“I’m in the same boat,” she says.
“Hm?”
“I’m worried about money too,” she repeats in a slow voice. “My loans are piling up, and I almost missed my car payment last month.” She shakes her head. “I don’t have anything in my fridge except a bottle of water, so I was thinking about going to the Krazy Kat tonight.”
I blink.
“The Krazy Kat?” I ask. “The one in Mystic?”
“That’s the one,” she says. Everyone knows the Krazy Kat because it’s a bar where girls dance topless. Or even bottomless, from what I’ve heard.
I frown. “But why? What is there at the Krazy Kat?”
She nods slowly. “Well, I heard through the grapevine that they’re hosting a wet t-shirt contest tonight, with free pizza and beer.”
Immediately my ears perk.
“Oh really?”
My friend nods ruefully. “Yeah, I probably should have led with that part. But what do you think? I know it’s so amoral, but do you want to go and grab the free pizza and run? Because girl – I’m hungry, and I’ve been hungry since breakfast.” As if to punctuate her point, her stomach lets out a loud rumble then.
I look down at my shoes as we walk. Should I do it? It’s terrible that I’m even considering it, but again, the gnawing pains in my gut are very real. At that moment, my own stomach lets out a particularly loud gurgle, and I nod.
“Yeah, let’s do it. We don’t have to actually participate in the wet t-shirt contest, do we? We’re strictly eating and running, right?”
Patty nods.
“Definitely. Who would want to see us in wet t-shirts anyways?”
I laugh because we’re both curvy girls, so probably a lot of guys, to be honest. But that’s beside the point. “Anyways, I have a friend Lina who used to work at the Krazy Kat,” I add in a determined voice. “She’s not there anymore, but she said it’s not too skeezy, and they keep the place clean. So we should be fine.”
“So we’re going, right?” my friend asks.
“Yeah, def,” I say as we reach Patty’s car. “Let’s do it.” Screw studying for tonight. There are more pressing concerns, and right now, my belly tells me the Krazy Kat is the place to be.
By the time we get to the club, the sky has darkened to a pale, hazy gray. The last glimmers of sunset glow over the purple mountaintops, and I remind myself how lucky I am to live in Wyoming. This is a state of big spaces and majestic beauty, and life could be a lot worse.
But right now, I need food. Patty parks near the back of the lot, and we get out of the car, looking at one another. I pat my curls.
“Do I look okay?” I ask.
Patty subtly tugs down her décolletage an inch.
“Perfect,” she smiles. “They’ll never know.”
With that, we stroll up to the bouncer in the front of the club. He’s a big guy who’s built like a cannonball, if cannonballs are six feet tall.
“Hi,” my friend says in a sassy tone while cocking one hip out. “We’re here to compete in the wet t-shirt contest tonight,” she says. Then she tugs on the hem of her t-shirt so that it emphasizes her large bust. I gasp, astonished, but the bouncer merely chuckles and pushes the door open.
“Go right ahead, girlies. They haven’t started yet.”
With that, we step into the darkened space. It looks like any other dive, with a long wooden bar on one side, a stage up front, as well as scattered tables and chairs. There are a few circular podiums mounted with gold bars, but at the moment, no one’s gyrating, although the audience seems to consist mostly of men. Patty gives a little wiggle of her hips while tossing her curls over one shoulder saucily.
“Pats!” I hiss. “What are you doing? We’re just here to eat free pizza, not to compete!”
My friend puts a finger to her lips, shushing me. “Don’t say that so loud! Of course we’re not here to compete. I just need to look the part, what else? Otherwise, it would’ve been fifteen bucks cover for each of us.”
“Oh right.” My shoulders slump. “Sorry about that. I just got a little nervous because I don’t want to be in that contest! It’s … ugh, no way.”
Patty smiles at me, secretively. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s just try to find that pizza.”
We start looking around, and my nose literally twitches as if I’m trying to suss out the hot pies. Where would they keep the food? But then, a middle-aged woman wearing a tight red vinyl catsuit steps in our way.
“You two,” she says, pointing. “This way,” she says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
“But—”
“No buts, ladies. You’re late and it’s almost time to start.”
Patty and I share a look, but obediently follow the woman to the back. After all, maybe she’s taking us to the pizza? Sure enough, the red woman pulls back a velvet curtain to reveal a brightly-lit dressing room. Inside, there are ten or so other girls looking into the mirror while primping their hair and makeup. Upon first glance, they’re all thin, pretty, and wearing next to nothing. Maybe I’d be more concerned, except in the next instant, I spy box upon box of pizza stacked on a table pushed to the side. Bingo! Without even waiting to hear what the woman has to say, Patty and I descend on the slices ravenously. I’m a bit bummed they don’t have beer back here too, but the moment the hot cheese hits my tongue, my disappointment melts away.