Diary of a Mad Fat Girl (16 page)

“
Alright, ladies,” Mrs. Ella Mae says
as she emerges from the back of the store holding a dress in each
hand. “Here we go.”

One dress is a slim tube of red silk and the
other is a strapless black number shaped like a keg barrel and both
garments look like they could stand straight up on the floor like
garbage cans made of fabric.

“
I think these will work just fine,”
she says in her melodic tone. “I just had to make a few adjustments
to the bust size on yours, honey,” she says, looking at
me.

“
Well, thank you so much,” I say and
tell myself to take that as a compliment. “Why is it so thick and
stiff?”

“
Coverage, sweetheart, the men who
wear these dresses don’t want their secrets given away by loose
fabric.

“
Oh, perfect!” Lilly squeals. “It
matches my shoes!”

I roll my eyes as we walk back to the
curtained stalls to try on our man dresses.

“
Let’s just keep them on,” Lilly
hollers from behind her curtain, “so we can hurry up and get back
over there.”

Reluctantly I slip my big black dress over
my head and, much to my surprise, it looks fabulous. The stiff
fabric does wonders covering flabby rolls of flesh.

Mrs. Ella Mae brings our shoes and wigs and,
thankfully, hair nets and a moment later, Lilly steps out of her
stall looking like a Hollywood A-lister and I wobble out of mine
with my wig on crooked and stray waves of dark hair flying
everywhere. Mrs. Ella Mae takes the wig off my head and uses her
fingers to comb my hair back.

“
Lord, child,” she says and I start to
wish she was my grandmother. “You ain’t cut out for this business,
are you?”

“
No, ma’am,” I say as she strokes my
hair and twists it up into a tight bun. “Not cut out for it at
all.”

She eyeballs Lilly, who is admiring herself
in the mirror. “You a good girl, ain’t you?” she asks as she
adjusts my hair net and wig.

“
Well,” I say, “I try to be, but I
miss the mark most of the time.”

She secures the ensemble with bobby pins,
then steps back and says, “Look at you. You look good as a
blonde.”

“
Thanks,” I say and have no trouble
accepting that as a compliment.

Lilly foots the bill for the rental and Mrs.
Ella Mae gives us some garment bags and a key to the drop box
outside.

“
Just leave the key in the box with
the clothes and stuff, girls, and, if you can, you need to let me
know how this little adventure turns out for you.” She hugs us both
before sending us on our way. “Good luck! You all be careful
now.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” Lilly says and pushes
open the door. “Thank you so much!”

The whistles and caws erupt double time when
we get out on the sidewalk and Mrs. Ella Mae walks out behinds us
and scolds the men for being so rude. Lilly smiles, waves, and
winks at the pack of bellowers.

I stick my hand in my purse and wrap my
fingers around The Pink Lady.

32

The doorman at Ladies4Gentlemen looks down
at my license, up at me, back down at my license, and then back at
me.

“
It’s a wig,” I whisper and he glares
at me like I’m not worthy of his presence.

“
Cover’s twenty dollars,” he grunts
and I fork over the money while giving him my best
Go F yourself in the A
look. I push
through the turnstile and quickly surmise that this could possibly
be the worst mistake I have ever made in my entire life.

And I’ve made some bad mistakes.

The bumping bass music rattles my skull and
the smoke haze is so thick that I can literally feel cancer cells
forming in my lungs. I stare at the back of Lilly’s head until she
stops and I bump into her from behind.

“
Jeez, Ace,” she hisses, “ease up on
it!”

We sit down in padded chairs next to a table
that looks about as big as a Frisbee and twice as flimsy. I tell
myself to be calm as I cast my eyes upon the t-shaped stage where
there are five topless Barbie doll-looking women twisted into
various positions of peccadillo. Two are bumping and grinding on
the stage extension directly in front of us, two are doing the same
at the opposite end, and the one in the middle appears to be waxing
that fire pole with her twat.

