Chageet's Electric Dance

by Ashir, Rebecca

  Then, as the lyrics of the song cut in, she thought of the mysterious guy at the dance contest and how the song reminded her of him:

  He doesn’t mean a thing to me,

  just another pretty face to see

  He’s all over town, knocking em down, honey

  She dramatically ripped off her Zoot suit which had only been pieced together by Velcro and tossed it across the room.

  The audience gasped at the unexpected striptease.

  I’d never let him next to me

  Now, she was dressed only in a shiny red mini-dress as she strutted upon the stage and threw her arms back sharply, arching her back across a chair, making love to it.

  Oh he’s the kind of guy who thinks he’s smart

  He’s the kind of guy that always looks the part

  He’s on the make, it’s undertake, honey

  An’ I never let him touch my heart

  She slid down the chair, thinking of the mysterious guy and spun into a triple pirouette as the music sped up into the first orgasm at the point of the chorus.

  Right now, ask me if I care,

  Look, oh it’s coming closer, oh I’ll swear

  He’s got to be the toughest guy I’ve ever seen

  I can’t believe he’s lookin’ at me

  He’s a dream

  She moved around the stage in jerks and twitches, throwing her arms out this way and that in ecstasy. Then the music slowed to a languid, sultry snap as she slithered breathlessly on the floor, begging for more. Her back arched as she popped open the snaps to the front of her dress, disrobing herself.

  He didn’t mean to catch my eye,

  Well he’s lucky, he just walked on by

  She tossed her dress across the floor—now clad only in a g-string negligee and high heels.

  ‘Cos he hasn’t met a girl like me, are you kiddin’

  Well, I’ll tell him that I’d rather die

  She arched all the way back onto the chair and pulled a cord attached to her negligee as it lit into hundreds of little, erotic lights. Her high heels lit up as her long tan legs spread. She pulled another cord from above her head and strobe lights zapped strings of silver light on her from all directions as streamers of silver tinsel fell from above. She quivered in electricity.

  Right now, ask me if I care,

  Look, oh it’s coming closer, oh I’ll swear

  He’s got to be the toughest guy I’ve ever seen

  I can’t believe he’s lookin’ at me

  He’s a dream

  She pounded her fists on the chair fervidly and punched the air before her in rhythm.

  He’s a a a (he’s a dream)

  She could hardly breathe—she was so lit with the intensity of the music.

  (He’s a dream) tonight (he’s a dream) oh I know

  (He’s a dream) Ok (well he’s a dream)

  Rolling her head in circles, she spun across the stage, shaking her electric body to the climactic music as the chorus panted and panted to exhaustion.

  Never mind that she had never had an orgasm in real life nor did she even know what one was exactly. All she knew was this was the kind of dance that people want. It was the kind of dance that makes girls famous. It was the kind of dance that little girls dream of performing as they watch their manufactured dancing goddesses pump and grind on the silver screen for the world to watch and yearn to become. These thoughts were all that mattered. She was being molded into the American dream and she loved it!

  Spent, she straddled the chair in silence, breathing heavily, feeling thoroughly satisfied with her self-expression. The audience clapped and cheered. They stood up, out of their chairs with their drinks in their hands and whistled. Some even stomped their feet in approval.

  Elated, Barbey walked past the cheering audience and out of the room. As she almost glided down the hall floating on her blissful high, she remembered back to her childhood when she got her first Flashdance sweatshirt that was worn off to the side, exposing one shoulder. Those were so popular. Everybody started wearing them—but I was the first to wear one at my school! The memory ignited a joy so light she nearly soared up to the ceiling in nostalgia.

  But, then, suddenly, an unexplainable feeling of regret swept over her being, overpowering the previous euphoria, detaching from it completely, and now she felt somehow dirty like she had just done something awful. But she could not fathom what that could be. It was the sort of feeling a woman has after a one night stand or the feeling a little girl has after she has been molested. All she had done was dance the dance that every girl dreams of dancing. And everybody loved it. They wanted more.

  6

  Magic lanterns hold every human’s wishes. Apply friction and pressure against a lantern and a supernatural creature will appear granting one’s biddings whenever summoned. Humans were imparted freewill to seek that which they desire, but they must be cautious with their wishes, recognizing and acknowledging the laws of nature. If one pursues a wish which conflicts with natural laws, an explosion will occur. Light a match in a well contained fireplace and warmth and harmony will ensue, but light a match to a barrel of gasoline and it will detonate.

  Tonight was the night for Barbey’s rubber mind to begin stretching into the initial stages of the expansion process, thus gradually becoming more authentic. Barbey was like Pinocchio in that she wasn’t a real human being. She was not fulfilling her true purpose on the planet Earth. Just as Pinocchio was a carved wooden doll created by a mere mortal, Barbey Bardot was a synthetic mold of modern day media.

