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“Tanya Grimes,” a voice out front calls. “You’re next!”
Hesitantly, I step out from behind the curtains onto the main stage, and find myself with an empty auditorium before me, save for a middle-aged woman with a neat brown bob. She’s very chic-looking actually, with the lean, toned build of a former dancer, and bright red lipstick. Her skin is porcelain white, and she’s dressed in an all-black outfit which clings to her thin frame.
“Tanya, right?” she asks, her voice neutral.
“Yes,” I nod, trying not to seem nervous. “I’ll be doing a routine set to Parisienne Walkways by Gary Moore.”
She nods, and the music begins to play. Immediately, I spring to life as the guitar sings, letting my body take over. My arms lift high in the air as I arch my back, my legs kicking out at the appointed times in graceful flutters. But to my surprise, after just a mere thirty seconds, the music’s cut off. I come to an abrupt halt. What’s wrong? What did I do? The woman gestures for me to approach, and tentatively, I climb off the stage and head up the aisle to where she’s sitting.
“Yes?” I try to smile, but I’m almost sure that it looks more like a grimace. The middle-aged woman shoots me a kind smile while tapping her clipboard.
“Welcome. I’m Evelyn, the artistic director of the Pussycats. So you’re twenty, according to your job application?” she asks, glancing down at the paper before her. I nod while swallowing hard.
“Yes,” I say. “I just turned twenty a couple months ago.”
Evelyn nods and surveys my figure.
“Now don’t take this the wrong way, dear, because I don’t mean anything critical by it, but…would you happen to be pregnant?”
“Excuse me?” I whisper, my cheeks already starting to burn as humiliation starts seeping its way deep into my bones. OMG, I’ve always been a bigger girl but no one’s ever thought I was pregnant before! I get that it happens to overweight women sometimes just because we have a bit of a paunch, but my stomach isn’t that big. If anything, I’ve been burning a lot of calories given my nightly escapades with Stone.
“Is it possible that you could be pregnant?” Evelyn repeats kindly. “You have such a glow about you, and I’ve encountered many pregnant dancers in my career. Our leotards give everything away, and the way our bodies move changes. There’s a definite shift once you’re carrying a baby,” she says delicately.
I stare at the middle-aged woman for a moment, trying to decipher her true intentions. Is this some sick-o passive-aggressive way of calling me fat? My heart crumples because I should have known better than to think that I’d actually have a chance here.
But then again, the middle-aged woman seems sincere. Of course, she has no idea that actually, Stone and I only do anal, so there’s no way I could be expecting. But still, is this something that people just come out and ask? As if reading my mind, Evelyn throws me an apologetic look.
“Well, if you aren’t, then I apologize. Again, I don’t mean anything by it, and if you’ve been trying to get pregnant, then congratulations. It’s just that I’ve been doing this job for decades now, so believe me when I say that I know the look. But do me a favor? Take a pregnancy test as soon as possible and then come back if it’s negative. Your dancing was wonderful and I’m sure you’d fit in well with our troupe, but we should get this squared away first. Is that okay? Just let my assistant, Harriet, know, and we’ll proceed from there.”
“Oh okay, sure,” I murmur, totally stunned. “Will do.”
With that, I make my way back to the dressing room to change into my regular clothes again. I’m dazed because there’s no way I could be pregnant. Anal sex just doesn’t work that way! But when I look at myself in the mirror, I can see that I’ve gained a couple of pounds around my middle. Okay, so maybe the constant sex with Stone isn’t doing that much, but it’s because we’re always eating. My man is always ordering room service or food from all the fanciest restaurants for us to feast on, and he encourages me to eat everything I want, often throwing in three or four desserts just for the heck of it. He says he has a sweet tooth, but really, I end up eating a lot of the yummy treats. Oh shit. I knew these five-course meals were going to do me in.
After all, there’s no way I could be pregnant. Zero. Zip. Zilch. We haven’t had pussy sex since that first time when he did the Mormon Dick Soak, and even then, that experience probably only lasted a few minutes. But like they say, it only takes one drop to make a baby.
Oh shit, oh shit. I need to get to the drugstore now to buy a pregnancy test because what if I am expecting Stone’s baby? What will he say? What will I do? I force myself to stay calm even as my pulse races. I’m not pregnant, and hopefully, after getting a negative result, I’ll tell my lover about what happened today and we’ll have a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Then, life will continue just as before … right?
9
TANYA
“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” my friend, Renee, consoles as she hands me a glass of water. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” I stare at the clear liquid, trying not to cry. After all, I’m pregnant. I took a test yesterday after racing home from the audition, fully expecting for it to come back negative, but no. The result was positive. Holy shit. What do I do now?
One thing I’m sure about is that I don’t want to tell Stone just yet because I need to digest this news myself first. Not only that, but I immediately left the Corinthian because what if I see my boyfriend? I’m a horrible liar and bound to spill the beans while breaking down, so instead, I showed up at my buddy Renee’s apartment unannounced.
Of course, she took one look at my tear-stained face and let me in. What a good friend. Renee works at our church as an admin assistant, and one thing that I appreciate about her is that we share a lot of values. We both come from religious families back home, and felt a little lost when we moved to the City of Sin. But then, we stumbled upon Sanctuary Church separately, and it was like a home away from home. Of course, I haven’t been to services in a while because I’ve been so caught up with Stone, but I plan to go back soon.
Meanwhile, my friend’s apartment’s done up really nice. It’s cozy and cute, with a Millennial-pink sofa, pastel throw pillows, and cartoon character-themed kitchenware. She even has a Hello Kitty shower curtain up in her bathroom, which is a little strange for a twenty-year old woman, but then again, it’s cheerful in its own way.
Plus, Renee herself is a sweetheart. My friend is the type of person who always has a big smile and sparkling eyes. Her curly brown hair is a little wilder than mine, but she’s manages it well with products and cute hair ties, and of course, she’s got a thing for floral dresses. For some reason, a lot of the ladies who attend Sanctuary wear floral dresses. I think it’s a church thing.
I sigh, holding back tears again.
“I don’t understand,” is my murmur. “It’s just so improbable that I’m pregnant.”
My buddy throws me a sympathetic look.
“Well, it makes sense, right? You’ve been dating that guy you mentioned—Stone?”
