Chapter 29
“Titty, then kitty. Titty, then kitty.”
Willa watched the dance instructor, Chinchilla, as she snuggled the stripper pole between her breasts, then grasped the metal with one hand and rolled her upper body back and away so that her crotch made contact.
“This is how you body roll,” Chinchilla said, undulating in a red bra and cherry-printed booty shorts in front of the group of 20 women who had gathered at Viva Vixen studio on Saturday night for Willa’s surprise 41st birthday party.
Her coaching team at FitFams had put this event together, inviting the Hoodhoneys, Natalie, Allison, and Kevin’s wife, Dara, for champagne and a lesson in pole- and chair-dancing. The differences between these groups of friends were very distinct as Nicki Minaj’s “Truffle Butter” thumped throughout the low-lit studio.
Coaches Jen, Ashley, and Jamie were wearing Lucite stripper heels — so they just have those in their closets? — kneesocks, tiny shorts, and crop tops, and they basically smoldered as they body-rolled. Allison, always game, had dug out some thigh-high, denim boots from a previous life as a party girl in Las Vegas and paired them with Daisy Dukes and a scoop-neck body suit. The Hoodhoneys, Natalie, and Dara seemed not to have received the memo about the dress code and were wearing a mix of slogan T-shirts (“Yes Way, Rosé”), hoodies, sweatpants, and worn-out leggings.
Willa’s bag had been packed for her, to maintain the surprise, by Allison, and included a flouncy black miniskirt, spandex shorts, a sportsbra, and a black, cropped, zip-front, short-sleeved shirt in a cheap material that looked almost like liquid and made her skin itch. Oh, and then there were some ridiculously high, lace-up heels that Allison had ordered from an online sex-toy catalog company.
The FitFams team had cheered and pretended to make it rain dollar bills on Willa’s butt when she emerged from the bathroom in the get-up. Allison applauded with approval. Natalie laughed and shook her head. Some of the Hoodhoneys and Dara exchanged slightly uncomfortable glances. Willa giggled, and sized herself up in the studio mirror.
Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all. Even better once I down a few glasses of champagne.
She did just that, then followed Chinchilla’s instructions. First task: Pick your stage name.
“I’ll be ‘Bomb Cyclone,’” Willa announced. “It’s a storm that intensifies rapidly when air near the Earth’s surface rises quickly in the atmosphere, triggering a sudden drop in barometric pressure, creating wind spirals.”
“I’m ‘Buttery Chardonnay,’” Allison said.
“Mmkay,” Chinchilla said, bored.
The body roll was the first move of the evening, followed by a fireman knee spin and a back hook. Given how long it took most of the women to figure out how to do that without their hands squealing down the pole and their asses ending up on the floor, the group didn’t get to anything more advanced, though Jen did show off an angel spin.
Then it was time for chair dancing. They sat facing the mirror, with Willa next to Chinchilla in the front row.
“Start by sitting up straight, knees and ankles together, hands on knees,” Chinchilla called out over “Bitch Better Have My Money” by Rihanna.
Chinchilla snapped her knees apart, then braced her hands on the sides of the chair and popped both legs up and out in a V.
“Pre-zent!” she yelled out.
Willa snorted. Present? Present my vagina? She had so many questions: Will my shorts prevent me from traumatizing my friends with a close-up, clinical view of my “kitty?” Am I going to pull my groin? Do my legs even do that?
Eh, what the hell, the champagne said.
She popped her knees out, then her legs, but she looked more like a woman waiting for a gynecological exam than a hot piece of ass. Jen, Ashley, and Jamie had it down, of course. A couple of the Hoodhoneys had given up and were passing around a bottle. Allison and Natalie were doubled over, laughing at Willa’s attempt.
“That’s time,” Chinchilla sighed.
“You were so good,” Ashley beamed at Willa in the reception area, as they packed up their dance outfits and prepared to head out.
“Um, no, I wasn’t,” Willa laughed. “But you are welcome to lie to me on my birthday.”
“I still can’t believe you’re 41,” Jamie said.
Willa looked at the Hoodhoneys. “I know. Isn’t it annoying?” Hoodhoney Cara said. “I’m a year older but ancient compared to Willa. My 12-year-old daughter and two-year-old son have sucked all of the life out of me.”
“Not true,” Willa smiled. “You have great skin.”
“Y’know, Botox and fillers do wonders,” Jamie said.
“Wait, you get Botox and fillers? Aren’t you in your 20s?” Hoodhoney Vanessa asked. “I’m 39 and haven’t gotten those yet. How could you possibly need it already?”
“Well, I don’t need it yet. But that’s the point,” Jamie said, pulling her beautiful auburn hair into a perfectly messy bun on the top of her head. “It’s preventive. I’m stopping wrinkles and sagging before it can happen.”
“FitFams coaches get a discount with Dr. Bastian,” Ashley said to Willa.
Willa could feel her older friends’ eyes on her, awaiting her response, and her younger friends’ eyes on her, counting her wrinkles.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Willa said, absently touching her finger to the lines between her brows. “It might be time for me to check that out.”
“I’ll send you the hook-up,” Jen said, then checked her watch. “OK, so it’s 10:30 p.m. The plan now is to go to the Crypt in East Atlanta to dance. Who’s in?”
The Hoodhoneys simultaneously checked their phones and recited from Mom’s Official List of Understandable Excuses (“it’s getting late” and “I have to get up early with the baby” and “I’m exhausted”). Even Allison and Natalie politely bowed out.
Jen ordered a Lyft.
“Well, I’m in,” Willa said. Did she sense some judgment from the people who had passed on the plan?
Well, never mind that, she thought. She did her best twerk, which was not good at all. The coaches smacked her butt approvingly, and then they headed out.