[The original image was pretty brutal, blood everywhere and thugs eyes all burned out.]
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Supergirls Saga (If you’re new, start the Supergirl Saga here…)
Present Time: Very Late Summer 2023
Location: RI Farm and Auto Swap Meet, Barn Interior
Subject: “Supergirl; the Bet” is still running
Cast of suspects:
Steve, Adriah, Chloe, Donna, Brandy, Rene, Izzy, Sophie, Jackie, Reina, Sherry, Dot, Sasha, Jill with “fixers” Kat and Trish and on the farm, Roger, Ann, Earl, Wendy and Walt
If you already know what’s going on, skip to: Trap the Spark otherwise…
Previously on The Supergirls Saga (Part 44) …
Steve’s waltz with Dot started sweet—her hippie dress, her self-aware curtsy—but ended with her dropping a line that stopped him cold: “God and chaos can coexist.” It sounded like a slogan. But for Steve, it was a key, a clue in the open.
That’s when the memory hit: weeks ago, he’d been at Dot’s apartment. The place was a wreck. Overturned furniture. Broken glass. A fist-sized hole in the wall. And Dot? She just smiled and called it her “Red Hour”—a Star Trek reference he’d filed away without understanding.
Now, sitting in the dirt outside the barn, the pieces finally locked together. Dot doesn’t live in peace—she’s at war. Dressed as Supergirl she holds the hands of dying kids in hospice wards. And the brutal cost of that serenity is her own private chaos: rage-proofed plastic dishes, paintings screwed into studs, furniture that can survive being thrown. She’s not a mystic sweetheart. She’s a ticking time bomb who’s just barely winning a war she fights alone.
Steve’s realization hit harder when he turned it inward: he’s not just making costumes. He’s manufacturing an army of Supergirls to march straight into those same oncology wards. “Am I handing you all a uniform to march you into an emotional meat-grinder?”
With Adriah and Izzy, he started sketching a plan—ease in with fundraisers, buddy system, actual conversations afterward, let Dot help the others process what she already knows. But Adriah turned the question back on him: Steve, who can’t even watch a movie about suffering, how will you handle it when it’s staring you in the face?
Izzy grounded him, reminding him he can’t fix everything. And for now, he just had to finish the dance. He did—a sweeping Blue Danube waltz with Izzy that brought him back to the present.
Eight days left on the Supergirl bet. And the next partner? Kat. The human Brillo pad.
8 days 1 hour 22 minutes to Bet Deadline
Trap the Spark
Location: Interior farm barn, night. We pickup directly from the end of part 44.
Next on my waltz dance card is Kat, our grumpy cat hair stylist.
Kat is an attractive 5’4″ brunette of attitude. A brash, mid-thirties hair stylist with a wicked sense of humor, a sharper tongue, and absolutely no problem telling you exactly what she thinks. She’s our resident bitch, and wears the title proudly. But underneath all that sass is a fiercely protective woman with a surprisingly soft heart, you just have to know how to get to it. Kat will bust your balls one minute and hold you together the next—and she’d rather die than let anyone catch her being sentimental about it. I sometimes refer to her as “Grumpy Kat.”
She looks at me smirking. “What?”
I shrug, “You really want to dance the waltz, Kat?”
She tosses her hair in mock glamour style, “Am I not girlie enough for you?”
“For me? Trust me, this isn’t for me, hun.”
“Oh, I get that, totally…” she quips. “Ya, know it’s kinda cool, we’re both fish out of our element here. You car guy artist and me…”
“Bitch?”
“Well, yeah, ok. Look, I just want to see if I’m missing something…”
“Did you play with dolls as a girl?” I ask.
She nods.
“Then…” I straighten up, take a step backwards, extend my hand palm up. “Buckle up!” I bow.
“That’s the romantic introduction?” she laughs. “I’ll rethink this.”
“Fine.” I cough. “May I have this dance?”
Kat puts her hand in mine.
“No. You have to curtsy first.” I smirk. “Let’s see it.”
She flaps her arms at her side, “I want to skip that.”
