6. Future Light Cone
SIX
FUTURE LIGHT CONE
Rose
Helen gives me the eye, but I avoid it.
“Wait. Is there a spread eagle back bend?” Myra asks, hands out as she tries to balance on sky-high platform shoes. “’Cause that sounds like something I could get into.”
“No, Myra.” Angela sets up a balance chair next to the pole for the eighty-something-year-old woman. “And for the love of God, please put your sneakers back on. The last thing you need is a broken ankle.” She mumbles something about not wanting to be sued under her breath.
Myra’s thin red lips pout. “Hmph.” But she sits and begins to unstrap her shoes. “I may have been a tad ambitious with this heel height. I’ll have to go back to Cindy’s and get the lower pair.”
The thought of Myra in Cindy’s, the local sex toy and apparel shop, is going to keep me smiling for days.
Once Myra’s back in sneakers, Angela claps her hands. “Let’s start with some stretches.”
We all touch our toes. Myra and Helen met in an advanced silver sneakers yoga class, so they breeze through the stretches.
I go through the motions, but my mind is still on Bodie. Or Vance. Whatever the hell his name is.
I hate when one-night stands show up like a bad penny.
I mean, the guy said he was more co-worker than friend to Jackie, so I honestly didn’t think I’d see him unless it was at some NASA sanctioned event.
And considering how the last NASA event I went to ended up with me in the back of a police car, I hadn’t been planning on attending many more.
Which meant he should have been a relatively safe choice.
“How do you know my Vance, Rosie?” Helen asks, her long, dark braid swinging forward as she places her leg on the chair seat and bends forward as graceful as any ballerina.
She’s aged that way too, if she’s old enough to be Vance’s mother.
They don’t look much alike, Helen far more delicate and feminine than her son, but their coloring is the same.
I stand, swaying a bit as the blood rushes away from my head. I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t realized we’d moved on to a new stretch.
Myra, sitting on the ground doing a butterfly stretch, leans back and gives Helen a sly smile. “Ooo, I smell a story, Rosie.”
Helen and Myra are the only ones I let call me Rosie. In my opinion, if you’ve spent the majority of your life paying your dues and your taxes to Uncle Sam, you’re entitled to say whatever the fuck you want.
I drop my three-pound heel on the chair in front of me with a thunk and bend over it.
“Apparently they met at a wedding.” Helen’s tone is way too nonchalant to be normal.
“Oh?” Myra draws out the sound. “Is that right?”
Every marriage-aged person would be able to hear the tone and hidden meaning in that seemingly innocuous syllable. I may only be twenty-one, but in Texas, a lot of people count that as settle-down time.
Taking a breath and letting it out, I keep my eyes focused on the glitter floating in the platform of my heels.
“I already boinked him, guys. I’m not going back for more.
” That may be TMI for Vance’s mother, but I need to nip this in the bud now before any matchmaker machinations start forming in their minds.
However, it is a testament of just how awesome my retiree friend posse is that they don’t flinch. Not even Helen.
Instead, she throws a glare in the direction of the door Vance just left through that would make any grown man wary.
“Don’t tell me my son doesn’t know how to please a woman.
” She pulls her leg off the chair and places her hands on her hips, looking like a petite general of war.
“I already had the sex talk with him when he was fourteen, after I caught him in my kitchen with his hand up Minnie Frey’s blouse. ”
I bite my lip at that mental picture.
“I even made him take notes.”
I give up and laugh, straightening beside the chair. “If I ever have kids, I’m totally doing that. You’re total mom-goals, Helen.”
That gets a smile out of her. “My in-depth and detailed talk ensured he was safe, knew what he was doing, and that everyone would be happy.” Helen’s grin turns evil.
“Of course having your mother describe what the clitoris is, where it can be found, and how to stimulate it also helped kill whatever pubescent hormones were raging inside him at the time.” She folds her chair and moves it to the side of the stage.
“Gave me a few more years before I had to worry about him knocking someone up.”
I continue laughing, leaning on the back of my chair for support. “This is why we are friends, Helen. You have so much to teach me about the ways of adulting. You’re a genius.”
“You’re doing fine on your own, Rosie. You just need to have more confidence in yourself.”
I scoff. “Not to question your wisdom, Helen, but no one has ever accused me of lacking in confidence.” I gesture to my tight, sequined spandex attire before folding up my chair. “Case in point.”
“Rosie, Rosie. I’m not talking about confidence in your body, I’m talking about confidence here.” She taps where my heart would be, making my left boob jiggle.
We both bite our lips to keep from laughing.
“If you two are done feeling each other up, I’ve got a pole I’m ready to mount.” Myra, standing stage left, circles her pole like a boxer waiting for the bell.
Nelly’s “Hot in Here” blares from the speakers, and Myra jumps, holding on to the pole with both hands, spinning. She’s a blur of fuchsia jumpsuit.
“Myra!” Angela jogs out from the back in her teeny bikini and eight-inch platforms like only a well-seasoned professional can. “I told you to wait for me before you mount.” She throws her hands in the air, exasperation written all over her face.
“You’re never gonna rein her in, but it’s fun to see you try.” I glance down at her chest. “Also, wardrobe malfunction.”
Without taking her eyes off Myra, who’s still in spin mode, Angela reaches down and slides her top back over her nipple. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”
“No worries, dear.” Helen, more carefully than Myra, places both hands on her pole and spins slowly, coming back to the starting position and stopping after one rotation. “We’ve all had a nip slip or two in our day.”
Vance
If a police car comes by right now, I’ll probably be arrested.
