Are we still on for a hot date tonight?”

  She giggled and tried to fluff her helmet. “Of course we are, Stuey baby.”

  Eww and gross. I wondered if Rich had had any success convincing her to keep our location out of the paper. Old Heidi seemed to have a few screws loose. I still couldn’t place her; maybe she was right . . . maybe I didn’t know her.

  Thankfully on the ride home we went through a fast food drive-through. The thought of getting thrown out of another restaurant was too much for any of us to bear. I was happy with my chicken sandwich, fries, and vanilla milkshake. I was looking forward to a quiet evening in my mustard-colored hotel room.

  “Hey, Rich,” I said, stealing one of his fries. “Did the aggressive helmet-wig reporter agree to not give up our location?”

  “She agreed.” He nodded. “Why do you think she’s wearing a wig?”

  “Because I saw her brown hair sticking out of it the other day.”

  “Hmm.” He dug into his fries and drifted off into his own world. Thankfully the weird feeling I’d gotten from him yesterday was gone.

  I glanced up at the front seat and noticed Hugh feeding Kim as she drove like a bat out of hell. She giggled as he dangled onion rings in front of her lips. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Mitch was the one who’d got away . . . or rather the one I’d sent away. He could never be with me like Hugh was with Kim . . . And since that was what had happened, I needed to let it go. It had happened for a reason and there was someone out th
ere who would feed me onion rings too. Well, maybe not onion rings, because I hated them . . . but french fries. I loved french fries. Strangely enough, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I could do this. I could forget about Mitch and keep living my life. Of course it helped that I would never see him again. If I had to see him on any kind of regular basis, I’d be screwed. I pulled on my curls and smiled. I was going to be okay.

  “What’s going on inside that brain of yours?” Rich asked quietly.

  “Dangerous things.” I grinned. “No, actually, I just realized I will be okay.”

  “Did I miss something?” He grinned back. Thankfully the car was dark enough that his horrible teeth only looked crooked.

  “Nope, I’ve just come to terms with a few issues that were floating around in my head.”

  “The guy?” he asked, raising his eyebrow over his green eye.

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “He’s the one who got away. There’s nothing I can do about it now, so I’m going to let it go. As long as I don’t see him, and trust me, that won’t be an issue, I’ll be able to forget him. He hightailed it out of Minnesota the morning after we, um . . . whatever. Suffice it to say he’s gone . . . and I will be okay.”

  Rich was quiet. I knew he was thinking about the horrid girl who had broken his heart. Soon I would have a sit-down with my sweet buddy. I would gently talk to him about a makeover of sorts. I would be very careful. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I was hell-bound and determined to help him.

  Chapter 23

  A forty-five minute steamy hot shower, where I shaved, conditioned, moisturized, scrubbed, and pampered myself, made me feel like a new woman. My hair was wild and smelled like peaches. My skin felt soft and there was no trace of bug spray or merkin anywhere on my body. I pulled on my favorite pajama bottoms and a threadbare wifebeater. I loved the shirt. I hadn’t been able to wear it much, because Jack was always in our apartment and the shirt was obscene. Rena called it my hoochie mama shirt. I reheated my unhealthy dinner in the antiquated microwave and I curled up on my lumpy bed for some trashy TV.

  For a couple of hours I could pretend I wasn’t in Duluth, Minnesota, hunting for a mythical creature that I wasn’t even sure was mythical anymore. I found an alarming documentary about Amish teenagers getting wild and I knew all was right with my world . . . except someone was knocking on my door.

  Shitmonkeys, I didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone at the moment. Particularly someone I’d been living with 24/7.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Boo,” came a sweet little voice from the other side of the door.

  “Hey, Boo.” I smiled as I opened the door and welcomed her in. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure.” I wished the TV had a pause button. Those hungover Amish teenagers were just about to walk into a grocery store for the first time in their lives. Crap. I turned off the disaster about to happen on the TV and waited for the real thing. If Boo had come to talk, something was up.

  “I’m worried,” she said, sitting down on my bed.

  “Uh-huh.” I sat down next to her. “You want a fry?”

  “Yeah.” She took a bite. “These are gross.”

  “I know,” I said, shoving a few in my mouth. “So what are you worried about?”

  “About the show and Stan and Stuey. Something isn’t right.” She took a few more of the gross fries and ate them.

  “If you dip them in catsup, they’re not as bad,” I said, offering her a packet.

  “Thanks.”

  “So what makes you uncomfortable?”

  “I touched Stuey’s hand today . . . I don’t think he’s who he says he is.”

  “Who the hell is he?” I asked. Now I felt all weird and off. The gross fries and chicken sandwich sat in my stomach like lead.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Boo said pensively. “I don’t see exacts. I get feelings and vibes from people. Sometimes I hear a message, but that doesn’t happen often.”

  “So you think his name isn’t Stuey?”

  “Not necessarily and that’s not even the point. I felt an angry fear and excitement in him. He’s waiting for something . . . to happen.”

  “Well, hell . . . do you think he wants to kill Bigfoot?” I asked, doing an internal eye roll at myself. I could forget about trying not to believe anymore.

  “That’s what I thought at first, but now I’m not so sure,” she murmured.