“Fine, then I won’t extend my hand to ask for the dance.”
“No, I want that part,” she whispers. “Your part, Steve, is chivalry, mine is submission.”
“Chivalry and submission of that time were one and the same. I’m the one hanging out there asking for the dance. You cannot accept, making me look like a fool. You’ve kinda killed the mood. Maybe we should–“
“No no no. Okay, take it from the top…” she replies. “Okay, Prince Charming.”
“Brace yourself.”
We move through the introduction, dance offering, curtsy, bow and accept.
I snicker, “This requires I touch you with both hands, you know…”
“Oh, shut up. You picked me up and through me over your shoulder, or did you forget?” (That’s here.)
I roll my eyes. We get into position and enter the music a little late.
This is going to be like dancing with a Thanksgiving turkey. After carving.
One turn.
Two steps.
Then Kat puts the wrong foot down.
I compensate.
She goes left.
I go right.
We collide just enough to make the whole thing ugly.
I stop. “Roger, I’m sorry. Take it from the top. I’m all left feet.”
“Hey.” Kat looks at me. “That was me. I screwed up.”
“Nope,” I retort.
“Steve—”
“It’s fine.” I dismiss it with a wave of my hand. “Take it from the top.”
Roger reaches for the controls. A few of the other ladies join him at the soundboard.
Kat shakes her head. “I screwed up.”
“Nope. You’re fine.”
“I stepped on you,” she insists.
“And I survived.”
She looks at me.
I lean closer.
“Relax. This isn’t a test.”
She exhales.
I glance toward the soundboard. Everyone is moving over there now. All of them.
“Okay.”
I extend my hand again. “Ready?”
She takes it. “Sure.”
The music starts again. I lead. This time she watches my feet. I watch hers.
We move.
“See?” I say quietly. “You’re fine.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s better.”
She smiles.
We make it halfway around the floor when I notice something. Everyone is clustered around the soundboard. Not watching us. All of them.
Kat notices too. “What the hell are they doing?”
“I have no idea.”
We make another turn. I glance over again.
“Okay, now I’m curious.”
Kat raises an eyebrow. “You’re curious?”
“I’m trying to impress people here with my rusty skills. Apparently there’s a more interesting show behind the soundboard.”
I stop. “Come on.”
We step off the floor and walk toward the crowd.
From our side, all we can see is the back of the soundboard and a wall of women crowded around it. They’ve got their fronts to us, looking at Roger and Walt like a bunch of people watching a DJ work a nightclub.
“What’s the big attraction?” I call out. “I’m over here trying to dance.”
A few heads turn.
Nobody answers.
I walk around the side. They’re all staring at Walt’s smartphone. “Seriously?”
Kat peers over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
Someone turns around, practically glowing. “We can dance a waltz to Metallica!”
I stare. Kat looks at me. I look at Kat.
“No.”
Someone laughs. “What?”
“No. I am not waltzing to Metallica,” I reply.
Kat grins. “Why not?”
“Because it, just, no…”
She folds her arms. “You were dancing in a tobacco barn.”
“Those are unrelated issues,” I mutter.
Donna looks at me, “We’re looking for songs in 3/4 time that can be waltz songs for us to dance to.”
I roll my eyes.
Highway to Hell
To keep this moving I decide to prove my point, not argue it. I pull Kat to the dance floor center. I shout over, “Fine, fire up Metallica. Nothing Else Matters.”
I pull Kat into the dance. We find it hard to get in the mood as I can tell by her face. She’s mainly more amused than engaged. I press on about forty five seconds into the song.
I look at Kat. She’s not grooving. She’s tolerating.
“You feelin’ it?” I ask.
“Not so much…”
We float to a stop. I shout toward the soundboard. “That’s a no on this song, Roger dawg! There’s no girl dreaming of dancing to Metallica, especially ‘Nothing Else Matters.’ It’s like playing AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’ at a wedding.”
Kat snorts. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”
“Roger, we’re going to have to find something else.”
Walt holds up his phone. “We have Take It to the Limit by the Eagles.”
