Chapter 15
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September 14, 2023. 11.00 a.m.
S_Belle:
Hey Brynn, this is Sienna/Scarlett. Hope you don’t mind I got your WhatsApp from Corey. Hope everything is okay after the dog fight the other day. Sorry I didn’t reach out sooner but I actually didn’t realise we hadn’t swapped numbers at the party
Brynn:
Hey! I literally just clocked out from morning shift. My coworker has lost his job and the gossip is that he had to have stitches in his hand and Doug wouldn’t cover the hospital fees. Robert is organising a GoFundMe for the poor guy.
S_Belle:
I’m sorry about your coworker. Send me the link and I’ll kick him my coffee money for the week.
S_Belle :
Ok not to change the subject, but in the interests of catching you before you get to the subway; if you’re done with work right now, do you want to maybe hang out? Corey and I were talking at Cat’s last night and I’ve got a fun idea of something we could do
Brynn:
I’m intrigued, plus my only plan was a hot date with the couch and a stack of romcoms from the library. Count me in
S_Belle:
Glad to be of service, though I’m sure couch Jenny will miss you. I’m on my way. Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner
I’m halfway through a coffee and a chapter of the latest Abby Jimenez romcom when Sienna arrives. She grabs a coffee to go and I tuck the book into my backpack before we head out onto the street together.
‘So, what’s up?’ I ask.
‘Well, Corey and I got to talking and she said you’d been on some mission to the Dakota on the weekend,’ she says. Sienna’s referring to me making good on taking Corey on one of Mum’s Missions, to ‘go somewhere mentioned in The Baby-Sitters Club New York New York! ’ After another long video chat with Bridie, Dotty and Corey, we decided to film me doing as many of Mum’s Missions as possible and turn them into a TikTok series, so I dragged Corey to the famous apartment building, that was once home to celebrities, including John Lennon, and featured in my favourite BSC book.
Having Corey come along as my camerawoman made it much easier for me to be on the video and I was already seeing analytics that Bridie informed me were ‘extremely promising’. I’d even had a notification the other day that Perdita, the famous dalmatian from Dogue’s, had started following me.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Sienna continues, dodging around people on the sidewalk, ‘but she told me about your mom’s missions and the TikTok thing. She gave me a few examples of things on the list, and one really stood out to me. Plus, I promised you friendship and never actually followed through. So, two birds and all that.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say, aware again I’ve had her number since the first time we’ve met. ‘I know you’re busy with work and ... everything.’
She shimmies her body and I catch myself glancing down at her boobs. ‘Dancing?’ she suggests.
I flush. Did I really just look at her boobs? What the hell was that about? ‘That too,’ I say, swiping at the blush I feel creeping over my cheeks. ‘So, which of my mum’s Missions do you want to do?’ I ask.
‘It’s: do something that’s wildly out of your comfort zone, ’ she says and there’s mischief in her blue eyes.
‘Ha, the one I was going to skip,’ I joke. ‘But, wait, how do you know what’s out of my comfort zone?’
‘Easy—you told me the second time we met: dancing. So, we’re going to have lunch and then you’re going to take a beginner burlesque class.’
My eyes widen. ‘What? No, no,’ I shake my head so hard I practically feel my teeth rattling. ‘No way, that’s not for me.’
She laughs and it’s like music. ‘It’s perfect. Burlesque is for everybody but it’s super out of your comfort zone,’ she says. ‘Just give it a try. For your mum?’
‘I’m not dressed for it,’ I protest, looking down at my jeans.
‘I mean, not being dressed is kind of the point of burlesque,’ she says, a mischievous look on her face.
Horrified, I think about what’s underneath my jeans and red Dogue’s t-shirt: my usual enormous black Kmart granny pants, and a bra that I remembered from this morning had strained elastic under the arm. I absolutely cannot strip in front of anyone, let alone beautiful Sienna who does burlesque for a living.