  As Pinocchio’s nose grew when he told lies, so Barbey’s nose grew as she lived lies. She had already had reconstructive surgery on her nose three times and was now considering a fourth operation as her nose continued to gradually elongate. It was a subtle growth that sort of crept up over time, not obnoxious or unattractive in any sense, but simply not a tiny “button” nose as was characteristic of most Barbie Dolls. She was very diligent about her surgeries so to keep her attractive appearance.

  From time to time, her nose elongation process caused her to ponder why she was different than other girls who had normal noses that did not noticeably grow. If it were not for her nose, she would have never considered most philosophical ideas on any level. Her nose gave her an inkling of depth and a lot of insecurity. Why does my nose grow faster than other people’s noses? After a little research into The Encyclopedia of Noses, she discovered that everyone’s noses and ears continue to grow throughout their lives and that was why old people have big noses and ears. This caused a certain discomfort because if she were not able to get nose surgeries, her nose could become five feet long by the time she reached ninety. Thank goodness for plastic surgeons!

  On those rare moments, when she became almost philosophical, she actually wondered, Why would God make my nose grow faster than other people’s? He must want me to smell more flowers! This conclusion did not fully satisfy her and although she accepted the insight during the daytime, during the nighttime, her dream world would repetitively crush the concept. Sometimes she would dream that when she would walk past a flower patch sniffing as hard as she could, all the flowers would die emitting a terrible sewage stench. In other dreams, she was merely a flower shadow, black without physical substance and with no nose at all. And in her most horrifying dreams, her nose was turned inside out and all the flowers were screaming at her, “Wake up you fool and smell the roses!” This dream really confused her, so she started taking sleeping pills every night and all her dreams disappeared.

  The difference between Barbey and Pinocchio was that Pinocchio was well aware of his wooden status and consciously yearned to become a real boy. Barbey, on the other hand, was not aware that she was plastic and not a real human being. Barbey considered herself nearly perfect in her present state and had the laws of nature not forced her down the evolutionary path, she would have contentedly remained the same.

  Tonight Barbey and Sage were going to a popular young adult bar, El Figurado, in
Tijuana where many of the young people from their high school and surrounding high schools gallivanted on Saturday nights. Because Mexico’s drinking age was eighteen and the bouncers rarely carded those underage, Tijuana was the place of choice for socializing and mingling with the opposite sex. It was an arena of lavish drinking, dancing, fighting, and reckless abandonment.

  Barbey was getting ready for the night with Sage. Sage wasn’t as enthusiastic about going to the club as she was. The only reason Sage agreed to go was because Barbey told her if she went she would go with her to watch a math competition next week. Sage was a bit sheltered, so to speak, and wasn’t the type to rollick in Tijuana. Although Barbey was rather naive and innocent herself, she had a secret burning curiosity for adventure. One might call this curiosity a strong evil inclination that she rarely acknowledged and rarely showed to the world. Evil inclinations certainly aren’t befitting for Barbie Dolls.

  Sage, on the other hand, was the epitome of the proverbial good girl, spending most of her time studying, riding horses, practicing gymnastics, or babysitting. Her parents believed girls should not date for recreation, but rather with the intention of marriage and then only under supervision. They hoped their daughter would marry young like they did. In their opinion, they believed girls suffered unnecessarily by engaging in numerous romances and sexual relationships before settling down. As a result, Sage was not permitted to go out with boys without their permission and then only after meeting the boy and his parents.

  Barbey convinced Sage into allowing her to give her a full makeover. Of course, she wasn’t keen to the idea, but after much coaxing, she succumbed. They were both lying across Barbey’s bed on their stomachs, flipping through fashion magazines, searching for a hairstyle that would look sexy on Sage when Barbey disclosed that tonight was the night they were going to both find true love.

  Weary of looking at the magazines, Sage rolled onto her back and sighed in boredom, “How do you know tonight is the night?”

  “I, like, heard on KRZ San Diego that tonight was the night for true love and romance.”

  Rolling her eyes, Sage turned back to the magazine. “What are you talking about?” She feigned annoyance to conceal the fact that she was most definitely interested, if not merely for the purpose of teasing Barbey. “You believe the radio?”

  “Here, I’ll play it for you.” Enthusiastically, Barbey walked over to her nightstand, checking her face in the mirror before she started rummaging through the drawer.

  “You taped it?” Sage quickly covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smirk twisting and contorting beneath.

