11. Midpoint
ELEVEN
MIDPOINT
Trish
Someone is singing.
I vaguely register the country duo Big and Rich passing out hundred-dollar bills. It isn’t until everyone is drinking Crown and getting down that I have my first moment of conscious lucidity and realize my phone is ringing.
And based on the song playing, it’s Rose. How she managed to get into everyone’s phone and give herself this particular ringtone is beyond me.
Feeling more groggy than usual, probably from all the sex last night and this morning, I slide my arm out from under my pillow and clumsily swipe my thumb across the screen. “Hello?”
“Morning, sunshine!” Rose’s way too chipper voice screams at me. “Get your lazy ass up, we’re exercising today!”
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I try to blink more fully awake. “Exercise? Since when do you exercise?”
“Since I got a Groupon.”
Even though the idea of my billionaire friend searching for Groupons makes me smile, I snuggle deeper into Ian’s covers. “How ’bout you take a rain check, sugar?” I yawn, closing my eyes again, my body deliciously sore from the exercise routine Ian put me through.
“How ’bout I come kidnap you? The exercise studio is on your side of town. I’ll swing by your trailer and get you.”
“No, no.” I sit up, wide-eyed. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll, uh, meet you there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously though she can’t see me. “Absolutely.”
“All right then, sugar tits. I’ll send you the addy. See you in an hour.” Then she’s gone, having hung up to do whatever other crazy things Rose West does while I slump over in bed, heart going like a hummingbird’s wings.
“A strip club.” We both parked under the towering “Heartbreakers” sign. The unlit red neon is making me anxious and uneasy. Lead lines my stomach as I glance over to the nondescript beige brick building.
The bitter sense of déjà vu makes me nauseous.
“Well, yeah.” Rose, who in true Rose fashion has committed to her surroundings, body glitter and all, huffs.
“What better place to have a pole dancing exercise class than a strip club?” She tosses her teased-out hair, glitter cascading off of her in waves.
“It’s kind of genius when you think about it.
” In the morning light, her metallic leotard gives off rainbow-like prisms. She looks like some sort of post-apocalyptic Jane Fonda with her sapphire blue fishnets under her one-shoulder leotard leading down into clear, four-inch platform heels. And the girl is working it.
A glance down at my own plain black leggings and pink sneakers leaves me feeling oddly undressed.
I hate that feeling.
“Come on. We don’t want to be late. What if all the best poles are taken?” Rose struts forward. And though I’d rather be anyplace other than a strip club, I follow, worried she might fall or twist her ankle.
Despite my concern, with barely a wobble, Rose manages to deftly maneuver across the parking lot on her own. By the time we enter the shadowed doorway, I’m coughing from walking in the wake of Rose’s glitter trail.
Rose looks down at her skin, now sparkling like a Twilight vampire under the rotating, multi-colored ceiling lights. “Cool.”
“Hello, ladies!” A tiny, busty woman catwalks down the center stage in a red string bikini and heels.
“I’m Angela. I’ll be leading the class today.
” In a lithe move that could’ve been considered ballet, she bends down at the edge of the stage, one hand gripping the edge, and swings her body off, landing softly in front us on her six-inch platform heels.
“I’m so glad you could make it.” She eyes Rose, her face lighting up in a smile. “Love your outfit.”
Rose preens. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t know.” I feel the need to apologize for my attire, or the amount of it. I shoot Rose a glare. “She didn’t say it was a pole dancing class.”
“Of course not.” Rose snorts. “’Cause your southern lady ass wouldn’t have come.”
“That’s not true!” Okay, yes it is. But not for the reasons she thinks.
“It’s okay, doll.” Angela hooks an arm around me and brings me in close, like a mother would to console a child. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
A flash of natural light from the opening door penetrates the room. “Can’t wait to get my hands on that pole.”
Rose, Angela, and I turn to see a group of three older women pushing through the blacked-out front doors.
“Will you stop with all your pole innuendos?” a woman with long black hair says. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“I’m talking about exercising.” The woman with short, spiky white hair looks frighteningly familiar. “I can’t help it if your mind’s in the gutter all the time.”
“Exercise.” The third woman snorts. “Please. You know good and well that you just take this class so you can practice twerking. You never actually try to climb the pole.”
“Oh, shut it, Nina. You’re just jealous of my rock-solid ass. I told you to come power-walking with me.”
“Hashtag girl posse goals,” Rose whispers reverently as the women get closer.