‘Nope, that’s even worse, oh my god,’ I say. ‘Lunch, yes. Class, no.’
She laughs. ‘Don’t stress. We’re about the same size and I’ve got gym clothes in my locker at the studio,’ she says. ‘And it’s a beginner class. Only movement, no stripping. It’s supposed to give you a taste and make you want to do more.’
I’m still doubtful.
‘Give it a go,’ she says. ‘It’ll at least be a wild story you can tell when you go home. Come on, I think you’ll like it. And lunch is my treat, but only if you agree to do the class.’
‘Argh, how did you know the way to my heart is by feeding me?’ I groan. ‘Come on, let’s do it then.’
She beams at me, loops her arm through mine and leads me down the street to a deli, where she buys her favourite sandwiches and paper bowls of matzoh ball soup, and then leads me to City Hall Park to eat. The sun is fighting valiantly against the coming winter and though there’s a chill in the air, it’s warm enough to take our coats off and spread them on the ground as a makeshift picnic blanket.
‘Do we have to go to class?’ I ask, lingering over my soup.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Once you’ve eaten, you’ll dance. But I promise you’ll love it. You can dance, or did you forget about us cutting a rug at Hilde’s party?’
‘I’d had some liquid courage,’ I reply. ‘The soup is delicious, but I don’t think it’s got any courage in it.’
‘But you can dance,’ she insists leaning closer, and I get a whiff of her perfume; vanilla and peaches. ‘You move on the beat; you feel the music.’
I grin. ‘That’s all in the genes,’ I say. ‘Doesn’t mean I can dance.’ I scrape the plastic spoon over the bottom of the soup bowl and lick it, even though there isn’t anything left. When I look up, Sienna is watching me with steady, intense eyes.
I put the bowl down and wipe my suddenly sweaty palms. ‘And I don’t just mean it’s in my genes cause I’m a Blakfulla; Mum was actually a dancer herself.’
Sienna sits up a bit straighter. ‘Oh? What sort?’
‘Everything,’ I reply. ‘Ballet, mostly. She was close to doing company auditions but then she got pregnant.’
‘Oh wow. She must have been young? Company auditions ...’
‘Seventeen—older than most girls,’ I reply. ‘But it’s tough to get into something like ballet when you’re from a single parent household, and when you’re Indigenous. She got into a summer program over here and her teacher was sure that having Tisch on her résumé would help with auditions. It was her first time away from home and she met a guy and ... well, instead of Bangarra she got me.’
‘Bangarra?’
‘A professional Aboriginal dance company back home,’ I reply. ‘I mean, she could have tried out for any company, but Bangarra was the dream.’
Sienna hums and leans back a little, letting the sun rest against her winter clothes. She looks peaceful and gentle. ‘Did you dance as a kid?’ she asks.
‘I mean, don’t all kids?’ I reply, smiling at a faint memory of dancing barefoot on the rug in Nan’s loungeroom in Ipswich, where we’d lived before Chris came along. I’d spin around maniacally, my hands shooting out with no grace, while Mum tried to show me how to hold my arms in bras bas and move them through the positions.
‘I didn’t take class, though. There wasn’t money for that, and I was more interested in books. Not to mention, I don’t have the body for it.’
She touches me on the arm, her eyes soft. ‘You’ve got the body for anything you want to do,’ she says. ‘I’ve been taking a bit of beginner ballet when I’ve got time. I want to do burlesque en pointe , but I’ve got a lot of work to do before that happens. And by work, I mean to get stronger, not skinnier. Fuck that body shame crap.’
‘You’re so confident.’
‘I wasn’t always,’ she says, grinning and flipping her blonde curls back as a breeze flutters around us. ‘It took lots of therapy and practice to undo a whole bunch of crap from my mom and basically everyone else on the planet. And dancing helped too. You can’t really hide when you’re down to pasties and a thong in a dance studio that’s covered in mirrors.’