  “I wanted to tape that song, “Love Bites” by Def Leopard, so I left a tape recording in the stereo in case they played it. They didn’t play it, but I recorded the announcement instead.” She inserted the tape in her pink stereo that was sitting on her dresser to the side of the dresser mirror and pressed the rewind button, stopping and starting it to find the right spot. “The DJ says it just after ‘Like a Virgin.’ Here it is. Listen.”

  The tail end of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” played and faded into Marco Maniac’s crazed voice, “Hey, little sisters,” Marco howled, “…get ready for a rockin’ good time in Tijuana tonight because the Good Fairy is makin’ love happen at El Figurado. Be there or be square. I’m guaranteeing that tonight is the night for glass slippers and all that magic wand junk…”

  Sage started laughing hysterically, slapping the pink pillows on Barbey’s pink bed, kicking her shoes off, and banging her head against the mattress.

  Watching Sage through the reflection of the dresser mirror, Barbey was dumbfounded. Sage’s excessive laughter and head flopping struck Barbey as inordinately humorous. The reflection upon the mirror zapped Barbey, sharply, like a flash of lightning striking the mirror, breaking its reflection into a million mirrored pieces of silly smiles and knee slaps, causing her to join into the laughter as if she were Sage’s very reflection, simply one of the reflected pieces. Now a mirrored image to Sage’s cachinnation, Barbey was unduly laughing too, but at Sage, and could not stop either. Barbey took the opportunity to dance around the bedroom wrapping a feather boa around her neck, prancing and springing into long-legged hitch kicks, in hysterical fits of laughter.

  “I can’t believe you fall for that crap!” Sage broke into a zany run toward the bedroom door, tapped it, and circled back in one swish of movement, gaining momentum as she jumped onto the bed throwing a front flip through the air landing on her feet and bouncing off the mattress in laughter. “I just love you so much—you are pure entertainment!”

  “I’m entertainment?” Barbey affected a Southern accent, “Why, I deeee—clare… You are the entertainment! Whoopee! You sure are lucky my canopy is in the wash or your feet would have been chopped off.”

  “Ok, ok,” Sage was breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. “We need to get ready if we’re going to make it to Cinderella’s stinky Tijuana ball on time.”

  “Stinky?! Are you calling Mexico stinky? Aren’t you 1/4th Mexican? You traitor!”

  “Yeah, well, whatever. ¡Viva Mejico! I’m allowed to call my own country whatever I want. Stinky or sweet—it’s just not the place I imagined finding true love—at least not at a bar.”

  “Sit!” Barbey pulled out the swivel seat from her vanity stand.

  “Ok, I’m not your dog.”

  “You’re my slave. Now sit so I can work my ‘bibbity bobbity boo’ on you. Hey, that rhymes!”

  Sage sat in the chair while Barbey contemplated her magic at hand. Grabbing a magazine off the bed, Barbey ripped a cigarette advertisement of an erotic woman with large breasts, wearing angel wings and a halo, smoking a cigarette, and set it on the vanity stand for reference. Sage picked up the advertisement and gasped, “No way!”

  Barbey seized the sheet from her. “It’s just for inspiration. Don’t worry, dork. You couldn’t look that good even if you had a real fairy godmother.”

  “Very funny,” Sage retorted sarcastically.

  “Don’t move while I warm up.”

  “I know…I know…” She was all too familiar with Barbey’s procedure.

  Barbey stretched her arms in the air, tilting her head up fixedly as if looking intensely through a crack in the ceiling. She yelled exuberantly, jerking her hands to the rhythm of her declaration, “Barbie power NOW!” White and pink fairy dust whooshed down from the ceiling and circled the room in a mini-tornado, then dissipated. She jumped into the right side splits and quickly switched to the left side splits. Her hands shot out to the sides, fingers spread in jazz hands, fluttering like rabid butterflies. “‘I’m making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice.’” Her mind fluttered up and down her mental list as she jumped back up to standing position at the vanity stand. Now twirling her makeup brushes and lip liners in superhuman speed like a ninja makeup artist, she painted her face nice. Gaining super-superhuman speed, she set Sage’s hair in hot rollers, fluffed it full and sprayed it twice. “Whallop anew!” She spun Sage around to the mirror for a quick look.

  Sage seemed uncomfortable. “You know, my parents are going to kill me if they find out that I went to Tijuana without parental supervision. And they won’t even give me a proper burial if they find out that you drove me without a driver’s license.”

  “Quiet! You’re breaking my concentration.” She wanted to hold on to Sage’s true innocence while hinting at the subtle naughty girl fantasy, so she dressed her in a short-sleeved, white, cotton blouse with a pink lace collar, a frilly, pink lace mini-skirt, white tights, and white ballerina style shoes.