Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (16 page)

“I’m sorry, Kristy,” he said.

“Me too.” I smiled. Talking to Rich felt good. If I was going to get over this overwhelming feeling of sadness, I needed to talk about it. “Rich, thank you for letting me dump on you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Kristy. Any time you want to talk, I’ll be here.”

I was so going to help this guy . . . I was going to make him over. The next time he ran into that assclown who broke his heart, she was going to regret her decision.

W
e all met in the parking lot at seven a.m. I had on good-butt jeans, a cute bright blue long-sleeved fitted T-shirt, hiking boots, and a full can of bug spray. I looked around at my tired and hungover group and worried I was underdressed. Mariah wore a bright green sundress with fishnet stockings and matching green combat boots. Her green hair finished off the outfit in an unexplainable way. Boo wore an ensemble that was very safari-ish, complete with an Indiana Jones hat. Kim and Hugh were in camouflage from head to toe . . . including their faces and hands. They had to have been up for hours to have created that look. The old ladies wore sweatpants and sequined flowing tops with rain boots. They rolled one of their huge suitcases behind them. Rich was the only one who appeared semi-normal, if you could call sweatpants and a size XXXXXL muumuu normal . . .

“Hey there! Hi there! Ho there!” Stuey yelled, running over to our group. His volume and enthusiasm made my head hurt. It practically put the rest of the hungover group on the ground. “You guys ready to search for Sasquatch?”

“Listen, you shiny little bastard,” Edith hissed, grabbing him by his overstarched Hawaiian shirt, “if you don’t dial it back, I’m going to remove your spleen.”

Stuey blanched and continued his greetings in a whisper. “Okay, we’re going to take the van and trailer and go out to our safe house in the woods. We’ll use it as a base camp and a bathroom.”

“What about food?” Kim asked.

“I picked up a bunch of subs this morning from Rose and Popo’s,” Stuey said.

“Do. Not. Mention. Rose and Popo’s. Ever. Again,” Mrs. C said between clenched teeth.

Apparently, while Rich and I talked last night, our team got a little rowdy. Well, Edith and Mrs. C got rowdy . . . and of course Mariah, being Mariah, got in on the action. Shots of vodka and lighters are not a good combination. After Edith tried to set a family of four on fire when they asked if Mariah was a man, and Mrs. C punched the owner because he said David Hasselhoff couldn’t sing, everything went south. Mariah took offense at the tone of voice used on the old lesbos, so she drop-kicked the bouncer and kneed his man-jewels up into his chest cavity. Of course, that went over well, but the crowning moment was when Hugh sang the unsanitized medley of Eminem . . . in a family restaurant.

The police and the fire department showed up. Miraculously, no arrests were made. Boo explained why we were in town, and the locals were so impressed, our crew left with just a slap on the wrist . . . and a firm warning never to step foot in Rose and Popo’s again. Ever.

“Where’s Stan?” Rich asked, scanning the parking lot.

“He’s pulling the sedan around,” Stuey said. “You won’t need your suitcase,” he told the old gals dismissively, and handed Kim directions to the base camp.

Edith and Mrs. C ignored him and shoved their monster bag into the luggage compartment under the van. I had no idea why they needed it or what was in it, but I refused to ask. I valued my spleen.

“You won’t be riding in the van with us?” Boo asked.

“No, sweet cheeks,” Stuey said, winking suggestively at Boo. Mariah growled and Stuey backed off. “We could only afford insurance on one driver for the van and that’s Kim, so Stan and I will take the car. We might need an extra vehicle if we capture Sasquatch. Plus I get carsick in vans.”

“That’s a waste of gas,” Hugh croaked, sounding like a baby dinosaur. Clearly his concert last night had left him practically mute. Sweet baby Jesus, I hoped it would mean he would be on vocal rest today.

“Don’t worry about it.” Stuey grinned. “The network forgot to get their credit card back.” He flashed a gold card at us and gave us the double thumbs-up.

