“What are you talking about?” Kathleen said. “You look fantastic. Every other woman in this store would kill to look that good in a leotard.”
Lucy said, “She looks good, but the black cat thing's a total cliché—everyone does it. Try this one.” She handed Sari another outfit.
When Sari reemerged, Lucy said, “Now that's perfect. It totally fits with the theme.”
“A nurse's uniform?” Kathleen said.
“Yeah. I mean, she's working with sick kids—”
“They're not sick, they have autism,” Sari said. “And it's made out of vinyl, Lucy. I can't wear white vinyl to work. That's just wrong.”
“Why not?” Kathleen said. “It wipes off easily.” For some reason, this struck all three of them as hysterically funny, and they laughed so hard that Kathleen had to crouch down to keep from falling over.
A saleswoman came over and eyed them suspiciously. “May I help you?” she said.
“No, thank you,” Sari said, just as Lucy said, “Yes, you can. We need a costume for our friend here that shows off her assets, but doesn't go over the top. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Kathleen said, clambering to her feet. “It should say, ‘I could get any man I want but I don't need a man to be happy and just because I’m letting you look doesn't mean you should even dream about touching.’ Oh, and kids should think it's totally super-cool.”
The saleswoman was in her mid- to late fifties. She had short gray hair and wore half-moon reading glasses on a chain around her neck. She looked back and forth between them for a moment, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together in a hard line.“All right,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.” She disappeared down an aisle.
“Vinyl,” Sari said, looking down at herself. “I can't believe you guys.”
“What do you think she'll come back with?” Kathleen asked Lucy.
“I don't know. It just better not be another damn cat.” They all dissolved into giggles again.
The saleswoman returned with a costume.
“What is it?” Lucy asked.
“A warrior princess. Guys go crazy for this one. But it's not too revealing. Try it on.” She pushed it at Sari, who obediently disappeared inside the fitting room. She soon came back out in a tight fake leather and metal miniskirt and an even tighter bustier top made out of the same materials.
“Plus there are wrist cuffs,” the saleswoman said, holding them up.
“You know who you are, Sari?” Kathleen circled around her. “You're Xena—the coolest woman ever! It's perfect”
“You're totally hot,” Lucy agreed, “but not indecent. The kids will just think you look like a superhero, but the dads will think they've died and gone to heaven.”
“What do you think?” Sari said, appealing to the saleswoman. “Would you wear this to a Halloween party for kids?”
“Honey,” the saleswoman said, “if I looked as good in that as you do, I would wear it to Sunday dinner at my in-laws.” She handed them the hanger and wrist cuffs and went off after another customer.
Kathleen stared after her. “I think I’m in love,” she said.
“There's an age difference,” Sari said.
“Love knows no boundaries.”
“We need tall black boots to complete the outfit,” Lucy said.“Do you have anything like that, Sari? With high heels? Really high heels?”
Sari rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I have some that would be perfect,” Kathleen said.
“And twelve sizes too big,” Lucy said. “There's a Shoe Pavilion down the street—we'll find something there.”
Sari was studying herself in the mirror. “Are you sure this isn't too much?” she said. “I mean, look at my breasts.”
“I can't take my eyes off of them,” Kathleen said. “How'd you manage to hide them all these years?”
Lucy was still eyeing Sari critically. “I wish your hair were longer,” she said. “Why'd you have to cut it so short?”
“Because I worked with a kid who kept pulling on it,” Sari said. “He was yanking it right out of my head.”
“Doesn't that piss you off?” Lucy said.
“Nah. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know how else to get my attention. But he's doing really well now—he can say a lot of words and isn't nearly so frustrated.”
“I still don't think I can forgive him,” Lucy said. “I mean, your hair.”
“I think the short hair actually works with this,” Kathleen said. “Just make sure you chop it up with gel or mousse or something, Sari. Xena shouldn't be fluffy.”
