Thursday's 3 Word Wednesday

The words over at 3WW are touching, visible and stage.

Bionic Woman

She’d picked up the little metal lunchbox in a second-hand thrift off the strip, five bucks because the box was missing the decorated plastic Thermos. It was a Bionic Woman lunchbox and showed Jamie Sommers jumping from a speeding car and Oscar Goldman tied up and two crooks hiding behind some rocks. The show had aired before she was born, but her mother was fond of it and she thought the heavy metal clasp and the overall solid metal construction would serve her well.
She danced six on, two off at a dimly lit strip club where the manager (for once) wasn’t always taking free feels of any girl that had merited his attentions. Jarek was from the Ukraine, shaved head, black suits, dark glasses; supposedly he as connected to the Ukrainian mob, but she wasn’t stupid and this place certainly wasn’t the Spearmint Rhino was it?
The stage was built like the barbs or a trident, one long main boardwalk ending in a round dance floor and requisite brass pole; two smaller boardwalks took off left and right, where girls who were just off the main stage had to dance for four more songs.
Two songs a turn, six in all, and she’d be done on stage for a couple of hours. Work the VIP area, maybe find the naughty businessman loose off the strip with no conscious for the little woman and his adorable kids back home, where on a vinyl sofa he’d be embolden enough with his tie loosened and the watered-down Scotch and start touching her ass inappropriately for a $20.
She was petite, skin like fat-free milk, translucent. Shoulder-length hair that was once the color of bran flakes, but she’d dyed it a rusty red, along with her eyebrows. Certainly, she was not endowed, a solid B-cup, but she liked to work the crowds that way.
The Bionic Woman lunchbox was all part of an overall image she worked to her advantage.
Red hair braided into pigtails, white cotton blouse tied at the waist, green plaid schoolgirl skirt with pleats, white socks to her knees. She never saw the need to wear a bra – too hard to get out of and some perv was always walking away with it even if she dropped it at her feet on stage. She used a dark rouge on her nipples, which made them conspicuously visible under the white blouse and the glowing stage lights.
She wore white cotton bikini undies, which she bought five to a pack at the Wal-Mart. Oh, she’d tried the thongs, the G-strings and the sequins, but once she hit upon the schoolgirl thing, all she had to do was walk once down the boardwalk, twirl so the skirt rose and the lights made the panties glow and she’d stop, raise the front of her skirt with her pinky and stick the fingers of her other hand under the elastic waistband – shockingly brazen – and the singles went back in pockets and the guys were reaching for fives. Just for the chance to raise that elastic themselves.
The lunchbox was another prop, a handy one, as it contained her lip gloss, a bottle of knock-off perfume (that knocked down the smell of sweat, cigar smoke, bad aftershave, spilt beer) and her tips. She’d bought a pink Hello Kitty pencil case at the Wal-Mart, and she’d sit on stage, naked except for the white stockings and the ridiculous black stripper heels with her back to the brass pole, legs drawn up Indian-style and counted out the tips while the guys around the stage shook their heads and slapped buddies on their backs. She’d be slow, methodical, meticulous; she’d put the cash into the vinyl case, drop it into her Bionic Woman lunchbox, close the clasp, close her eyes and throw her legs forward, slide down the pole and spread eagle, slowly raising the lunchbox for one last leering view of her.
She’d managed, in six months, to avoid the booze, the drugs the offers – the sweaty $20s if “You’d just be good enough to come back to my rental and take care of me, you’re so hot” – and was nearly ready for her escape.
Because duct-taped to the lid of the Bionic Woman lunchbox was a manila envelope with her bus ticket back to Salina; back to the little home his parents left him when they died; back before his deployment was up in Afghanistan; back with the entire stake they’d need to buy the diner.
The lunchbox would totally fit the retro décor they’d planned and plotted in long letters from their various fronts.

6 comments:

TC said...

Oh I liked this. I'm so glad there really was a reason for the end. I felt bad for her because you knew it wasn't what she wanted, but I kept waiting for there to be some bad, horrible thing that had happened to her... and instead, it seemed life was going to be more than OK.

tumblewords said...

A better ending than one could hope for! Nice!

WriterKat said...

Really nice. I like the mix of child and adult. I'm glad there was escape.

Large Marge said...

Wow! Nice piece, what happens next? Chapter 2 please.

Where does some of this stuff come from? "This place certainly wasn’t the Spearmint Rhino was it?" Spearmint Rhino??? WTF, mate??? Is there really such a place? If not, there should be.

Uncle E said...

I really hope you're planning to finish this...

The Mouth said...

Hoo Hoo! Let's all chant. Hoo Hoo! Let's all chant:

Chapter TWO! Chapter TWO! Everyone, repeat after me. Chapter TWO!