He was such a douche, it was difficult to believe anyone would entrust him with anything. The network didn’t have to physically have the card to cancel the account, but he was so pumped about getting one over on the company, I didn’t have the heart to tell him how stupid he was. I wondered how his date with Heidi Kugelschmooson had gone last night. If her not being here was any indication . . . I’d guess, pretty bad.

“So here’s the deal. We go out and I take a camera and follow you guys through the woods and we find us a goddamn Sasquatch!”

“We’re searching for Bigfoot’s pubic hair today,” Boo said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’m sorry, what?” Stuey asked, appalled.

“We’ll be looking for hair and footprints and evidence today,” I added quickly, before Boo described Sasquatch’s genitalia and our plan of action.

“Right, right,” he said and then turned his eyes to me. “So you got some kind of intro set up?”

“What do you mean?” My gut clenched. Was I supposed to have memorized something? “I didn’t get a script,” I said, starting to sweat. Assmonkeys, this just kept getting worse. I’d forgotten I was supposed to be the host.

“No script,” he said, looking me up and down. “Just stand there, look hot, and say some shit about Bigfoot. Then we’ll run all over the woods for a couple of hours, eat, and come home.”

“Is this one of the areas where Bigfoot has been sighted?” Kim asked.

Stuey answered her, but I didn’t hear a word he said. My ears were ringing and I wanted to run away. Far away. What in the hell was I going to say? I didn’t even really believe Bigfoot existed. Any true believer would be able to see right through me. Maybe I should try to find a tame part of the Bigfoot bible and read from it. Holy hell, who was I kidding? From what I’d heard so far, that was probably a very bad and profane idea. Maybe I could talk about the bar fight last night . . . the producers of most of these reality shows loved some violence. Wait, no . . . that’s Jerry Springer. Shitballs, I can’t do this. I’m not an actress, I’m a social worker . . .

“How far away is this base camp?” Mariah asked.

“What did you say?” Stuey asked Rich.

“
He
didn’t say anything,” Mariah said, menacingly. “I did. I asked how far to the base camp, and just because someone has a low voice doesn’t mean they’re a man.” Her volume increased as her anger skyrocketed. Rich grabbed Mariah as her little hands clenched into fists and she narrowed her gaze, zoning in on Stuey’s nose. Rich held her firmly against his big belly and whispered in her ear. She immediately calmed and sagged against him. What in the hell had he said to her? I needed to know. He had some kind of weird magic with people. After all, he was a magician, if I remembered correctly . . . I was simply grateful we weren’t going to start the day with Stuey lying on the pavement in a pool of his own blood.

“Half hour,” he said, answering Mariah’s question, blissfully unaware that his nose had been in grave danger only moments ago. “Let’s do it!”

Stan pulled up. Stuey jumped into the sedan and they took off.

“Does anyone find it odd that they leave us in the dust all the time?” I asked as we piled into the van.

“At least they gave us directions this time,” Kim muttered, putting her seat belt on and checking to make sure Hugh had fastened his correctly.

Hugh turned around and faced us all with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I won’t be able to sing for you today. I blew my wad last night. I should be okay by tomorrow.”

“That’s okay, Hugh,” Boo said sweetly. “You were amazing last night.”

“That’s my Hubie.” Kim grinned and patted him on the head like a dog. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Theirs was an odd love . . . but, hey, whatever works.

“Kristy, I feel your tension and fear,” Boo said in her creepy psychic way. “Would you like me to read from the bible to give you some ideas for your intro?”

“Um, no,” I said quickly. “I’ll think of something.”

“Talk about your boob job,” Edith said, completely serious.

“For the last time, my boobs have not been jobbed,” I snapped.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath. I rolled my eyes and gave up.

“Why don’t you talk about why you came on the trip?” Mariah suggested.

“I think telling the world that I was bribed by a fifty-thousand-dollar donation to the shelter might get us off on the wrong foot,” I said.

“Point,” Mariah agreed.

“How about why you’ve dedicated your life to Sasquatch?” Kim offered. “Oh, wait,” she remembered. “You haven’t actually dedicated your life yet, have you?”

“Ahh, no. Sorry,” I muttered.

