Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (8 page)

“W
here is everybody?” I asked Aunt Moon-Unit as we made our way to the front of the practically empty room. Being back at the library reminded me of kissing Mitch. I firmly put him out of my mind and glanced around. There were literally six people there, including us. Something was off.

“I have no idea. It was last minute . . . maybe everyone is busy or under the influence of government voodoo,” she said.

Staying silent was the best response I had to most of the things Aunt Moon-Unit said, so I did. Kim and Hugh were in the corner of the room deep in discussion with two very short men who were definitely not from Minnesota. Overly tan and slick, they wore skinny jeans and silky shirts. They seemed bored with the mounds of information that Kim was throwing at them and slightly disturbed at the garbled sound track coming from an overexcited Hugh.

“Aunt Moon-Unit,” I whispered. “Who are Kim and Hugh talking to?”

“Oooo, those must be the L.A. producers,” she said. “This is big, Kristy. Mark my words. This. Is. Big.”

A strange surge of panic washed through me. I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Mariah Carey and her odd, shapeshifter-loving sister Boo walk in the room. They were followed by a huge guy that I didn’t remember from the last meeting . . . and I would have remembered him. Bless his heart, he was shaped like a pear, his teeth were something to behold, and the curly black hair on his head resembled pubes. He was dressed in a light blue muumuu type of shirt and sweatpants. Looking at him from where I stood, I wondered if he might be mentally challenged.

I took a seat next to Moon-Unit and prayed this would go quickly. Lost in my own world, fantasizing about a DEA agent that I should have nothing to do with, I was startled when the big, unfortunate-looking guy sat down next to me. Hell, practically every seat in the room was available . . . did he really have to sit right next to me? I glanced over and realized he also had man-boobs. Everything about him was so wrong, I knew I had to be nice.

“Hi, I’m Kristy,” I said, offering him my hand. This poor guy had been smacked hard with the ugly stick. On top of all his challenges, he had one green eye and one brown. I imagined growing up had been difficult.

“Rich,” he said in an accent I couldn’t quite identify. British? That would explain the teeth . . .

“So, you, ah, believe in Bigfoot?” I said, trying to make conversation.

“Oh yes. Don’t you?” he asked in an accent I now thought might be Australian . . . or possibly Scottish.

“Well,” I hedged, “I’m not against the possibility.”

Crap, I didn’t want to pull a “Rena” and make fun of these people, but pretending to worship Sasquatch was not gonna happen. Again, I cursed David Hasselhoff. I wanted to get this show on the road. Small talk with man-boob Rich was not very appealing and Mariah and Boo were all the way on the other side of the room. I turned to Aunt Moon-Unit to avoid my new large buddy, but she was in some bizarre meditative state, mumbling about cyborgs.

“You have lovely hair, Kristy,” the unidentifiably accented Rich said.

“Thank you. You, um, smell good,” I said, fumbling for something nice to say. God, please don’t let this guy and his bad teeth be hitting on me. Although he actually did smell good. He smelled a little like Mitch. Maybe they used the same laundry detergent.

“That’s such a kind thing to say,” he said, smiling and running his hands over his muumuu and mussing his hair. “This is my first meeting. I’m trying to get out into the world and make some friends with similar interests.”

Oh hell, did he not have any friends? I am such a sucker for the underdog. If he would get a haircut and some braces and go on a diet . . . Darn it, I needed to stop judging. Here was a huge, looks-and-fashion-impaired guy trying to fit in somewhere. The least I could do was be kind.

“So, Rich, what do you do for a living?” I asked, giving him my full attention.

“I’m unemployed at the moment,” he said, lowering his eyes. “But I’m a magician by trade.”

“Oh. Wow,” I stammered, trying not to laugh. “That’s fantastic. You know, I run a women’s shelter and we have a lot of children come through . . . maybe, you could do a, um, magic show sometime.”

“That would be wonderful,” he said. “I’m a very good magic man.”

“I’m sure you are. Of course, we’d have to do a background check.” I hated saying that, but it was the way it was.

“No problem.” He smiled. “My male hooking days are long past me now.”

“Oh my God, what?” I gasped and choked on my own spit.

“I’m joking,” he laughed. “If I was a male hooker, I would starve to death. And as you can see”—he slapped his big belly—“I’m not food deprived.”