I look at Kat. She shrugs.
“Better than Metallica,” she says.
“That’s a low bar.”
“You’re not wrong.” She smiles.
Roger starts the next track. We start dancing again. And it’s still not perfect. But it’s better. The peanut gallery can tell we’re not digging it.
There’s a lot of low-level arguing. Then Roger or someone else, pulls the plug on the Eagles and puts on Def Leppard. Animal!
I stop. I cock my head, grin and raise a brow toward Kat. She grins. “Yes!” She starts rocking.
This is where it officially came off the rails.
The others start drifting onto the floor, the waltz long gone now. They’re rocking, laughing, moving wherever the music takes them.
I look at Kat. I raise one finger. I have an idea.
She narrows her eyes. I start dancing backward. “What the f…?” she mutters.
I don’t answer. I keep moving backward until I reach Ann. I hold out my hand. “C’mon. You know you want to.”
Ann laughs. “Steve—”
“Come on. Make believe it’s Elvis.”
She finally takes my hand. I pull her onto the floor. Ann starts dancing. Or at least attempting to, probably better than me. She’s laughing too hard to stay completely coordinated.
I glance back. Kat is standing there with both arms in the air. “I lost my partner!”
I grin. “Hang on. Temporary reassignment. BRB.”
Kat shakes her head, laughing. The others are smiling and pointing at Ann, giving thumbs up and fist pumps.
As the final, screaming chords of Animal echo up into the timber rafters, the high-energy spirit in the barn is through the roof. The gloom from the driveway is officially dead and buried. (Last chapter) Everyone is panting, laughing, and wiping sweat from their foreheads.
Before Roger can even think about dropping another rock track from the soundboard, Kat marches straight back up onto the edge of the varnished wooden stage. She places her hands on her hips, looking around the room like a drill sergeant in a summer dress.
“Hey! I was cheated out of my waltz!” she yells over the chatter, her grumpy-cat mock smirk firmly back in place. “Everyone beat it. Clear off the stage!”
The other women start giggling and groaning, stepping off the raised wood and back down onto the dirt floor, leaving the platform wide open.
Kat turns her gaze directly onto me, pointing a sharp finger. “Where’s Steve?”
Ann laughs, gently patting my arm as she steps off the stage to join Earl. “Go get ’em, Prince Charming.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the real smile breaking through my exhausted face. I straighten my Best Buy shirt, walk across the polished planks, and stop right in front of her.
“I thought you weren’t girlie enough for this, Kat,” I tease, dropping into a low, theatrical bow.
“Shut up and extend your hand, Mr. Woron,” she quips, though she’s grinning ear to ear.
I lift my hand palm up, and this time, when she places her hand in mine, there’s no hesitation. She’s not watching my feet anymore. She’s ready.
I nod toward the soundboard. “Roger dawg, take it from the top. Three-four time. And keep it standard.”
Kat waves it off. “No no. We can’t go from that, right to a waltz. It’s wrong.”
I lift a finger, indicating an idea, and wave Jackie over. She’s a huge Marillion fan. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing. Hey, we need a segue song from Animal to Blue Danube classical. Can we do that?”
Jackie mulls it over, then looks at me with a twinkle in her eye. “I got it.” She winks at me.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I smile.
“Yes.” She darts for the soundboard. There’s chatter as they search. Pointing. Smiling. Walt nodding. Jackie makes a quick clapping sound like she found a twenty in her shorts.
I look at Kat. “You’re about to get a bonus dance… I mean if you want.” I pause. “You know what?” I wave Roger over. He looks at me, blank. I wave more earnestly.
He shuffles over. “What’s up?”
Interlude
I look over the soundboard as Jackie nods at me—she’s ready. “We need a segue slow dance to the waltz. Look, I don’t want to hog all the babes, so would you ask this lovely lady—Kat’s her name—to a dance?”
“I’d be honored…”
I hope Jackie picked the song I’m thinking of.
“Kat, would that be okay with you?”
“Oh hell, yeah.”
