I sucked in a big breath of fresh air and blew it out slowly. The gals had disappeared into the trees. It was safe for me to go back. I didn’t think I would share what I’d seen with anyone just yet, not even Rich. I was unsure why, but it felt right.
As I wandered back, a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. My relief that Sasquatch would be safe was palpable. Wait a minute . . . Did I actually believe that crap? I stopped and reassessed . . . I was pretty sure I did. I glanced up at the sky to make sure it wasn’t falling . . . It wasn’t. Hi, my name is Kristy . . . and I believe in Bigfoot. Shit.
Chapter 26
We stopped for Mexican take-out on the way home. I couldn’t order a taco or even say the word. The old ladies had forever ruined my favorite Mexican treat with their litany of vaginal terms, including my favorite, the dreaded love taco . . . hair pie wasn’t far behind. I ordered a burrito and some chips and salsa. I wondered if Mitch liked Mexican. I realized there were so many things I had yet to discover . . . and I couldn’t wait.
Everyone else in the van ordered tacos. The irony was almost too much to bear. Rich ordered ten. I blanched inwardly and realized the talk about nutrition was going to have to come sooner rather than later.
“I think the cabin feels spooky with the windows all boarded up,” Boo said. “I don’t like it.”
“Do you get a bad vibe?” Kim asked, concerned.
“It doesn’t work that way. I feel nothing from objects, only people.”
“What are you dumb-ass idiots, bless your hearts, blabbering about?” Edith asked, shoving a taco into her mouth. I supposed she was hungry. She’d missed lunch due to her covert tree swinging and trap setting.
“Boo has a gift,” Kim told her. “Through touch, she can read things about people.”
“I call bullshit,” Mrs. C shouted.
I whipped around and confronted her before Mariah could jump over the seat and kick her ass. “You believe in Bigfoot, but you can’t fathom someone having psychic abilities?”
“That’s right, Little Miss Hooters,” Edith said with a mouthful of taco. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t heave.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I said, keeping my eyes glued to her forehead. “Boo has a gift and that’s all there is to it.”
“Prove it,” Mrs. C challenged.
“Give me your hand,” Boo said, leaning back over her seat toward the ladies.
“Groundhog!” Kim shrieked, swerving to avoid squashing the rodent. I guess killing all of us was okay. Thankfully we were all wearing seat belts . . . except for Boo. Boo went flying and was saved from bashing headfirst into the window by Rich’s big flabby arms. She gasped and stared at Rich with such an intensity, I felt uncomfortable. He stared back equally hard. Boo, with a smirk on her face, gave him a curt nod and reached out for the old ladies. WTF? Had she discovered something about Rich?
“Give me your hand,” she told Edith.
“All right,” Edith snorted. “Tell me my future, O Great Madam Boo.”
“Listen here, you old lesbo,” Mariah grunted, taking off her seat belt and beginning her climb back to rip Edith a new one.
“Shhh, it’s okay, Mariah,” Boo said in a soothing tone. “Sit back down.” Mariah did.
Taking Edith’s hand, Boo closed her eyes and started to giggle. I wondered if she saw the old bags shimmying trees and making sweaters.
“Give me my hand back,” Edith hissed, getting nervous.
Boo’s grip tightened. I could tell by Edith’s grimace. Boo held on tight and continued to giggle.
“What?” I asked. I couldn’t take it. Edith had worked up a sweat and I was sure she didn’t doubt Boo’s gift anymore. That, or Boo was breaking her fingers.
Boo let go and grinned from ear to ear. “You are a good woman, Edith. You are loving and you care about others . . . deeply.”
“Horsecrap,” she muttered, massaging her hand.
“You can’t fool me,” Boo laughed. “In fact, I think I adore you and want you for a grandma.”
“Holy hell,” Mariah groaned. “They’re actually good?”
“Really, really good.” Boo nodded. “Both of them.”