“You’re fine the way you are,” I said, giggling. I meant it. His looks might be unusual . . . and somewhat alarming, but he was nice and had a sense of humor.

“I understand the group will be going on a Bigfoot search,” he said. “Are you going?”

“Absolutely not,” I told him. “The only reason I’m here is because I drive my friend.” I leaned back so I could introduce Rich, but Aunt Moon-Unit was deep in conversation with something invisible on her lap.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” I assured him. I didn’t want him to think she was insane. “She’s um, psychic and communes with the . . . dead.” Shitballs, so much for distracting him from Aunt Moon-Unit’s crazy. Not to mention, letting on that I wasn’t quite right either.

“That’s too bad; it sounds like an interesting trip,” he said.

“Talking to dead people?” I asked.

“No, no, no,” he said, laughing and shaking his head. “Searching for Sasquatch. I understand there have been some sightings up north.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I told him, “but the others here will know. Over there”—I pointed to Mariah and her sister Boo—“Mariah and Boo are way into Sasquatch, just don’t get in nose range of Mariah’s fists.”

“Okay,” he said, looking at me strangely.

“Trust me on that one.” I pointed to the corner. “Kim and Hugh are the leaders. They’re, um . . . lovely people and Hugh is quite a singer.”

“Good to know,” he said. “And who are those ladies?”

“What ladies?”

“The ones in the back wearing sequins and giving everyone dirty looks.”

“Oh shit, no,” I moaned and tried to duck down. Too late. According to my plan I wasn’t supposed to lay eyes on those lesbians for two weeks. Maybe I had picked up some bad chi at Aunt Moon-Unit’s the other day.

“Bless your heart. How are those titanium hooters?” Edith yelled across the room to me.

“With dinglebobbers like that, I’d be surprised if you could see your toes,” Mrs. C bellowed joyously.

That was it. I was so done with those hags. “For the last time, you hateful old rug munchers, my boobs are one hundred percent real. If you’d like to join me in the ladies’ room, I’ll show you,” I shouted back.

The entire room went silent and gaped at me. I have never in my life wanted the floor to open up and swallow me more than I did in that hideous moment. Even Aunt Moon-Unit had come out of her trance to stare at me in shock.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, sliding as low as I could possibly go in my chair.

“I can tell they’re real,” Rich said kindly.

“You can?” I whispered, still wanting to die.

“Absolutely.” He nodded solemnly.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. He was a really nice guy. Really unattractive, but really nice. I would definitely sit next to him for the next two months of meetings.

“Allrightyroo,” Kim Jensen Johnson sang as she took the spotlight off me and started the meeting . . . with all seven of us. “I have the most exciting news!”

She bounced up and down like I do when I have to pee really bad. Hugh, standing next to her, was doing the Michael Jackson crotch grab and humming “Billie Jean.” It was beyond disturbing, but thankfully it took everyone’s attention away from me and my funbags.

“The producers from
Searching for Sasquatch
have chosen our group to go to Duluth for two weeks to look for Bigfoot. We’re going to be on TV,” she shrieked, knocking Hugh to the floor with her out-of-control enthusiasm.

Hugh, not one to miss an opportunity, slid into the splits and played his chest like a drum. I snuck a quick look at Rich to see his reaction. He seemed a bit puzzled, but happy. God, everyone here was nuts . . . or maybe they were all sane and I was losing it.

“We are blessed to have the producers from
Searching for Sasquatch
here with us tonight. Stu Greenberg and Stan Angelusi, all the way from Los Angeles, California. Home to my favorite movie hunks, Steven Seagal and John Stamos! They’re going to tell us all about our adventure!”

Everyone began applauding wildly. Since the group was so small, I felt I had to go with it. I clapped and hooted and felt like a dork. Stan or Stu, I didn’t know which—they were kind of interchangeable—stepped in front of Kim and started talking.

“Thank you for your interest. We are pleased that you’ve accepted our offer and will all be going on the trip,” he said.