I back away and as I do, I whisper in her ear, “Gee, looks like you’re playing with dolls…”
She grins.
I shout over. “Wait five seconds and hit it, Jackie…”
She smiles and nods.
Beautiful by Marillion plays. It’s a wonderful melancholy song that’s not too sappy but a slow beat with great poetic lyrics. The song is literally about the world giving bad names to beautiful things and not giving beautiful things a chance.
My eyes drift to the soundboard where Earl, Walt, and Wendy are swaying to the music. I look for Ann. Yup, she’s smiling watching her hubby dance with Kat. Talk about an unlikely couple…
Jackie appears to be shading a tear. I ask, “You okay?”
She nods quickly. “These lyrics always get me…”
I smile to acknowledge her. It also doubles as the ultimate autumn song.
I watch Kat and Roger. They’re grinning, talking softly. Hmmm. My mind steps backward. I fold my arms. I shake my head. Wow. We ended up here on this farm—a swap meet by mistake, looking for a car show. Now my hair stylist is dancing a slow dance with the farm’s owner. Incredible.
Kat’s waltz dance is finally next. This is the formal dance we tried to do from the start to classic music before we got all side tracked. But.
I look at Roger.
Then at Kat.
“Okay. Here’s a thought.”
Roger looks up.
“What?”
“You’ve danced with Ann. Pretty good, too.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been screwing up with Kat all night,” I admit.
“That’s true.” Roger grins.
I turn to Kat.
“So here’s the deal. I can dance with you…”
I point at myself.
“Or…”
I point toward Roger. Roger nods.
I point harder at Roger. Roger nods again.
Kat looks between us. “Are you two serious?”
“Very.”
Roger folds his arms.
I gesture toward him like a game-show host.
“On today’s episode of Who Wants to Waltz with Kat? we have two handsome and highly qualified candidates.”
Roger looks at me.
“Highly qualified?”
“Don’t wreck the pitch.”
Kat folds her arms. “So I get to choose?”
“Absolutely.”
Roger gives me a tiny nod.
I give Roger a tiny nod back.
We’re trying very hard not to look like we’re coordinating.
Kat notices. “You’re both trying to get out of this.”
“No.”
“Not at all.”
We say it at the same time.
She laughs.
“Okay. Steve or Roger…”
“Choose who you’d like, Kat.”
I point toward Roger with one hand, pretending to scratch my nose.
Roger points subtly toward me.
Kat looks between us.
“Wait. I actually get to choose?”
“Absolutely.”
Walt steps forward. “I’d like to be considered.”
Earl looks over. “Me too.”
I turn. “What?”
One of the two swap meet guys who wandered in earlier raises his hand. “What about us?”
The other guy nods. “Yeah. We’re available.”
The women erupt.
Kat looks around at all of them.
“What the hell just happened?”
Rene is laughing. “Wow. The girl who’s not even a model gets all the guys!”
Kat points at me. “This is your fault.”
“How is this my fault?”
“You turned dancing into a dating show.” Kat looks around at the assembled men. Walt. Earl. Two guys probably from the swap meet who have somehow become part of this. Roger. Me.
“I can’t choose,” she says.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I don’t know four of you.”
“You know Roger.”
“I just met him.”
“You know me.”
“You’re the one who started this.” she replies.
She’s got a point.
Roger steps forward. “How about a compromise?”
I look at him. “What kind of compromise?”
“We let fate decide.”
The wanderers perk up. “Fate?”
Roger pulls out a quarter. “Heads or tails.”
I shake my head. “Too simple.”
Earl steps forward. “Odds or evens.”
We all look at him.
“Schoolyard style,” he explains. “Everyone shoots a number. One person calls odds or evens. Whoever matches the call stays in the running.”
I look at Roger. He nods.
First round, I beat Roger.
Next, I beat Walt, who’d already taken out Earl.
A couple more rounds later, six men have been whittled down to two. The dust settles. Me and the swap meet guy who raised his hand first.
We face each other.
“Odds or evens?” he asks.
“Evens,” I say.
We shoot.
He holds up two fingers. I hold up two fingers.