“That’s okay, dear.” She smiled. “You will.”

Dear Lutheran God in heaven, I had no response to that whatsoever. I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world, but she was on crack if she thought I would dedicate my life to a fictional creature with a man-tool the size of a two-liter soda bottle. I stayed silent and racked my poor brain for a way to not insult the intelligence of the rabid Bigfoot believers. I did not want to screw this up.

“Maybe you should introduce yourself and explain that we’re on a serious quest to find a creature that many believe to be a myth,” Rich said, saving me from frying my brain.

“I think that’s perfect,” Boo said approvingly. “But I’m going to read a passage just in case.”

I smiled gratefully at Rich and held my breath in anticipation of the frightening words that I knew were about to come from Boo’s lips. She read with passion and conviction in her sweet little voice.

You could hear a pin drop. Even the old queers had been stunned to alarmed silence . . . for a moment.

“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Edith shouted from the back of the van. “Bless your heart, Boo, but that’s a crock of bull-honkey and makes me want to puke up my breakfast.”

My sentiments exactly.

“Don’t you talk to my sister that way, or I’ll come back there and make you eat your own vomit,” Mariah threatened, unbuckling her seat belt.

I quickly opened the window to try to tamp down my gag reflex. This was such a bad idea on so many levels. Just when I felt close to my crew, I realized they weren’t playing with a full deck. Some of them were playing with no deck at all.

“Now, now, girls, no fighting or force-feeding stomach bile,” Kim admonished. “Yes, that passage was a bit disconcerting, but it’s the interpretation, not the text, we need to pay attention to. If this was easy, everyone would know how to find Bigfoot.”

I was losing it. Kim was making sense to me in a bizarre way. By the time these two weeks were over, I would need to be institutionalized.

“Boo, can you decipher that one for us?” Kim inquired. I noticed she was driving way over the speed limit. Maybe we would crash and die before we got there. It was beginning to sound like a good alternative.

“I believe that Bigfoot is sad and lonely. He longs for love and sexual satisfaction. I think the time travel may be a metaphor for something, but I’m not sure. The actual manipulation of space and time seems highly unlikely, but then again . . . stranger things have happened. If he can time travel or shape-shift, it would explain why he’s so difficult to track.”

“What about the evil woman with tremendous watermelons? What does that mean?” Hugh questioned in a gravelly voice.

“I think that implies he’s made bad choices in his mating search. Something that appears appealing on the outside may be all wrong on the inside. With his looks and his stench, he may have experienced great abuse in his youth. He simply wants to be loved and cared for . . . like we all do,” Boo added quietly.

Was I in an out-of-body therapy session? Take out the looks and stinky part and Boo could have been talking about me. Fucktard. Heat crawled up my neck and I felt clammy. I stuck my head out the window . . . maybe a tree or phone pole would knock it off. Wait a minute, with Kim’s erratic driving, that was a distinct possibility. I pulled my head back in the car and made myself sit with my own thoughts.

I had been searching for love and I thought I might have found it. No, that was stupid. You couldn’t fall in love with someone in a matter of minutes . . . or could you? I didn’t really know Mitch, but somewhere deep inside, I did. Damn, damn, damn, why should his job matter so much? I didn’t have a traditional growing up . . . I’d had a horrific childhood, so I’d thought the only way to be happy was to find the perfect model of what I’d never had. I was drawn to police officers because they were supposed to be above reproach. That had blown up in my face time after time. Why was Mitch different?
Was
he different? Did it even matter? He would probably be gone by the time I got back . . .

“Are you okay?” Rich asked, giving my hand a light squeeze.

“No,” I told him truthfully. “I think I might have really screwed up.”

“The guy or this trip?”

“Both,” I laughed without much humor.

“Look,” he said logically, “the trip insures funding for your shelter and the guy will always be there. He’d be crazy not to.”

I gave Rich a bright smile. “You’re right,” I said. I believed the money part, but the guy? Not so much. Whatever. I took a deep breath. I would be okay. I was always okay. These nut jobs in the van needed me and I was beginning to wonder if I needed them too . . .