‘But your mum rates a specific mention?’
She bites her lip. ‘Yeah, we don’t talk anymore. She wasn’t ever real pleased with having a fat daughter and she sure as heck didn’t like it when I told her that I’m also gay.’
‘That sucks,’ I say. There’s something lovely about the way Sienna always shows her affection or comforts by touching. I feel as though I’m mirroring her affection as I reach outand put my hand on hers.
‘I’ve made my peace with it. Well, mostly. But I live here now and I’ve got my chosen family around me. The crew at Cat’s are the best.’ She looks down at our hands and smiles.
‘They seem like a good bunch,’ I agree. ‘But everyone’s kinda tight and I don’t always feel like I fit in.’
She tilts her head. ‘What about Michael?’ she asks. ‘You two seemed ... close.’ Her tone is joking as she speaks, but I feel like there’s a hint of something playing on her face.
‘We’re not really,’ I reply. ‘It was just a casual thing and he’s in Boston at the moment working on some big case. We text a bit but it’s not ... we’re not together.’ It feels so weird saying that I’ve got a casual thing. Me! The girl who had the same boyfriend for three years. My cheeks heat. ‘I’m not that girl but, like ...’
‘Oh babe, there’s no shame in doing whatever you want,’ she says and any weirdness from her totally disappears as she nudges me in the ribs. ‘Fuck, I didn’t mean to come across like that. Michael’s nice and that’s what you want in a FWB, right?’
‘I guess ... I really don’t have much experience with the whole thing. But he is a nice guy.’
Sienna looks down at her watch and then starts packing up our rubbish. ‘Come on, we should get going.’
We walk a few blocks from the park to a building that doesn’t look like much from the outside. Sienna leads the way up a couple flights of stairs and into a tiny locker room, where she hands me a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants in the exact right size. She waits while I change and then leads me out into a lush dance studio with windows looking out over the Brooklyn Bridge.
‘Whoa,’ I say, and she grins.
‘Worth it for the view, right?’
The studio fills up with people of all different shapes, sizes, ages, races, and genders. It strikes me then that one of the things I like the most about living in New York City is that I am rarely the only person of colour in the room. But here I’m also not the only fat woman, or the only one wearing something other than designer gym gear.
Some people look like I feel: nervous and self-conscious, unsure of what to expect. The class is led by a woman whose curves are accentuated by the brightest pink pair of leopard print leggings and crop top that I’ve ever seen. She has a wide smile and long black hair that, even though it’s tied up in a super high ponytail, reaches right down to the curve of her massive round booty. Almost everyone has a phone or a camera set up at the front of the room, leaning it up against the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, some of them even setting up little tripods. Sienna takes my phone and we film an introduction before she takes the spot next to me.
The first thing the teacher does is teach us how to bump walk, which is stepping the feet together and then bumping the hips to the side. Some people get it straight away, their confidence making the simple move look sexy. But there are a few of us who, like me, are stuck in our heads. It’s as though I’m trying to swim in a tank of honey and it’s hard to move. My head feels like it’s swollen to five times its size and that everyone is looking at me.
‘You got it,’ Sienna says next to me. ‘No one is watching you, just let loose.’
‘You are,’ I snap and she giggles.
‘Okay, I won’t.’ She takes a step forward and joins the row in front. On every bump, she wiggles her bum at me, looks over her shoulder and gives a cheeky grin. I can’t help but laugh and that’s all it takes. The others who are struggling catch on to what she’s doing and before long we are all laughing our way through grinds and shimmies too.
The hour class passes quickly and by the end, I’ve had a good time. ‘Probably just the exercise endorphins though,’ I reason, somehow back in my head again.
‘Oh, bless your heart,’ Sienna says, wrapping me in a hug and not seeming to mind that I’m super sweaty. ‘You had fun, just admit it.’