I froze. What in the hell was that shiny little guy saying? I wasn’t going on a Bigfoot hunt with the bonkers group sitting in this room. I needed to stay in town and possibly, yet secretly, boink Mitch. Wait, no . . . I wasn’t going to boink Mitch. That would mean I’d have to eat with Satan’s gay handmaidens . . . Nope, not gonna boink Mitch. My deal with Rena was meetings . . . not overnight field trips to Duluth. I. Hate. David. Hasselhoff. Should I speak up now? Should I pretend to go to the bathroom and never come back? No, how would Aunt Moon-Unit get home if I left—I suppose Kim and Hugh might take her home, but she would be worried. Maybe I could pass out and they’d have to call the paramedics and I could go to the hospital in an ambulance . . . No, that was stupid. The ambulance guys would probably know I was faking it, and God forbid that Kim or Hugh . . . or the lesbos . . . tried to give me CPR. No, I’d just . . . Motherhumpin’ assbuckets. Why was everyone staring at me?

“So will you do it?” Stu or Stan asked me.

“Do what?” My voice drifted into a hushed whisper.

“Host
Searching for Sasquatch
,” he said as if he were offering me a million dollars.

“Host?” I choked out.

“Yes,” the short shiny man said. “We need some good-looking T and A eye candy for the ratings.” He looked around the room disdainfully. “And you’re it.”

A panic like I’d never known welled in my throat and I was speechless.

“They’re going to donate fifty thousand to the charity of our choice,” Mariah gushed all aflutter. “And we voted for the shelter!”

“What?” I stared at Mariah, baffled. “When did all this happen?”

“It’s all right, dear,” Aunt Moon-Unit said, gently rubbing my back. “While you were busy having your inner monologue with yourself, the tiny man in the girlie shirt gave us all the details.”

I remained absolutely motionless for a moment while my brain tried to catch up. They wanted me, my boobs, and my butt to host a bunch of misfit freaks running around Duluth looking for Bigfoot. That was bad enough, but it was going to be televised . . . on TV—for the world to see. No. Fucking. Way.

“I can’t,” I said. Thank you, Lutheran Jesus, my mind and my lips were finally working together. “I have a shelter to run.”

“No, you don’t,” Mariah said.

“Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth, “I do.”

“Clearly you’re having a brain fart,” Mariah reminded me. “You took the summer off. Louise is running the shelter so you can get laid and get your life back in order.”

“Right,” I said, scrambling. Why did I have to be such a crappy liar? And why in the hell did she have to announce to the room I needed to get laid? “You’re right. I forgot about that little detail, but I also have a sewing shop that I have to manage. So, I’m sorry. I’ll have to pass.”

“I call bullshit,” Edith yelled, waddling toward me. I jumped out of my seat and hid behind Rich’s overly ample body. “The store is closed for two weeks, you little hussy . . . unless you were lying.”

“No,” I gasped in terror, imagining the sisters going down to check the store and sending the acrobatic-eyeballed construction worker into sobbing hysterics. The whole crew would quit, and finding last-minute construction workers, plumbers, and electricians would be impossible. Crap, the old biddies had me cornered. “I wasn’t lying. The shop is closed.”

“Well, aren’t you just a few fries short of a Happy Meal,” Mrs. C chimed in, enjoying my pain way too much.

“That solves it then,” Kim cried out with great pleasure. “Kristy will host and we will find our hero Yeti!”

“No,” I insisted. “I can’t. I’m not even part of this group. I’m just Moon-Unit’s driver. It should be hosted by someone who has the passion. I really, really don’t have the passion.”

“I know why you don’t want to do it,” Edith said slyly. “You don’t want the world to know your love puppies are filled with rubber.”

Love puppies? Was she kidding? I stepped out from behind Rich and got right up in Edith’s face. “You are a shining example of why people should avoid inbreeding. For the last time, my badoinkies are real. Go ahead, touch them,” I shouted.

“Girls, girls, there will be no more fighting and no touching private parts,” Aunt Moon-Unit said, separating me and Edith. I cringed, inwardly noticing Edith’s disappointment at not getting to poke my puppies. “Kristy, I do believe you should consider this opportunity. You could have fifty thousand dollars in your budget at the shelter in two weeks. That’s a lot of money. You’re fancy-free and clear of work commitments at the moment and I’m fairly sure the short shiny men don’t want to do the show without you.”

Stu and Stan nodded in unison.

I glanced around the room; ten sets of hopeful eyes peered back. Poor unfortunate-looking Rich winked at me with his green eye. The money was a huge incentive. We could do so much at the shelter with that money . . . and the trip would also keep me from getting involved with Mitch.