Page 98 of Space Oddities

As a former dancer, I can see the strength and coordination in her routine. She isn’t just standing there gyrating or shaking her rear, she hits the beats with high leg kicks, launches onto the pole at the chorus, then falls back into a swan spin and lands in a crouch at the guitar riff.

“She’s my new hero,” Rose whispers, eyes wide.

But the guys next to us don’t care. With the low waitstaff, I don’t think anyone’s been keeping track of how many drinks they’ve had. They’re so loud I can hear them more than the music.

“You said Angela teaches a class on this?” From Jules’ speculative expression I have a feeling a pink cow barn isn’t the only home decor request she’ll make of Holt. I never heard of a ranch house with a stripper pole, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Jules installed the first.

“I wanna take the class too.” Jackie rests her head on her hands, eyes full of wonder as if she’s viewing Christmas and not strobe lights. Just then Angela does an inverted matrix hold on the pole. Jackie blinks. “Do you think NASA would consider this high risk?”

Just like pro athletes, astronauts aren’t allowed to do unnecessarily dangerous things when scheduled for a flight to space. It could get them taken off rotation.

Jules and Jackie start debating whether or not NASA would consider pole dancing a high-risk activity.

Halfway through the song, the men next to us start jeering, not pleased that Angela hasn’t taken off more than just her white button-down blouse.

“Can it, assholes.” Rose gestures to the stage. “I’m watching a show here!”

“You call this a show?” One man waves a hand, the drink in it spilling over onto the stage floor. “Where are her tits?”

“Wow.” Jackie gapes. “I think we found the missing link.”

I’m pretty sure she thought she whispered that, but intoxicated Jackie doesn’t have volume control.

He slams his drink down on the stage, sloshing more onto the polished floor. “What you’d say, girl?”

He steps toward us, but my eyes are on the liquid trickling toward the pole. Angela’s high up in a dove pose, but inverts to slide down in a hands-free icon spin.

“Angela!” I call out, waving my arms, but she can’t hear me over the music or see me while she’s focused on her spin.

Rose jumps up in the drunk guy’s face, blocking Jackie from sight.

Worried about Angela, I hoist myself up on the stage, just as her heel touches down on the wet stage.

The platform heel slips out, Angela’s head falling back in a downward arc to the hard floor. Lunging, I manage to wrap my arms around her, turning us and breaking her fall. Her ass lands on my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. We lie there shocked and panting, staring up into the blinking lights.

Over the still blaring music, I hear Rose’s higher-pitched shout, along with the man’s deeper tone. Struggling to my elbows, I see my friends standing too close to the larger group of drunk, angry guys. Off to the right, one lone bouncer lumbers his way through the crowd while to the left, our waiter stands with his tray full of drinks, his shocked eyes bouncing from the stage to the bouncer to the fight. The rest of the crowd just stares.

After my adrenaline-pumping stripper save, I’m sober enough to worry about the police being called.

“What the hell is going on?” Angela stands, limping over to brace herself on the pole.

“Careful.” I get to my feet. “The stage is wet.”

She looks at the wet floor and the near empty drink sitting at the edge of the stage. “What idiot did that?”

“This idiot.” Rose points her finger at the drunk guy’s chest.

The man puffs out his chest, which is sadly still sunken even with his posturing. He sort of looks like a taller, older Joe Dirt without the mullet. “Who you calling idiot?”

“You,” Jackie says matter-of-factly. Standing behind Jules and Rose, she frowns at the man. “Was she not clear?”

Almost in slow motion I see the man raise his hand. Jackie’s eyes go wide, Jules’ arm goes up to block the hit, while Rose’s leg swings back like she’s going to kick a soccer ball.

My mind is silent as I run, leaping off the stage, hands out toward the man and his upraised arm. I grab his shoulders, swinging my body up and around him like I would a stripper pole.

In the chaos following my expertly timed shoulder mount tuck, strippers shriek, someone breaks a nail on someone’s nose, a tray of drinks crash, the bouncer finally makes it over, and in the not-too-far distance police sirens wail, all to the tune of Nelly’s “It’s Getting Hot in Here.”

The last thing I see before body glitter blinds me is Rose kicking the guy in the nuts, sending us both to the floor.

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