by Tara Sivec
“Ariel!” Everyone at the table chimes in together, while I sit wondering if someone put a roofie in my tequila.
“Are you all high? What the hell are you talking about?” I ask again.
“Seriously? You don’t see it?” Cindy questions. “You and Vanessa look like you could be twins, except she has olive skin and dark hair. Maybe you’re distant cousins or something. How cool would that be?”
I shake my head as I study Vanessa. Her pouty lips, her big bright eyes, her tiny waist and her long legs, and I know for sure everyone at this table must have snorted bath salts when they went to the bathroom.
“She’s like, a size two. If she turns sideways she’ll disappear. My ass has its own zip code,” I mutter, immediately taking the shot our server sets down in front of us and shooting it back.
“You’re like the Jessica Rabbit version of her.” Belle shrugs. “Same long, thick hair, same exact big emerald eyes, same cheekbones, same flawless complexion, same full lips.”
I study Vanessa even harder, and she stares right back at me. I actually fucking shiver when I finally see it, then curse myself for being a tiny bit jealous of how beautiful she was when I first met her, because I thought she was so perfect and I was lacking. We do look similar, aside from my red hair and her dark brown hair, and my abundant curves. I’m going to chalk this up to having a moment of second-guessing my self-confidence when I met her because of all my nerves that day over meeting Eric’s mother.
I can’t believe that bitch thought she could dangle someone who looked like me in front of Eric and assume he was so shallow that all he cared about was a pretty face and not what’s on the inside. Not that Vanessa isn’t an amazing human being with a great personality, but she’s not me. And Ursula should have been smarter than that. She should have thought more highly of her son. Once again, I’m back to being filled with rage that there’s nothing I can do about her right now.
“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but I really like you, Ariel,” Vanessa tells me. “I liked what I saw in Eric when I witnessed the two of you together. It’s not right that you feel like you have to give all that up. Believe me when I tell you, he will understand if you explain everything to him. And honestly, I’m sure he already knows.”
All the tequila I’ve consumed threatens to come back up, and I have to quickly swallow it back down.
“Sweetie, you left him the day after you met his mother. He’s not an idiot,” Cindy says softly.
“If he figures it out on his own, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I’m not going to be the one to hurt him that way. I’m not going to be the one who drives a wedge between him and his mother. I won’t be that woman who does something that to the man she loves and make him choose between us. I can’t. I can’t be the one responsible for ruining everything with the only family he has left,” I tell them adamantly, blinking back the tears that I thought had all dried up.
Everyone at the table is silent for a few minutes, and I’m thankful that they don’t try to come up with another argument. I’m so emotionally drained from the last few days that I’m afraid I won’t have any energy left to give this board meeting the attention it needs.
Cindy calls the server back to our table and tells her to just bring us the entire bottle of tequila. We spend the next few hours doing shot after shot until everything becomes a blur.
The last thing I remember before I pass out face-first into a bowl of mixed nuts on the table is seeing Vanessa up on stage, surrounded by strippers, her blouse untucked from her pencil skirt, swinging her suit coat around her head like a helicopter, smacking her hand against a stripper’s ass.
* * *
“This is such a good idea. You’re so pretty and smart. We should make out.”
“Jesus, Belle, stop trying to kiss me. We’ve got important smit to do. Slit to do. Shiffy do.”
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘shit to do.’”
“STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO PJ! I’VE GOT SHIFFY DO!”
“My teeth feel funny. Do I still have teeth, Vincent?”
“You still have teeth, sweetheart.”
“Someone needs to go with these two. We can’t just put them in an Uber and hope for the best. I nominate Vincent. I think he can handle puke better.”
“Fuck off. I nominate PJ. He’s encouraging this shit that I’d like to state once again, for the record, I think is an asinine idea and will never work.”
“No one’s gonna puke. We can handle our liquor. Never mind. I think I’m gonna puke. Lemme just purge the demons and then we can go. PJ, hold my hair back.”
“Son of a bitch. I swear to Christ if someone pukes in my lap, there will hell to pay.”
I don’t know what’s happening or where I am, but all these loud voices in my head are really killing my buzz. I’m pretty sure I’ve had entirely too much tequila and now I’m hallucinating, because I swear I heard Eric’s voice somewhere in there.
“You get Ariel, we’ll get the Uber. And make sure you pick the penis out of her hair and off her face. Penis. PENIS! Oh, my God, why can’t I say penis?!”
“I’ve got her. Don’t get arrested. And I will make sure the PEANUTS are out of her hair and off her face.”
There it is again! I’m definitely hallucinating. This is much better than that one time I did acid my senior year of high school and started crying and hiding under a coffee table because there was a polar bear standing next to it trying to eat me. I know this because the polar bear spoke to me that night and told me he wanted to eat me. He had a very kind voice, and I was kind of surprised he wanted to do something so mean.
All of a sudden, I feel myself being lifted up in the air. I really wish I could open my eyes, but I’m pretty sure someone glued them shut. I snuggle into the warmth of whatever is holding me, and when I breathe in, whatever this is smells so good that for some reason, it makes me want to cry.
