Page 6 of Midnight Kisses

Ginger found me and made small talk at me as she showed me around. She and her husband were going to spend January in Rarotonga, which was their summer tradition. She was flying out tomorrow and had spent all afternoon trying to find a swimsuit, and as she showed me where to stash my bags, she moaned about having trouble finding one she liked.

I didn’t say anything about the multitude of options she had as a straight-sized person—because I totally understood that it sucked when there was pressure on and you couldn’t find what you wanted. But it was a little insensitive of her to complain about this to me. They barely made swimwear that fit an E cup—I had to order online, and usually my options were black one pieces, or things with weird skirts attached. Last minute shopping wasn’t an option for everyone—fat girls had toplan.

“Remember to clock off at midnight,” Ginger said, switching topics rapidly. “We’re not paying time and a half on the Public Holiday for anyone but essential staff.”

I said I understood. At Tala’s urging, I’d promised to meet her outside at midnight. She said if a company was so stingy as to enforce a midnight clock off, then I wasn’t to give them a single second of free labour.

When I took off my coat and folded it into a locker Ginger gasped loudly.

“What are youwearing?”

When I turned back, Ginger’s mouth was agape, her heavily mascaraed lashes flared wide.

A nervous kind of exhilaration bloomed in my chest. “A dress? You told me I had to wear my own clothes, remember?”

“Yes!” Ginger looked flustered. “Because we didn't have a uniform shirt that would—” she stumbled for words.

“Fit a fat person.” I smiled. “It’s okay to say fat, it’s not a bad word. It’s a factual word, like short, or tall. I am fat.”

I was also hot and brilliant and hard working, with a face card that never declined, a concerning credit card balance, and a fledgling business that was going to shake up the skincare industry. I was so much more than just my hot, fat body.Iknew that. I just wished people like Ginger would stop making their issues mine.

“The only requirement you gave me was black,” I reminded her.

“This is completely inappropriate, Pae-regrine.”

Memories of getting dress-coded at school for wearing the exact same tops as thin girls, but being the only one sent home flashed before my eyes. I was tired of being punished for the unavoidable transgression of having amazing boobs.

So instead of apologising, I lifted my chin. “Why?”

Ginger couldn’t answer. She knew as well as I did that her issue wasn’t with what I was wearing. Rather, it was with the body wearing it. But she wasn’t going tosaythat. She would just neg me and judge me and try to make me feel—and this was ironic—small.

“I’d best go and set up my station,” I said politely but firmly.

I was wearing black, like she had asked. If she wanted to make this into a big problem, my brother was a lawyer and unlike me, loved conflict and sending passive aggressive emails. If Ginger was going to be my problem, I would make my little brotherhers.

“I hope everything goes well out on the floor tonight, Ginger.” I said. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

I left her there, gaping.

Let her look. The view from the back was just as good as from the front.

Tonight’s eventwas a celebration funded by Purkiss Media conglomerate for the purpose of impressing advertisers. It was an elegant set up with a modest guest list—which meant most of the people here were extremely rich. The women’s bathroom had two sections joined by one open archway. One section had mirrors and a chaise and the other had tall wooden stall doors. The mirrors all had bevelled glass edges, which cast rainbows when the light hit them right, and a well-polished black and white tiled floor.

I set up my toolbox and as the string instruments struck up, I taped my DIY sign under theWomen’splaque on the door.It read:All genders are safe here.

I didn’t bother asking for permission to do this. I didn’t want to run the risk of being told no. This defiance made me feel giddy, but Ginger could scold me later if she wanted. Some things were worth risking conflict for.

Then I sprayed the lavender room mist and set my rechargeable LED light to ‘Aurora Borealis,’ which sent soothing beams of pink and green streaking across the wall and ceiling. I also connected my speaker, because the thick door muted the sounds of the string quartet in the main event space, and cued up my ‘girls get hype!’ playlist which I usually played before modelling jobs (no emo music allowed). From my speaker, Marina rhymed about how patriarchy was a scourge and I hummed along.

Some visitors to my bathroom were surprised to find an attendant, but others took it in their stride. Every guest was dressed beautifully. I complimented outfits earnestly and enthusiastically, and people left my bathroom smiling.

TheMichaela Stone came in at one point, her gorgeous velvet burgundy dress having split at the seam. She heaved a sigh of relief when I fished a needle and thread out of my kit and another woman held the sides together so I could tack it closed.

The woman was quite literally a walking fantasy—Tala’s in particular. My flatmate had met Michaela a few weeks ago and immediately gone doe eyed for her. I wanted to ask her questions, you know, to do recon for my girl, but I was a little intimidated by Michaela’s cool confidence, so instead I stayed quiet as she and the other lady, Sam, chatted.

As the evening wore on, visitors to my bathroom weren’t coming to primp so much as they were to find a moment of peace. Some came to sit and let their alcohol sink in, some splashed tap water on their faces. Some women asked me to take pics of them with their girls, and others held my hands and confessed everything they were thinking.

To my enormous surprise, I was enjoying this job.

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