Myra, my previous landlady, gives her friend the finger before glancing over at us.
Shock, then happiness, lights up her face.
“Trish, dear. You came!” The closer she comes, the more horrified I’m sure I look.
My sweet, power-walking-addicted landlady, usually decked out in colorful parachute pants, is wearing hot pants and a sports bra.
And that’s all.
Myra closes the distance between us and kisses me on the cheek. “So glad you girls could make it.” Turning to Rose, Myra hugs her. Half of Rose’s glitter transfers to Myra. “I really didn’t think you’d get her to come.”
“Wait.” I point to Myra then Rose. “You two know each other?” I didn’t think I could be more apprehensive than when I figured out where Rose had lured me to. But now, standing before the one person who could “out me” to my best friend, I see that I was wrong.
“I gave her a Groupon yesterday,” Myra answers, at ease with this whole bizarre situation.
“Yeah.” Rose elbows me. “When I swung by your trailer.” She quirks one brow in my direction. “Fancy my surprise to find your trailer missing.”
Myra tsks. “Shame on you, dear, for worrying your friend.”
“Yes. Shame, shame,” Rose singsongs.
Not touching that subject yet, I glare at Myra, hands on hips. “I’ve known you for months and you’ve never mentioned taking a pole dancing class.”
Myra shrugs, giving me an apologetic look. “Well, sweetie, it just didn’t seem like your thing. You always seemed so…”
“Boring?” Rose offers.
I glare at her.
“ Refined ,” Myra says firmly, though I can see she’s fighting a smile at Rose’s suggestion.
Though I should be happy Myra thought a strip club so far removed from me, seeing as though I’ve spent years trying to overcome my trailer trash upbringing, I’m still deeply insulted that these two would think me so condescending.
“What are you talking about? I’m not boring.
I—” Thankfully I stop myself in time. I can’t tell them about my writing career.
“It’s okay, girl.” Rose blows me a kiss. “I still love you.”
“We won’t push you too far out of your comfort zone,” Angela adds, taking Myra’s bag and placing it in the booth by the stage. “No need to feel uncomfortable.”
I know they are trying to be helpful, but heat builds up inside me with each sympathetic platitude drenched in understanding.
“This isn’t my first time in a strip club, you know.” I direct my ire at Rose, stung by her personality assessment. Boring . Rose doesn’t know how much I hold back, how often I stop myself from being fun and outgoing for fear of being too conspicuous. For fear of being put down or worse, caught.
And this place—the windowless room, the worn vinyl booth seats, the rotating dim lights—isn’t helping. It’s as if all my old demons are coming back, fueling my growing frustration.
“Sure, sure.” Rose nods, pursing her lips. “If you count watching Magic Mike as going to a strip club.” She laughs but stops when she sees my expression. “Trish.” She places a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, I was just kidding. I?—”
Shaking her off, I push myself up and onto the stage, turning once to look down at all the women.
The heat inside of me finally erupts, shattering the carefully honed image I’ve perfected over the years.
“Boring, huh?” With a smirk, I swivel, my hips loose and seductive as I face the center pole.
In three long running strides I leap, both hands grabbing the pole high.
I adjust my weight, swinging my legs out wide and up until the right one is above my head, hooking around the pole.
My left leg rests down alongside it, toes pointed.
I arch my back, letting go with one hand in a graceful arc until my back is parallel to the floor, all while I’m spinning.
On the third rotation, I grab the pole with both hands once more before splitting my legs.
Right side up, I spin twice more before coming to a stop, holding the pose.
Glancing at the small crowd, I see every single woman in the room staring, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Boring, indeed.
Releasing my grip, I dismount, landing on the tiptoes of my sneakers, not used to dancing in anything other than platform high heels.
“How in the flipping fuck did you do that?” Rose slaps the stage with both palms, a cloud of glitter falling away from her agitated body.
“Yeah,” Myra pipes up. “What she said.”
Crud muffins . The reality of what I just did, what I just revealed, douses my earlier anger like a cold bucket of water. “I…”
“And when can we do that?” Nina, the woman with dark hair who came in with Myra, asks Angela.
Clearing her throat, Angela looks from me to the other women. “The, uh, Gemini and the Matrix are expert level pole moves.” She looks at me again, like she can’t quite believe what I did.
I can’t believe what I just did. I didn’t know I still could.
“We are, uh, quite a ways from that,” Angela adds, looking apologetically at the older women.