Skinny Dipping Season (12 page)

Corinne put her arm around Marva. “We need to shake things up. Let's think of something that doesn't require selling—but involves good, clean fun! Well,
almost
clean fun!”

Marva sent Corinne a meaningful look. A silent message passed between the two and they giggled.

“You think they would go for it?” Marva asked her.

“Oh, most definitely they will go for it! The problem is, I might just have a heart attack at the thought of doing it myself. It's crazy, Marva.”

“What?” I asked.

“Ladies, I've got a special little type of party that is all the rage on the East and West Coast. Our friend, Elizabeth here, might be amazed at how much money we could make while having fun. In fact, we could all benefit from this type of party. There's no selling, no crafting, no monogramming involved at all.”

“Oh, thank God,” piped up one of the younger ladies. “I can't handle any more products. I've got a box of Handy Dandy hand lotion sitting in my attic that I've been hiding from my husband.”

“Oh, no need to worry about him. Actually, your husband might really appreciate this kind of party. He won't have a clue what you've been doing when you get home, but he'll beg you to come back for more,” Corrine said.

Marva clapped her hands. “We should charge thirty dollars just to get in the door. We'll charge Regina Bloodworth double. It's her fault we have no money. But be ready to move, ladies. It's time we brought a little life to Truhart.”

Even though we had no idea what she was talking about, we started to clap in excitement.

“We'll make it a week from today. Now, all we need is someone with a big living room—that's you, Corinne—and a few volunteers to bring the margaritas. You all wear your shortest shorts—bikini tops if you still own one that fits—and tall heels and I'll supply the rest. Who's in?”

“It's not illegal or anything, is it?” Sandy asked.

“Not unless it's illegal to pee 'cause you're laughing so hard, it ain't. Who's in?”

Everyone raised her hand.

Marva glanced down at me. “You, dear, can wear that face you got on. You'll fit right in!”

 

I
spread my legs wide. Around me the ladies whistled and raised their margarita glasses.

“Go for it, Elizabeth!” Corinne yelled.

I straddled the shaft and bent my leg, sliding my whole body around it until I hit the floor. I brushed away the wild, tangled mess of hair that stuck to my beet-red lipstick and tried to see the crowd around me.

“Finish it!” Sandy said, clapping her hands.

“Yeah, show Lenny Kravitz what a
real
American woman is!” June Krueger yelled as the music blared from Corinne's speakers.

Pulling myself back up, I gyrated back and forth in a series of pelvic thrusts that set off a chorus of cheers. I threw back my head and laughed, clutching my bare midriff. When the song finally ended I bowed to the wild applause. I wanted to jump up and down and pump my fist like a football player who scored a touchdown.

The pole-dancing party was a hit!

Slipping and sliding down around the pole like a snake made me feel something I had never felt in my life. Naughty and sexy. And erotic.

I hadn't started out the night quite so uninhibited. And neither had anyone else. Marva's friend Lacy Brasseur had set up a special pole in the center of Corinne's living room while we gathered in a corner of the kitchen and giggled. Even though she had been disappointed that Corinne and Marva hadn't chosen the striptease dance package along with the pole dancing, Lacy was really nice about teaching us basic pole-dancing moves. We appreciated that she was donating her time for free. And it helped that Marva offered to give her a booth at the Timberfest.

I'd always wondered what it would be like to be an exotic dancer. Not that I thought it would be great to have sleazy men ogle me, but because strippers seemed so comfortable inside their bodies. Of course, I never, ever would have become one in a million years. But it was fun pretending and living vicariously in a safe environment among friends.

At first, everyone except Regina Bloodworth had been self-conscious. She wore a white bikini and more than a few women admired her impressive cleavage. I wore a zipped-up hoodie and kept my high-heeled red pumps tucked in my purse. The other ladies were equally timid. But a few margaritas and good music had been just enough to start things off. Regina, Marva, and Corinne jumped to the forefront and fearlessly took a stab. It may not have been the prettiest pole dance ever attempted, but we had fun yelling and encouraging them on as we sang in the background. With each new volunteer, shyness and embarrassment flew out the door. All the women—young, old, skinny, and not so skinny—found their groove with a little support and female bonding. It didn't take long before my hoodie was balled up on the couch, along with everyone else's cover-ups. In my red bikini top, jean shorts that rode high on my thighs, and my high-heeled red shoes, I felt like Daisy Duke.