“You’re full of shit, little girl,” Mrs. C threatened. “We are not good. Never have been and never will be, so just get that out of your fool head this minute.”
Boo laughed with delight. The sound rang through the van and made everyone smile . . . except the old gals.
“We are not good!” Edith shouted. “All of you, wipe those smiles off your pieholes or I’ll do it for you . . . with my boot.”
“Don’t you love my sweater?” Boo asked me as she crawled back to her seat.
“I do,” I said, fingering the soft knitted material. “The colors obviously tell us the knitters have no taste whatsoever, but they’re beautifully made and soooo cozy. I have one at home that I wear all the time.”
“I just think the fact that someone makes them anonymously and gives them to the shelter is wonderful,” she said with great satisfaction in her voice.
I glanced into the rearview mirror and covertly examined the old girls. They looked like deer caught in the headlights, terrified that Boo was going to out them. Good Lord, they were more disturbed to be known for being kind than for being nasty old gay women.
I figured this was the only chance I would get, so I went for it. “Someday I’d like to be able to thank whoever makes these. It’s the little things that make a world of difference. And whoever they are, they’ve made a difference.”
A quick peek back at the rearview mirror confirmed all my suspicions. Edith and Mrs. C smirked proudly at each other. I’d never out them for their kindness, but I sure as hell was glad I was able to thank them . . . in a roundabout way.
My room seemed empty and cold without Mitch in it. I was literally counting the hours until I would see him again. He hadn’t given me a time, but that was okay. He’d said two days . . . which meant tomorrow.
Settling down with my burrito, I checked my e-mail. Damn, nothing from Moon-Unit yet. I thought about calling her, but certain days of the week she went to bed at six, and I couldn’t remember which days. She claimed she had dream communication with extraterrestrials on specific days of the week. While I used to roll my eyes at that kind of talk . . . now, I wasn’t so sure. Rena would crap her pants if she knew what I was thinking.
I replied to a few questions from Louise at the shelter. Everything was going great and she had it all under control. I couldn’t wait to tell her the sweaters were from Edith and Mrs. C. There was no way in hell I was going to e-mail her that juicy little nugget. I wanted to see her face.
As I was putting my laptop away, the mail beeped and I saw an e-mail from Mitch. I clicked immediately and blushed from my head to my toes as I read in explicit detail his plans for my body. My inner-hooker was not at all embarrassed. She was loving it. How could his words alone whip my insides into a frenzy? My nipples tightened and everything south of my belly button clenched in anticipation. He was very clear that using Vinnie the Vibrator was a no-no. I had to wait and save everything for him. Oh. My. God. He said he would know if I cheated and I would be punished . . . I thought about defying him just so I could get punished. I would looooove to be punished by Mitch. The thought made me have to change my panties. Damn, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
After a quick and very cold shower, I settled in with some bizarre documentary about underground Mormons, their multiple wives, and their hordes of children. If that wasn’t enough to get my mind off sex, I didn’t know what would be. I watched in shock and horror as the dad of thirty-two was unable to remember the names of his kids. It was a train wreck. I was actually relieved by the knock at my door.
Mariah and Boo stood outside with cookies and chocolate milk in hand.
“Can I help you guys?” I grinned.
“We were watching some God-awful fucked-up show about Mormons and decided bothering you would be a lot more fun,” Mariah said, barging into
my room before I invited her. “Holy shit! You’re watching it too.”
“He can’t remember the names of his kids,” I said, ripping open the cookies and settling back down on the bed. “It’s disgusting.”
“You know not all Mormons are like that.” Boo poured three plastic glasses of chocolate milk and handed them around.
“Yes,” Mariah agreed grudgingly, “but who’s going to watch a show about normal Mormons?”
“Point,” I said, accepting my chocolate milk and my fate for the evening. I was glad they were here. It would keep me away from Vinnie and from breaking Mitch’s very direct and sexy demand. “Boo, did you feel something odd when Rich grabbed you?”