“Xena had long straight hair,” Lucy said.
“Yeah, but the little blond chick on the show cut hers short and after that looked even hotter than Xena.”
Sari bought the costume and they threw the bag into Lucy's car, then left it there while they walked the thirteen blocks down Wilshire Boulevard to the shoe store. It was a beautiful afternoon, and they were all still drunk enough to feel giddy and laugh a lot for no reason. People turned to look at them—men, especially—because they were pretty girls who were laughing and chatting and who weren't trying to catch anyone's eye—were, in fact, completely uninterested in any company except one another's.
At the store, Kathleen sashayed toward the others on a pair of shoes with high, spiky heels. “What do you guys think?”
“Jesus,” Sari said. “You're like this Amazonian thing.”
“You could whip Xena's ass,” Lucy said, looking up from a stack of shoe boxes she was scanning for Sari's size.
“Yeah?” Kathleen loomed over Sari. “Well, then, I challenge you, warrior princess. Kathleen the Amazon will smash you into dust.”
“Do it in the mud, and we can charge admission,” Lucy said. “Guys'll pay a fortune to see two girls fight in spikes and leather. I can't find a seven in these, Sari. Will seven and a half work?”
“Probably not.”
“That's the spirit. Sit down. You're trying them on.”
Lucy extracted the box she wanted as Kathleen went lurching back in her high heels to the aisle where she had found them. “I wonder why she likes to wear such high heels when she's already so tall,” Lucy said. “I mean, I know why I do it—it's the only way to make my legs look halfway decent. But the last thing she needs is more height.”
Sari sat down on the floor and pushed off her Crocs. “People notice her,” she said. “I think she likes that. First time I met her, she walked into this party—at Laurie Wong's house, actually—remember her?—and everyone immediately turned to look at her because … well, you basically couldn't miss her. I thought she was a model or actress or something and I figured she'd be all stuck-up and full of herself.” Lucy handed her a boot and she pulled it on and held out her hand for the other one. “But she was Kathleen. She threw herself down next to me and said she was bored, so I said something about how I wished it wasn't rude to knit at a party, and she told me how some baby-sitter had taught her when she was in sixth grade but she hadn't done it in ages. So then I started telling her about how there were all these amazing new knitting stores in Santa Monica and at some point we said we'd go to one the next morning together and we did and had a blast. And then you took that knitting class and got all excited about starting a club—” She stood up. Wobbled. “A little high, don't you think?”
“They're platforms,” Lucy said. “They don't count.”
“I’m like four inches taller.”
“Which brings you into normal range,” Kathleen said. “Almost.” She was back, now wearing her flip-flops and carrying a box.
“You getting them?” Lucy gestured to the shoe box.
“Uh-huh. I’ll wear them out with Kevin tonight. So he'll forget to be mad that I stood him up this afternoon. Not that he ever gets mad, come to think of it. Those are total fuck-me boots, Sari. I love them.”
“I can't wear fuck-me boots to a kids Halloween party,” Sari moaned.
“Shut u
p,” Lucy said to Kathleen. “Now you've got her all worried. They're not fuck-me boots, Sari. They're—” She groped.
“Trick-or-treat boots?” Kathleen suggested.
“Exactly! Trick-or-treat boots. They're made for Halloween.”
“More treat than trick for the older boys,” Kathleen said.
“Shut up,” Lucy said. “You're going to ruin everything.”
“What are you guys trying to do to me?” Sari said. “Between these and the warrior costume—”
“You'll be the hottest therapist in town. As you should be.” Lucy bent down and pushed at the toe of one of the boots. “Do they fit okay?”
“I guess. They're slightly big. Wearable. But, guys—”
“We're getting them. I’m paying.”
“Kathleen, don't you think—?”
“They're adorable. You'll get a ton of wear out of them. Do you have any short skirts? I mean, other than the Xena thing? Because that's what they're made for.”