My mother insisted on exercise and nutrition classes from the time I was twelve. My doctor called me healthy, at five foot four, 128 pounds. But I never felt like my body was good enough. I had always been sensitive about showing skin in public. I wore baggy clothes at the gym, long cover-ups at the pool, and conservative dresses that reached the top of my knees for special occasions. It didn't help that the other women in my family were perfectly shaped, whether by nature or by cosmetic enhancement. But here at the Pretty Ladies party, flaws were a part of life. Marva was heavy. Corinne was a beanpole. Sandy was heavier on top than on the bottom, and even Addie Adler, who joined us tonight, was—well, stout and jiggly as she shifted around the pole in her short-sleeved cotton dress. She wasn't a day below seventy-five, but her heart was young. She giggled as she danced the pole as if it were a ballroom partner.

Marva said, “If Addie tries to hip-bump the pole, she might break it.”

“Her hip or the pole?” Corinne asked before erupting in fits of laughter.

“I can't wait for my turn again,” said Flo. “I'm gonna try that move Elizabeth did.”

“Which one?” asked Marva. “The one where she lost her shoe or the one where she almost fell on her head?” Maybe I was a bit of a klutz in the pole-dancing category after all.

I walked into the kitchen and didn't even consider washing my hands. I didn't tell anyone, but coming into contact with poles and banisters other people touched used to drive me crazy. I had a hard time wiping the smile off my face at my own personal triumph. I poured myself a glass of water. A margarita pitcher sat half full on the sideboard in the dining room, but no one even needed to drink anymore because the fun was contagious.

The house was stuffy and I was sweating after completing my third turn. I flicked my hair off the back of my neck and stepped out the back door to cool off. The music and laughter inside the house were muffled and I stood for a moment, enjoying night air on my bare skin. It was a hot evening and the breeze felt wonderful.

A whispering nearby caught me off guard. I placed my hand against the rough brick and let it guide me around the side of the house. The moon was behind a cloud, so it took me a moment to see the dark figures crouching by the parked cars in the road.

I blinked several times to make sure my eyes were working properly. A group of middle-aged men craned their necks over the roofs of the cars. I could barely hear their hushed voices through the bass notes that blared from the stereo and I felt goose bumps rise on my arms in the heat.

“Give me those binoculars, Jed!” one of them said. I stepped cautiously through a small shrub to get a better view of what they were doing. I clutched a hand to my chest and wondered how much they could see. A movement inside the house cast a shadow near the window. The men ducked down to avoid being spotted.

A voice in the darkness behind the men said loudly, “Good evening, gentlemen. What brings you here on such a fine evening?”

“Ssshhh! Pipe down,” someone hissed. Was that the mayor?

“Hey—it's J. D.,” someone warned him under his breath.

Several figures stepped back into the shadows, and I could make out Mayor Bloodworth in the crowd. He straightened, trying to recover his dignity. “Now, J. D., before you get yourself riled up—”

“I hate to break up the party, but if you want to see what's going on inside, why don't you just knock and go on in?”

“We're just watching our wives to see what they're up to,” explained one of the older men.

“Ahem!” A gruff-looking man cleared his throat, effectively silencing the others. Joe O'Shea stepped forward, nudging the men out of the way. I had met Marva's husband, Joe, when he came to look at my washing machine and again at Cookee's diner. It had been funny to see someone of his impressive stature being bossed around by his wife. “Nothing much happening, J. D. We just wanted to make sure the ladies weren't wasting their money on monogrammed underwear and kitchen doodads again.” He reluctantly handed the binoculars to J. D.

I crouched lower and watched with one eye as J. D. peered through the window for himself. Without a word, the other men slowly gathered around him in mutual fascination.

“Some kind of new party,” Joe mumbled. “But the only thing they look like they're selling is—well . . . I don't wanna say.”

Another man added, “My wife told me she was going to a party to learn a new craft tonight. I never thought dancing with a pole was a craft.”

“This new business venture gives a whole new meaning to market curves and assets, doesn't it?” added Joe O'Shea, who stood with his hands limply at his sides.

J. D. handed Joe the binoculars. “Well, if most of those women are your wives and if they don't mind you standing out here, I guess you aren't exactly doing anything wrong . . . Still, I can't help but wonder what those kids at the other window are staring at?”

“
Huh
?” Joe and the other men turned to the other window of the house to see what J. D. was talking about.

“You little peepers! That stuff ain't for you!” shouted the mayor, running after them. A group of men followed him.

I saw several figures scrambling into a thicket of trees, while the night breeze blew the boys' laughter into the forest after them.

At that moment, the window was thrown open.

“For the love of Pete! What do you boys think you're up to?”