She was quiet while she considered her answer. Crap, was he going to have a heart attack or something? No . . . she’d smiled at him. She wouldn’t smile if he was going to die.
“I did,” she slowly acknowledged.
My heart was in my mouth. “Is he okay?” I whispered. “Is he sick?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” she assured me. “He’s okay. He’s very, very, very okay.”
“I suppose you’re not going to expand on that?” I raised my eyebrow and waited.
“Nope.” She grinned. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”
“When?” Mariah asked. “I’ve been with you all evening.”
“When we were in the van. He communicated with me.”
“That makes sense. He is a magician after all.” Mariah downed her milk and poured another glass.
“What in the hell does that mean?” I laughed. “He does tricks . . . illusions. He doesn’t read minds.”
“He’s not psychic,” Boo said, “but he is very strong, mentally. I’ve never had anyone talk back to me before. It was fun.”
“So he’s not going to drop dead of a heart attack?” I asked.
“No. The only thing I can say is that appearances can be, um . . . well, somewhat deceiving.”
“Like that’s not cryptic,” Mariah groaned.
It was cryptic, but it did make sense. It was easy to dismiss Rich. His looks were unsettling at the very least, but his insides were beautiful. It was a good lesson about not judging people. I couldn’t help but think there was more to the story . . . I guess I’d have to settle for knowing he wasn’t going to drop dead from being obese. And if I had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t be huge for long.
“Do you guys want to go play ring and run on the lesbos?” Mariah suggested.
I considered it for a moment, before I remembered I was twenty-eight. “Mariah, that is not nice.”
“I know”—she grinned unapologetically—“but doesn’t it sound fun?”
We laughed hard at the thought of doing such a stupid thing. So hard, I didn’t hear the knock at my door until it turned into banging.
“What the . . . ?” I jumped up off the bed and went to see who it was. When did I become party central?
“Hi, can I . . . ?” My greeting died in my throat when I came face-to-face with Edith, Mrs. C, a huge bottle of vodka, and a pack of cards. WTF?
“We heard you idiots all the way down in our room. If there’s a party, we’re crashing,” Edith informed me and shoved me out of the way.
“Do you little backward-ass jack-offs know how to play poker?” Mrs. C inquired in a pleasant voice that was in total opposition to her language. Maybe they didn’t even realize how offensive they were . . . Nah.
“I will happily kick your ass and take your money.” Mariah narrowed her eyes at the old girls.
“We’ll see about that, you little green-haired douche bag,” Edith cackled. She pulled the desk over to the bed and put the remaining chairs in the room around it. There still weren’t enough places to sit. “Hang on,” she muttered. She opened my door and grabbed two folding chairs that were leaning against the wall. Good God, they had no intention of leaving . . . they’d brought their own chairs. Crapballs. This was going to be a long night.
“Where’s Kim?” Mrs. C asked.
As if on cue, someone banged on the door, but it didn’t sound good. Whoever was on the other side of the door was sobbing uncontrollably.
I flew across the tiny space and yanked open the door. Kim stood on the other side. She was a hot mess. Her camouflage makeup was running down her face, her eyes were bloodshot red, and her clothes were a rumpled disaster.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, pulling her into the room. “What happened?”
“I didn’t . . . didn’t realize . . . that you . . . that you had um, company,” she blubbered, moving to leave. “I’ll come back . . . la . . . later.”
“Sit your fat, overcamouflaged ass down on that bed and start talking,” Edith demanded. “Did Hugh do something to you?”
Kim started sobbing anew.
“Goddamn it,” Edith shouted. “Mariah, get your knees ready. We’re going to go destroy some ’nads.”
Mariah bent over to stretch out before she went out and ripped Hugh’s testicles off. This was quickly turning into the night from hell. Even the Mormons sounded appealing at this point.
“No!” Kim shouted through her tears. “Hugh didn’t do anything. It’s me . . . it’s all me.”
“What happened?” Boo asked gently.