  “Maybe you should tell this stuff to Kim and Hugh or Rich.” I grabbed a bottle of water and tried to wash the nervous dryness down my throat. I didn’t even believe in Boo’s magic hoodoo, but something about what she was saying felt right.

  “I went by Hugh and Kim’s room and they, um . . . seemed kind of busy, so I didn’t even knock.” She blushed to the roots of her auburn hair and I prayed that my dinner would stay in my stomach.

  “What about Rich?” I choked out. Bad evil images of Kim and Hugh getting it on made speaking and focusing difficult.

  “I tried his door, but he wasn’t home.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, doing some yoga breathing. I hoped that by centering myself I could bypass the inappropriate and unsavory porno going on in my brain.

  “I thought so too. Maybe he’s asleep,” she said, lying back on my bed and getting comfortable. I realized I was going to miss the whole Amish debacle . . .

  “I’ll call Aunt Moon-Unit and have her do a search on Stan and Stuey,” I said, tossing the rest of the fries in the trash.

  “That’s a great idea,” she yawned.

  “Boo, how old are you and Mariah?”

  “I’m twenty-one and Mariah is twenty-three,” she said. “Mariah kind of raised me after our mom checked out.”

  “Is your mom still around?”

  “Don’t know and don’t care.”

  It was the harshest thing I’d ever heard pass Boo’s lips. I knew there was a bad story there. I’d place a bet it was as ugly or uglier than mine . . .

  “Sorry about that.”

  “I’m not. Do you want to know why my sister sounds like a man?” She sat up and stared me down.

  “Do you want to tell me?” I asked. My gut clenched; I was feeling a little sick about what she might say.

  “My mom was a crackhead. A violent crackhead.” Boo’s voice was even, betraying no emotion. “She liked to beat on Mariah . . . on her face. She broke her nose so many times that her septum is so deviated and screwed up, she sounds like a man.”

  I had nothing to say. My own understanding of being beaten by someone who’s supposed to love you came crashing down around me. My body began to shake violently and I hopped up off the bed. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, trying to bury my own memories.

  “I told you because I knew you would understand.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked more sharply than I’d intended.

  “I’ve touched you, Kristy. I can tell things.”

  I nodded and sat back down on the bed. I felt naked and exposed . . . and strangely free. I didn’t mind that she knew about my past; I was still a little unnerved about how she’d learned it, but I was starting to believe in things that I’d always scoffed at. “Why doesn’t Mariah get her nose fixed?” A plan was forming in my head.

  “I’ve offered to pay for it. I almost have enough money, but she won’t let me.”

  “She needs to do it herself,” I told Boo. “Let me think about this . . . I’ll come up with a way that won’t seem like charity to her.”

  “You would do that?” she asked, her eyes shining.

  “Well, duh,” I laughed. “Of course I would. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”

  Boo hopped off my bed and threw herself at me. She hugged me so hard I saw stars. Damn, these sisters were strong. She froze and slowly raised her small hands to my face. She placed her palms on either side of my head and closed her eyes. She was totally freaking me
out.

  “Oh, Kristy.” She grinned. Her voice was breathy. “So many good and happy things for you . . . so many.”

  “Would you like to be more specific?” I asked nervously. It was hard to deny her gift. She had read my past abuse like a book.

  “Nope,” she giggled. “When I feel things like this, I never tell. It would be like spoiling Christmas.”

  “You suck,” I laughed.

  “Yep,” she agreed. “I’m going to take your trash out or else your room will reek of french fries.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “It smells so good in here it would be awful to ruin the mood with rotting french fries.”

  “Right,” I muttered, reminded she was still a little coo-coo.

  “Thank you for listening,” she said. “I think you’re wonderful.”

  “I think you are too.” I hugged her tight and locked the door behind her. The french fry removal was weird, but I was grateful. It would have been rude to wake up to that nasty smell in the morning.

  After a quick call to Aunt Moon-Unit’s answering machine, I snuggled back into bed. I’d left her a detailed message about the discussion I’d had with Boo and asked her to run a background check on Stuey, Stan, and Heidi. I knew Boo only suspected the guys, but something wasn’t quite right with Heidi either.

  I found a new Housewives that I’d never seen before and I was finally alone. I could wallow in the ludicrous problems of women with too much Botox in their faces and too much time on their hands . . . except someone was at my door. Again.

  I was tempted to shout “Go away,” but I didn’t have it in me. As long as it wasn’t the old lesbos, I could handle it. They’d have a heyday with this shirt. The boob jokes would be endless. Although, if it were Kim and Hugh, I might have a difficult time keeping a straight face . . . or my dinner in my stomach.

  “Coming,” I muttered, wondering if Paul Bunyan Lodge and Getaway Resort had soda machines anywhere. I needed caffeine if I was going to be hosting visitors all night.

  Yanking the door open, I tripped over my stupid hiking boot and fell into two very muscular and familiar arms that smelled heavenly. “Shit,” I gasped and jumped back into my doorway like I had touched a raging inferno with my bare hands. I quickly slammed the door shut in the face belonging to the arms and dropped to the ground. My knees refused to hold me and my mind was racing like the final lap of the Indy 500.