“You smell like Eric. But I know you’re not Eric because I broke up with him and he hates me now. Are you going to eat my face, Mr. Polar Bear? You’re so soft and warm and cuddly,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around the polar bear’s neck, wondering why he doesn’t have any fur. “I can’t believe someone shaved you. What a trajectory . . . travemesty . . . TRAVESTY! I think I’m drunk.”
The polar bear laughs and my skin breaks out in goose bumps when I hear the sound, even though I’m not cold at all because he’s making me feel so warm, with his arms wrapped around me.
I think I fall asleep, but maybe I died from alcohol poisoning. Who’s to know at this point? I feel my body being lowered onto a soft, fluffy cloud, and then more clouds are pulled up over my shoulders until I snuggle down into them and sigh contentedly. I try to open my eyes, but all I see is darkness, and when the darkness starts to spin and I feel like I might throw up, I squeeze them shut and burrow my face into the cloud.
I feel something soft and wet against my temple, and I’m pretty sure an angel just kissed me, which makes me smile.
“Come home, princess,” the angel whispers in my ear.
Yep, I’m definitely dead and this is definitely heaven, because that angel sounded just like Eric. But heaven isn’t supposed to make you sad, and when all that nice warmth and yummy smell suddenly disappears, all I want to do is cry.
Chapter 30: Can I Kiss the Girl?
“And as you’ll see on the spreadsheets in front of you, the expected growth of the Naughty Princess Club in the next six months is staggering for a new business and would bring in top tax dollars for the county.”
My leg bounces nervously and I smack my hand down on my knee to get it to stop moving as I listen to Cindy speak to the board a few feet away, standing at a lectern in the middle of the room. Belle reaches over from next to me and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze as Cindy continues flipping through the stack of papers in front of her and explaining why it would be beneficial for the board to grant our license.
The board comprises fifte
en members, and they are all sitting behind a long table at the front of the room. None of them has looked even remotely interested in what Cindy has been saying for the last forty minutes, and honestly, I don’t blame them. She’s doing an amazing job going through all the figures I put together over the last few days, after our debauched night at Charming’s. I printed everything for her and she’s explaining all of the graphs and pie charts I made all neat and pretty and stapled together in packets for the board, but she’s just reciting facts. I’m bored, and this is our fucking company that’s on the line.
We decided yesterday that Cindy should be the one to speak in front of the board. With her PTA-president experience, homeowners-association experience, and all the charity work she organized and events she spoke at during her marriage, she knew how to be commanding and professional in front of an audience.
I glance up at the table in the front of the room to Ursula, sitting right smack in the center, and find her staring at me with a look of irritation on her face, like she didn’t expect us to show up today. Like I would defy her and pick her son over my friends and our business. I don’t get it. This is what she wanted. I did exactly what she asked, and I just have this feeling in my gut that it doesn’t even matter. That she’s still going to deny us, even after the hell I put myself through. That she quite possibly told us to come to this board meeting tonight just to make us beg and plead so she could humiliate us in front of everyone.
And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. I’m pretty sure this board has never had such a packed crowd at one of their stupid meetings. It feels like the entire town came here tonight to support us, and I know it’s because Belle sent out a mass email to all of our customers, asking for their support. And support us they are. Over half of them are wearing Naughty Princess Club shirts that they must have rush ordered from the website. Two of the board members are even wearing them, which makes me smile, even though Ursula is still glaring at me as Cindy speaks.
To top it all off, Eric is here. I only know that because Belle turned around and saw him sitting in the back of the room. I refuse to turn around and search for him. I can’t look at him right now or I’ll be tempted to leap up from my seat and run back there to him. Just knowing he’s so close I could touch him but can’t is making me feel sick to my stomach.
I look away from Ursula to glance down at myself and shake my head in disgust. I’m wearing the same green-and-black dress I wore for brunch with her because I thought it would make me feel strong and powerful. I wanted Ursula to see me and remember that I wouldn’t be pushed around, and I wouldn’t back down, and yet what am I doing? I’m letting her push me around, and I’m definitely backing down by letting Cindy do all of the talking for us.
I can see it written all over Ursula’s smug face that none of this matters. She knows she has the upper hand, and she knows she has the final say about our future.
Cindy flips to a new page in the packet, instructing the board to do the same, and starts talking more about taxes, and I’m so angry right now I want to come out of my skin. Facts and figures, facts and figures . . . that’s not what this is about. This is about fighting for what we want. Fighting for what we’ve worked our asses off to achieve and not letting someone take it away from us. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit here and pretend like any of this is okay.
“This is bullshit,” I say loudly, interrupting Cindy.
She turns around and I give her an apologetic look. Instead of glaring at me, she smiles and gives me a nod.
“Excuse me?” Ursula asks as I stand up.
“I said, this is bullshit,” I say in a louder voice, the murmur of soft voices from the audience filling the room as I step out into the aisle and walk up to Cindy at the lectern.