“Four,” he says. “Even!”
He grins technically winning.
“I lose,” I instantly blurt, “I guess I have to dance with her…”
He blinks.
“Wait. What?”
I turn to Kat. She’s staring at me.
“I lost,” I say. “So I have to dance with you.”
She looks at the other guy. He’s still holding up his two fingers, looking completely baffled.
“But… he won,” she says.
“That’s the game,” I reply matter of fact. “The loser has to dance with you.”
She looks at me. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right. I play it to see if it works. But I’m not going to admit it.
The guy lowers his hand. “I don’t understand.”
Roger pats his shoulder. “You will. Eventually. Besides, I can you do the waltz?”
“For her, I would’ve learned…” He replies under his breath.
I smile and nod, extend my hand to Kat. “May I have this dance?”
She stares at my hand, shaking her head.
“You’re impossible.” She curtsies.
“I get that a lot.”
I look at her, sincere. “Win or lose, I was dancing with you.”
She blinks.
“I should have known.” She shakes her head. “How the hell did I not see that coming? Unbelievable.”
“Steve.” She pauses. “And if he argued with you for my dance?”
“I would have asked you to make the choice,” I say. “And you would’ve chosen me.”
“Oh really?” She raises an eyebrow grinning ear to ear. “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“Like the last scene in Star Trek episode Amok Time. Except you didn’t kill me…”
She grins. “The night’s still young, Mister.”
She takes my hand. I bow.
And we dance. The music flows. She moves like she’s been doing this her whole life.
The rest of the barn is a blur. The soundboard. The cluster of women. The ongoing debate about Metallica. None of it matters. See what I did there?
It’s just us.
“Ya know…” She looks at me as she dips. “In your own twisted way, you fought for me.”
I blink.
“Wow,” I say looking towards the heavens. “I kinda did.” I pause, guiding her through a turn. “I dunno, suddenly you were worth fighting for. Low stakes, but nevertheless…”
She studies me, eyes glistening. “You know, back at the mansion when you collapsed and Izzy was there, I told her I didn’t like you.” (That’s here.)
I raise an eyebrow.
“Umm. Okay…”
“I might have told her I changed my opinion of you…”
We glide past the soundboard. No one looks up.
I wait.
She sighs.
“I said… ‘He’s kinda grown on me. He’s an artist and an intellect, a rare combination. Usually you find one or the other but never both in one guy. That’s part of his problem…'”
I stare at her.
“You said that?”
“I said that.”
“Weeks ago?”
“Weeks ago.”
I don’t know what to say.
We turn. She follows without hesitation.
“Part of his problem,” I repeat.
She shrugs. “You’re complicated.”
“I’m an artist.”
“Same thing.”
I laugh.
“Same thing,” I agree.
We keep moving.
The music swells. And for a moment, the barn disappears.
We end the song. She lets go of my hand. I bow. She curtsies.
“Thank you for the dance, Kat,” I say.
She bows her head and smiles.
I turn to walk away. She grabs my arm.
I turn back.
“Thank you…” she whispers, like it’s a secret. From her eyes, I can tell those two words hold weight. For a few minutes, she let her guard down. She even surprised herself.
Or… maybe not.
You ever have that feeling like something’s missing?
I call her, “Katherine.”
She stops and turns and I approach her. She looks slightly puzzled.
I look her in the eyes, “Can I kiss you? On the cheek?”
I thought it would be a nice button on our dance moment.
“If you have to ask, it ruins the moment,” she replies.
I know exactly what she means.
“No… you’re right,” I say turning away, not getting a look at her reaction.
Just when I think I understand women, one will jam a hot poker in my eye. I’m not saying Kat would do that. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.
It’s time for my break. I sit at the picnic table. Roger has his fun getting everyone in position for line dancing. I sip my old drink. I think it’s mine. Oh well.
He puts on his headset and begins instruction. Everyone is having fun.
I sigh. Sit back.
Just as I relax, Adriah sees I’m alone. She steps off the stage and approaches.
“Well—”
I hold up my hand.
