Part III of My First Night as a Goddess for Hire
Meeting the infamous Kitty and attempting to insert myself into elaborate costumes.
I thought I had stepped into an anime movie. A plastic shade of pink invaded my vision in the millisecond of blur as I turned my head to look at the newcomer. She looked as if she had already been on stage. From her black pleather platform thigh-high boots that told a story of buckles and pointy studs, to her tiny mid-drift revealing outfit and long pink hair; this woman committed to a lifestyle.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed.
My thoughts exactly, I concurred in my head.
“So that new fucking bartender to the right of the stage- you know, the one with the-?” She said to Deanna, finishing the sentence with a gesture that I could only assume referred to an atrocious looking beard. “Bitch tits wouldn't serve me a god damn drink! I couldn't fucking believe it! I've been here for how many god damn years?! I'm allowed a whole fucking bottle if I want one! No matter,” she said abruptly changing tone and taking the second little stool next to Deanna. She then proceeded to dump and purse full of tiny Fireball bottles onto the make up counter. There was some more rattling from the staircase and a skinny bar back heaved a suitcase twice his size onto the backstage floor.
“Here's your bag Kitty,” he wheezed.
“You're a fucking doll, Steve,” she said without batting an eyelid. She faced the mirror and began blotting her make up. “Hi, I'm Kitty.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. Shaking myself back into the moment, I started to blurt out some kind of greeting when – while finally turning to meet me face-to-face – she reached up to her scalp and pulled her hair off.
Ah, it's a wig, I thought, still saying nothing and beginning to look like a complete idiot. And then, yet again, my presumptions of normality were proven moronic when underneath that cartoonish – but still somehow flattering – pink mane, popped out even longer tresses of fire engine red. I couldn't help but smile.
“I know, right?” she said smiling back and holding up the wig totally aware of the fantastic joke she was playing.
The thing about Kitty that I quickly learned, is that she has the biggest heart you could ever come across. She doesn't understand the word “no”, but that means she'll also never use it. She'll do anything for you; but she will also do anything she wants, at all times. Her mothering ways seemed condescending at first. You'll think she's belittling you, but really she's just trying to help you learn how to tuck and pin your fishnets over your underwear so it doesn't slip out over your hips and ruin the aesthetic of the costume. And since we're on the topic of costumes, let's just hang out there for a pause.
If you think trying to properly attach the appropriate straps of your online purchased Halloween costume the night of “All Hallow's Eve” is a painstaking event, don't ever try to gogo. Sure, some companies like there dancers in a bikini and some furs on the feet, but the actual “artists”? They wear costumes you can't even begin to know how to work. But that's half the reason I chose this company in the first place. The pieces in the photos online were so unreal, they looked difficult to walk in let alone dance in. Hanging on the rack backstage they looked even more impossible to assemble, but I knew that I had to trust the brilliant imagination of our boss Stacy to put us in something that would blow the audiences mind. So, I accepted the bundle of fabric and shinny shit that Deanna handed me with a ready confidence to engage.
I put one leg in a hole so as to start off the process. I couldn't really say whether or not it was the right hole as of yet, but I really just wanted to get into it. I figured once I had the thing on my body it would be easier to visualize the prospected outcome, right? Ha!
After I finally got what seemed to be the bottom part of the piece on, now came the top. There where at least a dozen straps that were supposed to streak dramatically across the chest in a sci-fi sort of fashion... the only thing dramatic about the way it looked over my chest was how disfigured it made my boobs look. It was like I had two old balloons glued under there. You know, like the ones that you find that have been hiding behind the chair two months after the party? The ones that somehow have adapted so that when you go to grab them, instead of popping under the persuasive pressure of your hand, now displaces its ancient air through the space between your clenching hands? Refusing to cooperate, the overall look turned out as more of a Jaba the Hutt desert party creature than Barbarella.
Eventually, Kitty noticed my sad struggles, and without even a deserving laugh – which would've been my reaction if it hadn't been me all strung up – she sauntered over to me. Shoving my head under some straps and my pulling my arm out of others, she turned me into a sci-fi cosplay queen. Considering Kitty and my contrast in daily apparel – mine being a usual stained jeans and t-shirt and hers being the aforementioned – I honestly don't know why I even tried in the first place.
It was fifteen minutes till first set at 11pm and I now noticed we were still short one dancer.