Page 20 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
Nelly’s “Hot in Here” blares from the speakers, and Myra jumps, holding on to the pole with both hands, spinning. She’s a blur of fuchsia jumpsuit.
“Myra!” Angela jogs out from the back in her teeny bikini and eight-inch platforms like only a well-seasoned professional can. “I told you to wait for me before you mount.” She throws her hands in the air, exasperation written all over her face.
“You’re never gonna rein her in, but it’s fun to see you try.” I glance down at her chest. “Also, wardrobe malfunction.”
Without taking her eyes off Myra, who’s still in spin mode, Angela reaches down and slides her top back over her nipple. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”
“No worries, dear.” Helen, more carefully than Myra, places both hands on her pole and spins slowly, coming back to the starting position and stopping after one rotation. “We’ve all had a nip slip or two in our day.”
Vance
If a police carcomes by right now, I’ll probably be arrested.
There’s no obvious reason for an adult man to be sitting in his car in the parking lot of a strip club with his head tilted back and eyes closed that isn’t perverted. I don’t think any officer would believe me if I said I was waiting for my mother to get off her pole.
They’d probably tase me.
Maybe the pain would help my raging attraction to Rose West. In my thirty-six years, I’ve never had a problem forgetting about one-night stands. As much of an asshole as that makes me sound.
I made the decision years ago. If I was going to have a dangerous job, I couldn’t have attachments. No wife, no kids, no one left behind in tears if I didn’t make it back home.
That resolve has helped dull any attachment urges I may have had over the years. Light, easy, no strings attached. That’s how I live when I’m on Earth.
Rose West is anythingbutlight and easy. And definitely unforgettable.
Ding.
I grab my phone from the cup holder.
A text from my mother.I’m ready to go.
I frown at my phone. This is her way of telling me to come get her.WhyI need to come to her, I don’t know. If she can swing on a pole in those heels, makes sense she can walk out of the strip club in them, but I’m not about to text that.
Heaving myself out of my 4Runner, which I love even though Jackie assures me that true astronauts only drive Corvettes, I walk back into Heartbreakers, bracing myself for the visual assault of Rose in her pole dancing attire.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Rebecca Black’s raunchy and profane song “Girlfriend” blasts from the speakers.
Even though I braced, when my eyes focus on the stage, I feel gut-punched all the same.
Nothing could have prepared me for Rose, one leg hooked high, the other splayed out, spinning upside down from the pole like a tornado of glitter.
I’m both aware that I’m standing there like a kid in a candy shop drooling over things he can’t have, and also not aware of anything but her. My eyes are laser focused on her flowing hair, her gravity-defying boobs, and the thin strip of blue spandex between her legs.
But then something goes wrong. Rose squeals as her leg slides down a foot, the spinning coming to a stop. Throwing her hands out to catch herself, she slides the rest of the way down, catching herself in an awkward handstand.
I’ve already taken a few quick steps toward the stage before I realize it, but the younger woman in the bikini beats me there. Bracing Rose’s midsection, she helps Rose fall carefully over to the side without hurting herself.
Rose, though rubbing her wrists, comes up laughing. “Whelp. I guess I haven’t masteredthatyet.”
The older woman next to my mother claps. “Great job, Rosie-girl!” She looks to the bikini woman. “I want to learn that next, Angie.”
“No, Myra.” From the way the woman sighs, I can tell this isn’t the first time Myra has asked to bite off more than she can chew.
Frowning, but with a gleam in her eyes, Myra crosses her arms. “You’re no fun.”
They all laugh.
“Shouldn’t you practice easier moves before you break your neck doing spins like that?” I ask, my tone reprimanding.