“Hold the smart-ass remarks. I’m doing this for the group. For group solidarity. Here’s the thing: if I didn’t do it, later I’d get ‘why didn’t you dance with the ladies?’ Now that I am doing it, I’m waiting to be called an attention hog. So I can’t win.” I pause. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Ah,” she says. “I was going to say you’re doing a great job.”
“Ppppft.”
She looks at me. “Are you overstimulated or something?”
“What am I? Three years old?”
“Can I sit next to you?”
“Sure,” I mutter.
She takes a seat right next to me and leans her head against me. “Anything wrong? You can talk to me.”
I scoff. “Dear, men are allowed to have two feelings: fine and mad. I’m fine.”
Silence from her. Just the dance music.
“Did you roll your eyes?” I ask. “Because I heard it.”
She looks up me. “I just wanted to thank you for my dance. I’d ask for another one but it seems you have a full dance card.”
“We’ll see how I feel at the end. No promises,” I offer.
“You know we can dance at the cottage or my house,” She replies.
“Did you add a dance floor I don’t know about?”
“Well, no. Hey, we could play the music off the deck and waltz on the beach. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
“You’re killing me…” I mutter.
She pats my arm, “You think on it…”
I shake my head.
Reina joins us at the table. “You ok, Steve?”
Adriah jumps in, “He’s buffering…”
“Ah. Sorry.” She sits slowly like the table is made of glass. “Donna’s having doubts about the waltz dancing.”
I blink. “Ask her to come down here. Wait, is there anyone else that feels the same?”
Reina shrugs, “I’ll get her…” She pulls Donna out of the line dance and she sits across from me panting.
“Donna. Do you not want to do the waltz dance? That’s perfectly ok. I mean, if you want Roger, Earl or the guy from the swap meet can dance with you…?”
“As tempting as that sounds… dancing with a guy from the rusty parts swap meet, I—”
“You don’t have to do this… I— This is some fine mess I got myself into so…” I reply.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t think I’m ready,” she says lowering her voice. “I’ll trip you.”
I don’t press her. “How’s this; I can have Roger work with you while I’m doing the others and we’ll save you for the end. But. Only if you want.”
She thinks.
I laugh, “By then I’ll be freaking exhausted so you’ll look like a whiz. How’s that?”
She perks up, “Bet.”
I look at Adriah. She laughs, “That means great. Awesome Ok.”
After a few minutes of just relaxing with Reina and Adriah keeping me company the line dancing comes to a stop. The ladies drift off the stage as Jill trots over to me. “My dance is next…” She does a little jig.
The Virus is the Virus
Oh no. Her nickname is Chatterbox for a reason.
The evening fan’s breeze tugs at Jill’s long blonde hair, catching the honeyed strands like spun gold against the soft string lights, but her bare feet remained planted firmly on the barn dirt—a quiet anchor for a girl who spent too much time adrift in everyone else’s storms.
Her bright green eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable when she dropped her heavy truths, softened tonight with something more fragile, more hesitant, as she tucked that familiar strand behind her ear.
She carries guilt like a second skin, that soft-spoken conscience-keeper who saw every crack in our foundation before anyone else did, but beneath that nervous chatter and the weight of her perpetual worry was a warmth I rarely got to see unguarded.
She’s one hundred fifteen pounds of figure brick shithouse, every curve hand sculpted by an almighty creator that’s eluded me. Jill puts on her sandals.
Roger plays some soft background music as I pry my bones off the bench. Jill smiles, “C’mon, old man, I’ve been looking forward to this all evening.”
“That makes one of us,” I chirp. “Where do you get all this energy, girl?”
“I know, right?”
She literally pulls me up on the dance floor. “Jill, take it down a notch. Maybe you should dance with the one of the swap meet guys…”
“Who Dan and Jason?”
“You know their names?’
“Yeah, they were talking to me.” She looks back at me. I get exhausted just looking at her. “I want the whole ball of wax. Intro, Outro, everything…”
“Of course you do…” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing. How good are you at this dance?”