A gorgeous young lady with the biggest fake
tits I’ve ever seen in real life saunters over to our table and
asks in a sultry voice what she can do for us. Lilly smiles and
bats her eye lashes and the girl takes a seat on Lilly’s lap and
starts writhing around like she’s possessed. Which she probably
is.

“
That’s free for you, beautiful,” she
coos to Lilly and Lilly smiles and blows her an air kiss. Then she
comes over to my side of the rinky-dink table, straddles my lap,
and starts shaking those gigantic melons in my face. I’m afraid one
of those rubbery-looking nipples is going to touch my nose so I
squeeze my eyes shut, turn my head to the side, and curse the day I
was born.

She gets off my lap and asks if I’d
like a drink help me loosen up. I want to scream at the top of my
lungs that there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make me want
her big, fake boobs crammed into my eye sockets, but Lilly is
giving me that I’m-gonna-kill-you-grave-yard-dead look so I smile
and order a draft beer. Lilly orders a shot of tequila and that
makes me cringe for real because nothing good
ever
happens when Lilly shoots
tequila.

The waitress and her boobs bobble away and
return what seems like ten hours later with the smallest mug of
beer I have ever seen, a shot of tequila, a lime wedge, and a
bottle of salt.

“
That’ll be fifteen dollars, ladies,”
she says with a smile and Lilly slides a twenty into her
thong.

I pick up my tiny mug beer, take a big swig,
and it’s all I can do not to spew it across the room. In the mean
time, our waitress is shaking salt in between her watermelon tits
and just when I think I’ve got my gag reflex under control, Lilly
drags her tongue across that salt patch, tosses back the shot of
tequila, and starts sucking on that lime wedge like a runt pup on a
fresh tet.

Now I’m seriously about to hurl.

A group of male patrons stare at Lilly like
a pack starving dogs slobbering over a choice cut sirloin and I ask
myself how much lesbian action these perverts need. I mean, there’s
a full blown orgy taking place up on the stage.

I’m about to pass out from overexposure when
our waitress finally leaves, but not before promising to bring
Lilly another shot.

“
What the hell are you doing?” I
scream whisper. “That is the nastiest thing I’ve ever
seen.”

“
Oh, calm down,” she says, with her
eyes on the stage, “it’s just a body shot, you
ignoramus.”

“
How many
other
people do you think have been licking that
part of her body tonight,” I ask and shiver with disgust, “and who
knows where else.”

“
Ace,” she turns to face me, “when did
you get so uptight? She’s at the bar right now swabbing that area
with an alcohol wipe.”

“
Oh, that makes it so much less
gross,” I say. “So sanitary.”

I’ve never been more desperate to escape a
situation in my life. I’m seriously considering bolting when my
eyes fall upon the face of Richard Stacks the Fourth who is sitting
in what must be some kind of V.I.P section because the furnishings
are much more accommodating to the purpose of the club. He has one
topless girl on his lap and another behind him rubbing her tits on
his neck while caressing the rubber nipples of the lap dancer.
Multi-tasking at its finest. Oprah would be so proud.

“
Lilly,” I scream whisper, nodding my
head in his direction, “look!”

She discreetly scans the crowd and when she
sees him, her expression turns to stone.

“
Give me the camera,” she says, not
moving her eyes.

“
Lilly, you know your history with
this camera and Richard Stacks. Why don’t you let me do
it?”

“
Give me the fucking camera,” her eyes
do not move. I reach in my bag, grab Chloe’s camera, double check
to make sure the flash is off, and hand it to her under the table.
She throws the strap over her shoulder, tucks the camera under her
arm, and makes her way to the other side of the club where she
sinks into a crowd of people at the bar.

She pulls the camera up to her face then
jerks it back down by her side. The entire motion is literally
quick as a flash and no one appears to notice. She moves around and
repeats the motion a few more times, completely unnoticed.

She makes her way out of the crowd, but
instead of coming toward me, she starts walking toward Richard
Stacks. She’s out in the open now, walking full stride, when she
pulls the camera up to her face again and this time people notice.
A clamor for security makes its way through the stinking, smoky air
and I watch in shock and she continues to walk toward Richard
Stacks holding the camera up to her face the whole time. Big
bulging men that look like WWF rejects are moving her way when
Richard Stacks notices her.