There’s no obvious reason for an adult man to be sitting in his car in the parking lot of a strip club with his head tilted back and eyes closed that isn’t perverted. I don’t think any officer would believe me if I said I was waiting for my mother to get off her pole.
They’d probably tase me.
Maybe the pain would help my raging attraction to Rose West. In my thirty-six years, I’ve never had a problem forgetting about one-night stands. As much of an asshole as that makes me sound.
I made the decision years ago. If I was going to have a dangerous job, I couldn’t have attachments. No wife, no kids, no one left behind in tears if I didn’t make it back home.
That resolve has helped dull any attachment urges I may have had over the years. Light, easy, no strings attached. That’s how I live when I’m on Earth.
Rose West is anything but light and easy. And definitely unforgettable.
Ding .
I grab my phone from the cup holder.
A text from my mother. I’m ready to go.
I frown at my phone. This is her way of telling me to come get her. Why I need to come to her, I don’t know. If she can swing on a pole in those heels, makes sense she can walk out of the strip club in them, but I’m not about to text that.
Heaving myself out of my 4Runner, which I love even though Jackie assures me that true astronauts only drive Corvettes, I walk back into Heartbreakers, bracing myself for the visual assault of Rose in her pole dancing attire.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Rebecca Black’s raunchy and profane song “Girlfriend” blasts from the speakers.
Even though I braced, when my eyes focus on the stage, I feel gut-punched all the same.
Nothing could have prepared me for Rose, one leg hooked high, the other splayed out, spinning upside down from the pole like a tornado of glitter.
I’m both aware that I’m standing there like a kid in a candy shop drooling over things he can’t have, and also not aware of anything but her. My eyes are laser focused on her flowing hair, her gravity-defying boobs, and the thin strip of blue spandex between her legs.
But then something goes wrong. Rose squeals as her leg slides down a foot, the spinning coming to a stop. Throwing her hands out to catch herself, she slides the rest of the way down, catching herself in an awkward handstand.
I’ve already taken a few quick steps toward the stage before I realize it, but the younger woman in the bikini beats me there. Bracing Rose’s midsection, she helps Rose fall carefully over to the side without hurting herself.
Rose, though rubbing her wrists, comes up laughing. “Whelp. I guess I haven’t mastered that yet.”
The older woman next to my mother claps. “Great job, Rosie-girl!” She looks to the bikini woman. “I want to learn that next, Angie.”
“No, Myra.” From the way the woman sighs, I can tell this isn’t the first time Myra has asked to bite off more than she can chew.
Frowning, but with a gleam in her eyes, Myra crosses her arms. “You’re no fun.”
They all laugh.
“Shouldn’t you practice easier moves before you break your neck doing spins like that?” I ask, my tone reprimanding.
The three women on the stage look at me, eyebrows raised.
My mother jabs me in the ribs. I hadn’t even noticed she’d walked up next to me.
Luckily, she’s on my right. If she’d jabbed my left side, she might have put my racing heart into cardiac arrest. Because my poor heart, the heart that’s carefully monitored and trained by the best medical staff and physical trainers in the country, is racing at an abnormal level.
One thing is perfectly clear. Rose West is not good for me.
The laughter fades from Rose’s face. “Do I tell you how to float in space, Bodie ?” She scoffs. “No, I don’t. So don’t start telling me how to pole dance.”
The woman has a point.
And with her youthful glow and billions of dollars, she’s also not a safe bet for what I have to offer.
Even so.
“Go out with me tonight.” Out of the corner of my eye I can see my mother’s head turn to me Exorcist -style.
Rose laughs. “Sorry, no can do.” She tosses her hair off her shoulders with both hands, showering the stage with glitter. “I have to wash my hair.”
Myra chuckles, and Angie ducks her head, trying to hide her grin.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Tomorrow then?”
Mom’s mouth drops open. In my thirty-six years I’ve never taken anyone home, never talked to her about my love life, and definitely never asked anyone out in front of her. Though at this point, it’s more like begging.
“Nope.” Rose saunters off, stage left.
I follow her, blocking her exit at the foot of the stairs. “Anytime this week.”
She frowns at me then shifts left. I shift right. Her eyes narrow, and she shifts right. I shift left.
Crossing her arms over her sparkling chest, she begins tapping her platform on the stage. “Listen, buddy, don’t think because your mama is here I’m gonna take it easy on you.”
I mirror her stance. “I don’t think you know how to take it easy on someone.”
She purses her lips, like she’s contemplating what I said.
“Huh.” She drops down a step, stopping two from the bottom.
Eye-level with me. “You know, you may be right.” One more step and I can make out the individual droplets of sweat mingling with her body glitter.
Her breasts are rising and falling faster than normal.
It’s probably from pole dancing, but I’d like to think I have something to do with it.
That is until in one quick flash, she backhands my junk. She barely touches me, but what she does hit is dead center of pain town, and I hunch over, nearly going to my knees.
Two of the women gasp in shock, the third laugh/coughs. I’d like to think that wasn’t my mother.
Rose, taking advantage of my protective cower, pushes me against the wall and out of her way. “I have two brothers, Vance. You should know better than to try and bully me.” She sashays past.
Well-honed survival instincts keep me still until Rose shoves the double front doors open. The sunlight glints off her body like the fire trail of a shooting star. Even with my adrenaline pumping from the near emasculation, I can’t help but appreciate her exit style.
When the doors close and I finally look away, I’m met with my mother’s disapproving eyes.
She tosses her long dark braid over her shoulder and crosses her arms, just like she used to do when I misbehaved as a child. “You and I need to have another talk about the clitoris.”