She smiles, “You’ll see. C’mon…”
I take the steps back, offer my hand, ask her for the dance. She curtsies.
Jill takes my hand.
We start moving.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. That’s not like her.
Then she leans slightly closer.
“You know I still have the intel.”
“Intel. Oh.” I glance at her. “Barry’s last name?” (That’s here)
“Aha.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We need a computer to research him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t trust phone results unless it’s just trivia garbage or a cat throwing a basketball video.”
“Right. Okay…”
We keep dancing.
Nobody around us seems to have noticed that we just changed the subject from waltzing to investigating our nosey neighbor Barry.
Which, considering this group, probably means we’re having a perfectly normal conversation.
Jill smiles, “I can’t wait to tell my parents I know how to waltz.” A beat. “Yeah… They think you’re weird. One guy with two dozen women. They think you’re up to something.”
I let her keep talking.
“They ask me every week what went on here and what I did…”
I stare at her through the moves without a reply.
“They see the pictures we take and can’t figure out your ulterior motive. They tell me to be careful.”
I jump in, “And what do you think, Jill?”
“I think… Ya know, I don’t know what to think. If you’re here to get girls, that hasn’t happened, well except for Adriah. She’s the oldest here. And you two met before you formed the group. So I dunno… Maybe you’re playing a long game, but it been almost two years so…”
I just shake my head. I find her conversation unsettling.
I understand where it comes from. I do.
But somehow that makes it worse. I’ve spent two years trying to build a place where these women can create, experiment and feel safe. And apparently, somewhere outside these walls, I’m still the guy everyone needs to watch. I can’t win. If a woman created this group no one would give a second thought.
I pipe up as we enter a turn in the dance. “I’ve done nothing but create a safe place to be creative, build your portfolios and have some fun, so…”
Jill nods.
“I guess. But you know how sometimes you get one of those computer viruses online?”
“Yeah.” My hand tightens in hers.
“It tells you to call a number to fix the virus.”
“Right…”
“Except the solution to fix the virus is the virus.”
I look at her.
“You know what I mean?” she says.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I think I do.”
She looks me straight in the eyes.
“And you’re very clever…”
“So, wait, I’m in some long con?” I mutter.
“Well, no. But you could be a great actor…”
The song ends but we’re standing still in the dance position still talking and it’s caught the attention of some of the others. I don’t let her break the dance pose.
“Jill, I don’t even know what to say…”
“Forget it, Steve, it’s stupid.” She takes a beat, “Look the fact I was comfortable enough to tell you that says I trust you implicitly, right?”
“Comfortable enough to slip a knife in, yeah I guess…” We’re still in the dance pose. I sigh. “Did you at least enjoy our dance?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
I let go of her hand and bow then she curtsies.
That was weird. Where’s this coming from? The more I find out about these women, the less I want to find out about these women. Of course Radar O’Reilly Adriah picks up something is off.
I raise my hand, “Quick break outside to water some corn… be right back.”
I push the giant barn doors open and I hear the line music start. Once outside I just let out a sigh so big the Rhode Island weather systems probably register it. As I try to reset, the big red weathered barn door creaks open.
Jill sticks her head out. “Are we good?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I scoff. She slinks outside, her stride apprehensive, cautious.
She whispers, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know where all that came from. I do trust you or I wouldn’t be in the group. You gave me the Supergirl project. I say stupid things…”
Just then the barn door flies open and Kat flies out. “Where the hell is Steve?”
We both turn towards her, silent. Kat storms over to me and grabs the sides of my head.
She plants a massive wet kiss on my lips. Makes the kissing smack sound and pulls back.
I blink a few times.
She disappears as quickly as she appeared through the barn doors inside.
Jill looks at me. Jaw dropped.
Kat looks back through the crack in the barn door, “That didn’t happen!” She disappears.
Crickets.
Finally Jill slowly turns her head and looks at me, “What the fuck was THAT?”
I smile, “Oh,” I smile “some unfinished business…”
8 days 0 hour 15 minutes to Bet Deadline
Our story continues in part 46.
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