He looks a little confused at first, then
starts smiling like some kind of celebrity pervert, like it’s all
part of the game for him. When he finally recognizes Lilly, he
jumps straight up out of his padded red chair, throwing his lap
dancer to the floor, and the nipple masseuse wastes no time
disappearing into the crowd.

Lilly slings the strap around her neck so
the camera dangles down her back and continues walking toward
Richard Stacks, who looks like a hunter about to destroy his prey.
The bouncers are a few steps from Lilly when she draws back and
punches Richard Stacks in the jaw with her right fist then hurls
her left straight into his gut. When he bows over, she slams her
bony knee into his face and sends his head flying back in the
opposite direction. As the bouncers wrap their meaty fingers around
her skinny arms, she raises her left foot and plants that leopard
print stiletto into his right thigh. His scream pierces the air
above and beyond the deafening music and everyone turns to observe
the spectacle.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,
but I know I’ve got to get the hell out of there as fast as I can.
I get to an exit door just as the bouncers shove Lilly into the
parking lot where she stumbles and falls onto the pavement. I run
over to help her up and the bouncers scowl and shake their heads in
disgust. Like
we’re
the white
trash.

“
Stupid cunts,” the uglier of the two
yells. “Get the fuck out of here.”

I hear thunder and look up at the sky but
don’t see any clouds then the thunder rolls behind me and I turn to
see a flock of leather clad men on Harley-Davidsons pulling into
the parking lot.

“
It’s the 300,” I holler at Lilly and
she squints at me like she’s blind. “They’ve come to save
us.”

“
What?” she yells. “What?”

“
Nothing!“ I yell. “Let’s
go!”

On the way to the car, we receive more than
a few appreciative looks, head nods, and winks from the Men of the
Motorcycle Mob. I bet they wouldn’t be so impressed if they knew we
were wearing men’s dresses. Ha.

I press the unlock button on my keyless
remote just as the door of Ladies4Gentlemen flies open and Richard
Stacks comes running out into the parking lot, cussing like a mad
man. Which clearly, he is.

“
Get in the car,” I say and unlock and
relock and unlock the doors but they refuse to open. We are
standing next to a white Maxima, but it’s not my white Maxima
because I don’t have a clothes rack and a brief case in the back
seat.

“
Wrong car!” I scream and start
looking around for mine. I don’t see it so I press the panic button
and the alarm goes off and I realize it’s on the other side of the
parking lot. “Shit, you got thrown out a different door!
C’mon!”

I kick off my heels and start running like
my ass is on fire. Richard Stacks catches me just as I reach my car
and he spins me around and slaps me in the face so hard I see
stars. Lilly runs to my rescue only to be met with a swift backhand
that knocks her to the ground. Richard steps over her and tries in
vain to jerk his wife’s camera off of the strap while Lilly flops
like a fish and screams at the top of her lungs. I’m about to jump
on his back and lodge the heel of my shoe in the base of his skull
when a large tattooed arm reaches out and grabs Richard Stacks by
the hair.

The Biker Man pulls him off of Lilly, who,
while getting back on her feet, screams a string of obscenities
that would make a sailor blush. She falls silent when she sees the
Motorcycle Men circled around us with their muscled up arms
crossed, looking mean as hell.

“
You like to slap women around, you
fat little fucker?” the Biker Man roars at Richard and the sound of
knuckles reminds me of microwave popcorn.

“
Put me down right now, you scumbag!”
Richard Stacks yells at the Biker Man and I silently marvel at his
stupidity.

“
Scumbag? I’m the scumbag?” the Biker
Man yells and his comrades roar with laughter. “Scumbags don’t do
this to women,” he says and backhands Richard Stacks across the
face and I start to fall in love with him because he is one bad ass
dude, plus he looks like the lead singer of Metallica. “So I think
you qualify as the scumbag.”