I shrug. ‘It was fun. But,’ I add as the teacher hops around groups of smiling women with a sign-up sheet for paid classes, ‘I don’t think I want to extend my burlesque career beyond this.’
‘Fair,’ Sienna says. ‘Thanks for giving it a try. I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
We change and Sienna refuses my offer to take the clothes back home to wash.
‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘I’ve got a washer-dryer in the apartment. But that doesn’t get you out of seeing me again.’
But I want to see her again. Sienna is a spark. She’s a light I didn’t realise I needed in this already bright city. Other than spending time at Cat’s with the gang, this is the first time I’ve really let go in New York. It’s the first time I’ve forgotten to be stressed about the internship, or exhausted from Dogue’s, or even terribly homesick.
When we say goodbye at the subway, Sienna gives me a long hug. She kisses me on the cheek and says, ‘Thank you for coming. And telling me about your mom, too. She’d be proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone, and you definitely got some of her dancing genes. You should let yourself go more often—it suits you.’
My heart catches in my throat at the mention of Mum. But as I watch Sienna clatter down the stairs to the other platform, another feeling is building inside. I think I’m finally starting to understand why Mum set me the missions.
Emerging out of the 86th Street subway station half an hour later, I decide to drop in and see Pam at Goodwill. There’s something about today that makes me feel like celebrating, and though clothes shopping hasn’t been a real site of celebration for me in the past, since I met Pam I’ve started to feel a little rush every time she finds a special piece just for me.
‘Brynn, darling,’ she trills as I walk in the door. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Look what I’ve pulled for you.’ It makes me laugh that she acts like this is a Fifth Avenue boutique rather than a second-hand shop. But she has an undeniable eye for clothes that will work on me ...
Usually. I look up to see her holding up a hot-pink—no, magenta —sheath dress with long bell sleeves. I shake my head. ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘No way.’
Pam doesn’t look discouraged. Instead, she purses her lips in determination and strides out from behind the counter. ‘Brynn, this is a true sixties dress, look.’ She turns it around and shows me the zipper. ‘Metal zipper. It’s basically brand new. I’m worried that someone tiny will buy it and take it in, which would be an absolute crime when it’s your exact measurements.’
But I barely hear her. The pink is all I see. It’s all I can focus on.
My lungs tighten and in an instant I’m wheezing. ‘I don’t wear pink,’ I choke out. ‘Sorry, Pam, I’ll see you later.’
I turn and race out of the store and onto the street, swinging my backpack around and fumbling in the front pocket for my inhaler. Taking a frantic puff, I try to slow my pace to walk the few blocks back home, and while the puffer works quickly to stave off the asthma attack, the medicine adds to my jittery, panicked feeling. In my head I see flashes of Scott holding up a pair of pink shorts in a surf shop. ‘I like it when you look girly,’ he says. ‘And these would show off your legs.’
Another block passes and I remember unwrapping those shorts, along with a matching pink string bikini, at our friend’s Christmas. Jacq had one exactly the same and had clapped her hands together. ‘We can be twins,’ she said.
‘That’s barely going to cover one of Brynn’s nipples,’ Dotty had said, looking at the bikini top with disdain as Scott nudged Tim.
‘That was kind of my plan,’ Scott had said.
I dash up the stairs to the apartment and burst into my room, coming face to face with the magenta feature wall.
‘Fucking pink!’ I yell and slam the door, backing into the loungeroom.
That night, I make a nest for myself on Jenny and am just dozing off to the sounds of the TV when my phone rings.
‘Hello, Brynn speaking,’ I answer.
‘Hello, Brynn. This is Mrs Van Der Steen. I met you at the vet surgery a few days ago. I mentioned that I needed a sitter for Daisy next weekend. Are you interested?’
She offers me a ridiculous amount of money for watching Daisy. And the money isn’t even the best part—it’s the thought of spending two nights away from the bright pink bedroom. That should be enough time to get Scott back out of my head.