Three men jumped. Joe O'Shea was so busy laughing and pointing at the shocked faces of the others that he didn't see Marva, wearing her purple palm-tree halter top, reach through the opening and hit him over the head with what appeared to be a pink feather snake.

“Get out of here before I call the police, Joe O'Shea!”

 

I stumbled through the back door and almost caught my heel in the metal doorsill. I couldn't see through my tears because I was laughing so hard. The living-room window was jam-packed with rear ends of many sizes and shapes. The ladies clogged the window opening, pounding their fists in the air and yelling at their men as they waved their shedding feather boas. I collapsed on the couch next to Sandy. She hooted so hard she slid to the floor, her body no longer able to support her. Through the front window I could see the headlights of cars backing out of the driveway and trying to pass each other in their escape. A giant cloud of dust glowed in the air. One by one the ladies stepped away from the window and joined us in a healthy dose of giggles.

“Do you think they saw much?” I asked, suddenly feeling awkward.

“You were one of the last ones to go, honey. So if they saw anything, it was you riding that pole,” said Marva, fanning her flushed face with her hand. “Good lord, I haven't had that much fun since Charlotte Adler's wedding when the groom's mother led us in the chicken dance on the bridal table!”

Sandy snorted. I glanced around the room and my mouth dropped open as everyone scrambled for their purses. “Where are you all going?”

June Krueger, the personalization specialist and mother of the cute little redheaded boy who offered to show me his underwear that first day in town, paused as she searched her purse for keys. “Just caught sight of my Fred out there. First, I'm gonna go home and give him a piece of my mind . . . then if he's real sorry for spying on us, I'm gonna show him some of my new moves.”

I gazed at her in surprise as she pulled her keys out.

“But you don't have a pole.”

Running over to me, she leaned down and gave me a quick hug. “Elizabeth, you crack me up! Now don't tell me you can't figure out what the pole is a substitute for!” With a cowboy holler, she gestured good-bye to all and rushed out the front door, dragging a feather boa that was caught in her sleeve.

Sandy wagged her finger at me. “I'm thinking it's been way too long for you if that hasn't occurred to you yet, Elizabeth.”

Thinking about all those positions and the ways they translated into sex made heat rise to my face. She was absolutely right. I wasn't a virgin, but sometimes I sure felt like one.

Standing up from where she had collapsed near the couch, Sandy surveyed the damage and grinned. “I haven't had so much fun since . . . well, I don't even remember.”

Corinne hugged her. “You've been working so hard you deserve a little fun now and then.”

“We should charge those men an extra thirty dollars each. They watched the show just like we did! I'll bet you made almost four hundred dollars tonight!” Lacy said.

“It was a good start,” Sandy agreed. We surveyed the room and the remains of the party. Not too bad, considering how wild things had gotten.

I began clearing plastic cups and picking stray feathers from the carpet.

“Go on home, Elizabeth. Lacy and I can clean up,” said Corinne.

“Are you sure? I hate to leave you with too much of a mess.” I thought of the sticky floor in the kitchen and the spilled Chex Mix on the dining-room floor.

“This is nothing. You should see the mess I have to clean up after Marva's candles and cupcake parties. Those ladies can be such slobs with cupcake crumbs!” Corinne said, patting me on the back.

Gathering up my things, I thanked Corinne and Lacy again. When I stepped out the front door I glanced around, making sure all the peeping toms had left. None of the ladies seemed to care that the men had been spying through the window. And it wasn't like we were doing anything really crazy. But a part of me was unnerved by the fact that I had been so unreserved in front of strangers.

I had parked a couple of hundred feet down the road near a stand of dense pine trees. The moon hid behind a cloud still, and I pushed the button on my key chain to unlock the car. The headlights turned on and I could see my way better. I had almost reached the door when a shadow stepped in front of me and I strangled a scream.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

There was no mistaking the sultry voice. Staring up at the dark outline that was J. D. Hardy, I ignored the rush of heat that shot to my breasts.

“Are you stalking me, Sheriff?”

He moved closer, forcing me to step backward toward my car. With the shadows across his face, his features were stronger. He was in uniform, but his hat was missing, making him even more attractive as his hair strayed in the hot breeze.

“All I have to do is search for trouble and there you are, right in the middle of it.” I couldn't tell if he was teasing or not.

“You lead a pretty sad life if you call that trouble,” I clutched my hoodie to my chest, wishing I could put it on as J. D. Hardy's intense eyes surveyed me from head to toe. I lifted my chin. Just because I was practically naked in a bikini top, cutoffs, and high heels was nothing to feel strange about.