“I don't wear stuff like that. You guys know that.”
Kathleen looked at Lucy. “Next stop, Anthropologie.”
By the time they were done with her, Sari had several new outfits in addition to the costume. Lucy paid for the boots, and, at the clothing store, Kathleen picked out two extremely short skirts, a pair of super-tight, super-low jeans, and a bunch of skimpy tank tops—all for Sari.
“This is fun,” Kathleen said, as she poked through the extra-small sizes. “Like dressing a doll.” She pulled out her own credit card at the cashier, and Sari protested, but Kathleen said, “If I pay for them, I know you'll feel guilty if you don't actually wear them. Sari, you can't sit around complaining about the lack of great guys in your life when you're not even making the slightest effort to get noticed. It's time to show them what you've got.”
“But I can't wear this stuff to work.”
“Why not?”
“I run around with kids all day long. I mean, I literally run around with them.”
“So learn to run in a miniskirt,” Kathleen said. “You'll never regret it.”
They walked back up Wilshire to the car, where Lucy crossed her arms and refused to unlock the doors until Sari promised—swore on her grandmother's grave—that she would wear the warrior princess costume to the Halloween party at the clinic. “There is no backing out now,” Lucy said once that was settled.“Or wearing long underwear underneath,” Kathleen said.
“Or a sweatshirt over it.”
“All right, all right, I promise,” Sari said. “And if I get laughed out of the clinic, I’ll know who to blame.”
“Blame Lucy,” Kathleen said. “She's the bossy one.”
5
Slip, Slip, Knit
I
It was Halloween. “Please,” Sari said into the phone. “Please release me from my promise. You have to. It's worse than I remembered. It's like my boobs are being served up on a platter.”
“That's very poetic,” Lucy said.
“Seriously.”
“You have to wear it. You promised.”
“I was drunk when I promised. That doesn't count.”
“You swore on your grandmother's grave. And you weren't drunk anymore.”
“Please, Lucy. If I wear this tonight—”
“Stop being such a coward. If not now, when?”
After Sari hung up, she looked at herself in the mirror again. The skirt seemed much shorter with the boots on, and the tight bodice shoved her breasts up so high they looked like refugees from an Edwardian brothel. The only good news was that the kids wouldn't notice—sometimes the fact that kids with autism could be oblivious to so much came in handy.
She rubbed some hair gel between her palms—she had bought it a couple of years ago when the woman who cut her hair had insisted but usually was in too much of a rush out the door to bother with it—and raked her fingers through her hair so it fell into choppy pieces, like Kathleen had told her to. She had to admit it did suit the warrior princess look. And, having committed herself that far, she felt obliged to search through the makeup she almost never wore for a dark pencil to outline her eyes and a bronzer, which she put on her eyelids and cheeks. She looked … defined. Her large blue eyes had become exotic and mysterious with the kohl around them.
She flexed her arm muscles in front of the mirror. “I am Xena,” she said out loud. Didn't Xena have a sound she made? Like a “ki-ki-ki-ki-ki” kind of thing? Sari said, “Ki-ki-ki-ki” and stopped, because she felt like an idiot.
“I’m not Xena,” she told the mirror. “Not even close.”
“Whoa, baby,” Christopher said when she came walking into the clinic's reception area. He was wearing a UCLA football uniform. “Wish you'd wear that around here more often.” He nudged Shayda, who was sitting next to him, sorting candy bars into big bowls, wearing a black pirate's hat. “Hey, Shade—look at Sari.”
“No, don't look at Sari,” Sari said. She hugged her arms over her chest. “Sari's hideously embarrassed. My friends made me wear this.”
Shayda glanced indifferently at Sari, then turned to Christopher. “’Whoa, baby?” she repeated. “That sounded really sexual harassment-y.”
“Sari knew I was joking.”
“I’m just saying you should be more careful. People get sued over stuff like that.”