“It’s about fucking time you woke up. I was putting myself to sleep,” she whispers, giving me a wink before she walks around me and takes the seat I just vacated, next to Belle.
Clearing my throat and telling the butterflies flapping around in my stomach to go the fuck away, I rest my hands on the lectern and lean towards the microphone.
“I know you don’t have any intentions of approving our license. It doesn’t matter if we got approval from the president of the United States himself, you’re still going to sit up there behind that table, acting like you’re better than us just because you don’t approve of what we’re doing,” I tell Ursula.
Ursula sighs and crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair, that stupid fucking smug expression on her face telling me I’m right.
“We started the Naughty Princess Club because we were desperate. Because we were three single women who found ourselves scraping bottom and had no clue how to survive, how to put food on the table, or how to pay our bills,” I explain, looking away from Ursula to lock eyes with each of the other board members. “We’re being unfairly judged because the president of your board is disgusted by the business we run and thinks it will bring shame to the community.”
Even though everything inside of me is screaming to tell them about how she blackmailed me, so they can see what kind of person she is, I’m not going to do that. Especially with Eric sitting in the back of the room. It’s bad enough I’m standing up to his mother in a public setting, I don’t want to embarrass him any further by exposing what kind of horrible person gave birth to him. And besides, it would be my word against hers. It’s not like I have any solid proof of her threat.
“Are you trying to tell us that a business where you take your clothes off for money is clean and wholesome?” Ursula laughs.
“No, I’m trying to remind you that there’s a reason you made your husband take your last name when you married him,” I tell her, watching her eyes narrow because I’ve brought her personal life into this battle. “If you’re passionate about something, you should pursue it. It doesn’t matter what it is, and it certainly shouldn’t matter what gender you are. And yet because we’re women, we’re being judged for the decisions we’ve made and the type of business we want to run. Tell me, if there were three men standing here in front of you today, wanting to get a license for a male home-stripping business, would you even bat an eye at their request? Would you think they were sluts for wanting to do something like that as a career? Would you judge them for the choices they made? You made your husband take your last name because you refused to lose your identity. You wanted to make a name for yourself, not use his name to get ahead. The three of us, we lost our identities because of men. We were silenced, and we were made weak because men told us we couldn’t do something. Men made us believe we weren’t good enough or smart enough or couldn’t be successful enough on our own without their help. Cindy’s ex-husband only saw her as a housewife. Someone to cook his meals, raise his child, and keep his home neat and tidy. Belle’s father used guilt and the loss of her mother to keep her under his roof, making her afraid to spread her wings and fly. And my ex did nothing but put me down and make me feel ashamed of what I looked like and who I was because I didn’t fit the mold in his mind of what a woman should look like or act like.”
I see a few female board members nod their heads in agreement, which gives me a much-needed boost of confidence.
“Women have been objectified for centuries,” Ursula speaks haughtily, leaning forward in her chair and resting her arms on the table in front of her. “You having a business such as this just perpetuates this and sets the women’s movement back hundreds of years. Frankly, it is indeed disgusting. You’re selling your bodies. You’re proving that men have a right to view women as nothing more than sexual beings.”
Clenching my hands into fists I take a few deep breaths before replying.
“No, we’re owning our bodies. We’re owning our sexuality. We decide where and when. We decide why and what for, not anyone else. No one is taking advantage of us or using us. No one is forcing us to do this job. We hold all the power. We came up with an idea, and we pursued it. We came up with a solid business plan, where we�
�ve been adding new ideas to make it grow even more each and every day, and it’s been a success. You cannot deny it’s been successful and that we’ve done something unheard of. Three single women who had nothing left to lose started a unique, successful business. That should be celebrated, goddamn it, not looked down on!” I declare loudly, slamming my fist against the podium.
The entire room erupts into shouting and applause. Belle and Cindy quickly get up and hurry to stand on either side of me while Ursula grabs the gavel from the table and starts banging it, ordering everyone to quiet down.
When the room is finally quiet again, another board member at the far end of the table states that they’ve heard enough and it’s time for a vote. Belle, Cindy, and I all clasp hands as they go down the table. My heart sinks when only three members vote in favor of reinstating our license.
Ursula smirks at me, and I shake my head, unable to believe what is happening right now.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter as I watch her conclude the meeting and start to get up from her chair.
“Plan B?” Belle asks, leaning forward to look around me at Cindy.
“Plan B, baby,” Cindy replies with a wink as Belle pulls her cell phone out of her pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask as Belle starts tapping quickly on the screen of her phone.
“Did you really think we wouldn’t have a backup plan?” Belle laughs before leaning towards the mic. “Excuse me! Ladies and gentleman of the jury!”
The board members all pause when Belle shouts into the microphone, her voice echoing loudly around the room.
“Before you go, we’d like to submit exhibit A!” she yells into the microphone.
“You have a microphone; you don’t need to shout. And this isn’t court, dumbass,” Cindy mutters.
“Shut the hell up and let me work my magic,” Belle replies, turning away from the board to address the audience. “Hey, Eric! You still good with me playing this?”