“Well, I told Hubie that I needed to go for a walk and he said okay and then he told me that he was going to practice for the show tomorrow and I said okay and then I asked him if he wanted me to get him a soda from the machine and he said no and then he asked me if I liked Kenny Rogers or Donny Osmond better and I said I liked John Tesh because he used to be on that entertainment show and then . . .”
“Jesus Christ on a cross,” Mrs. C shrieked. “Get to the goddamn point. You’re killing me.”
I did agree with her, but I never would have put it so harshly.
“Sorrrry,” Kim said and burst into a fresh set of tears.
“Shhhh.” Boo wrapped her arms around her. “Everything will be okay.”
“It will?” Kim sniffed, giving Boo her hand.
Boo paused for a moment and looked directly into Kim’s eyes. “I promise, but we have a little work to do tonight.”
“What in the name of hell is going on here?” Mrs. C groused. “I’m ready to destroy some man-jewels and you’re telling her everything is okay? The only reason a woman blubbers like that is because of a man.”
“Or a woman,” Edith added.
“Right,” Mrs. C agreed. “So spit it out or I’m gonna go down there and slice it off with a dull butter knife.”
“A plastic dull butter knife,” Mariah said through gritted teeth. Both the lesbians looked at Mariah with newfound admiration. They approached her slowly and offered their hands. Mariah shook them and they all turned to look at Kim expectantly.
“Okay,” Kim said, gathering herself. She wiped her tears, further smearing the leftover camouflage face paint she insisted on wearing every day. “I’m just going to say it . . .”
“Today?” Edith inquired rudely. Boo shot her a look that shut her up and made her cheeks heat. “Sorry,” she muttered, possibly even meaning it for the first time.
“Hubie is going to be a rock star soon and all kinds of beautiful women will be throwing themselves at him. I mean, Hubie is hot now, but when he’s famous, the women will go wild. I’m just . . . I’m just . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m worried I won’t be enough woman for him when he’s rich and famouuuuuus,” she squeaked and began sobbing again.
It was everything I could do not to lose it right then and there. Hubie was the farthest from hot I’d ever seen in my life and the chances of him becoming a rock star were about zero . . . but Kim was serious . . . and seriously hurting. Biting my tongue in half would be a terrible idea, so I sucked in on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. The excruciating pain was enough to keep me from falling to the floor in hysterics.
“If that bastard throws you over for a nubile twenty-year-old with fun-puppy implants, I will feed him his nuts while I stick his t
allywhacker up his bunghole,” Edith bellowed.
The entire room went into silent shock. The visual alone was enough to make us all candidates for massive psychiatric intervention. It was laugh or vomit . . . thankfully we started to laugh. Hard. Even Kim. The laughter would die down and then one person would get it going again and we would all lose it. In the end, I believe it lasted about twenty minutes. My stomach muscles were killing me and my mouth hurt from smiling. Damn, it felt great. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.
“Kim, Hugh adores you and nothing will ever change that. You’re the one with the problem,” Boo said. “You need to have more self-confidence.”
“Look at me,” she moaned. “I used to be hot.” She dug through her pocket and pulled out a crinkled and well-loved wedding photo. It was amazing. Her dress was camo along with Hugh’s tux, but the most notable part of the picture was that they both had on full camouflage face paint.
“I think you look exactly the same,” Edith commented.
“Really?” Kim asked, perking up.
Mariah examined the picture closely. “Your hair might have been a little more strawberry blond then,” she said thoughtfully.
“And your boobies might have been a little higher,” Mrs. C added.
“Her num-num’s are perfectly fine, you old dyke,” Edith hissed, punching her sister in the shoulder.
Mrs. C examined the picture and then gave Kim a good once-over. “You’re right. Her funbags still look perky.”
“Hey,” Mariah accused, “I thought you didn’t like that term.”
“What? Funbags?” Mrs. C asked.
“No.” Mariah rolled her eyes. “Dykes.”
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