Christopher rolled his eyes at Sari and tore open a package of M&M’s, which he poured straight into his mouth.
As they all prepared the rooms for the imminent onslaught of kids and families, Sari continued to tell anyone who commented on her costume that she had been forced to wear it and that she found it embarrassing.
When she said that to Ellen, Ellen waved her hand dismissively and said, “You look great. I don't see what the problem is.”
“Don't you think it's inappropriate?” Sari said. “Come on, Ellen, you're the boss here. Don't you think you should send me home to change? Because I could be there and back in ten minutes. Please tell me to go home and change.”
“Actually, I think you should dress like this more often.”
“Why?” Sari said. “You planning to turn this place into a clinic-slash-whorehouse?”
“Hmm,” Ellen said. “That's not a bad idea. We could use the extra money.” She grinned. “Come on, Sari, lighten up. The outfit's really not that bad, you know. I mean, look at Liza—” She pointed. Liza was walking down the hallway in a body-hugging black unitard. She wore a headband with black velvet ears sticking up. “Her outfit's a lot racier than yours, and you don't hear her worrying about it.”
“She's a black cat,” Sari said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can't believe she went with the obvious choice.”
“The point is, relax. And worry about the kids, not about how you look.” Ellen walked away.
Sari made a face at her retreating back. Of course Ellen would see nothing wrong with Sari's costume—Ellen herself was dressed as a belly dancer with a fringy top that revealed a large expanse of soft white belly and an even larger expanse of mountainous décolletage.
As the kids started arriving, the clinicians all took up their prearranged positions. Every office and playroom in the clinic was set up like its own little “house”—the kids would knock on the room door, the therapist would open it, and whoever was with the kid would prompt him to say, “Trick-or-Treat,” and then the therapist would compliment the kid and give him candy.
Ellen stayed in the main reception area, where she could greet all the families and invite them to come back and socialize when they were done trick-or-treating.
Sari stationed herself in one of the larger playrooms with a big bowl of Snickers bars. The party officially started at six, and, by six-fifteen, she was jumping up every few seconds to open the door and hand out the candy.
Sari was always surprised to see how many families used their clinic. A lot of “graduates” showed up that night, as well as dozens of kids who were currently patients. And many of them came with siblings, friends, and cousins
. All of the kids wore costumes, but none of the parents did, except for one mother who had on a long black dress—which, Sari thought, was either meant to be a witch costume or was just a really goth choice.
There were, as always, more moms than dads present, and every one of the moms who came to Sari's door told her how fabulous she looked in her warrior costume. One mother actually screamed in delight when she saw her. “Oh, my God! I didn't even recognize you, Sari! Smile!” And, before Sari knew what was happening, the mom had snapped her photo.
Sari knew any embarrassing shots would be circulating at the clinic for years, and she silently cursed Kathleen and Lucy for all the future ridicule she would have to endure. She had hoped to be remembered as the clinic's most brilliant therapist—not as its resident goofball. Or sexpot. Hard to decide which was worse. Or more likely.
The few dads who came didn't compliment her as much. But they looked. Man, did they look. Lucy and Kathleen would be pleased, Sari thought, as one dad's mouth fell open in surprise when he saw her. He shut it again quickly, but she was careful not to bend over too much when she dropped a Snickers into his kid's plastic pumpkin—the dad was on the older side, and she didn't want to give him a heart attack.
For over an hour, the corridor was alive with kids running and laughing and screaming with excitement and sugar highs, but as time passed, the flood of kids slowed to a trickle. Around seven-thirty, Sari wondered if she should head toward the main room—she could hear voices and music and general party sounds coming from there whenever she stuck her head out the hallway.
She hadn't had a kid knock on the door for over five minutes, and she was getting bored. The whole thing ended at eight anyway.
She thought she should really go join the others.
Instead, she sat back down at the big table in the middle of the room and wondered what she was waiting for.
She knew perfectly well what she was waiting for.