The women seated around us laughed.
The pink-haired lady, who looked to be around seventy, tucked my phone into the pocket of her flower-patterned dress, and strode up to the front of the meeting room.
“He’s not texting you. You wouldn’t be here if he was. It’s Sunday, and you’d be doing the crossword together in bed.”
A lady near me sighed.
The pink-haired lady continued, “My name is Dottie Simpkins, I’m seventy-two, and I drive a convertible with a bumper sticker that says ‘If the sun’s up, the top’s down.’ I’ve been married six times, and if you take all my advice today, I guarantee you can cut that number in half, minimum.” She stepped up to an easel that held a number of poster-sized cards and flipped over the front one to reveal a drawing of a mermaid. “Lesson One. Keeping your legs together.”
I turned to look at Shayla, my expression asking her what the f**kity-fuck she’d gotten us into. She batted her dark eyelashes at me, her gold eyes amused.
I whispered, “You’re the worst.”
Dottie snapped her fingers. “Young lady! You, in the turquoise. Thank you for speaking during the session and thereby volunteering to do the demonstration.” She clapped her hands together. “Up, up. Up from your chair and join me here. You seem like the type who learns better by doing than by being shown.”
I scowled at Shayla as I shuffled past, giving her my best you’re-dead-to-me look.
Dottie pushed one strand of cotton-candy-pink hair behind her ear and stared at my legs as I walked up.
Nodding, she said, “You probably don’t like the feeling of your thighs rubbing together, do you? You walk like a cowboy.”
I put my hands on my hips, my face flushing hot with embarrassment. “Maybe I have dry skin and I wouldn’t want to catch myself on fire.”
The group of ladies seated—about two dozen, most of them well over forty—laughed at my comment. At this, Dottie seemed to relax, giving me a wink and a smile that made me feel pretty. I’d heard about the woman before, from another class Shayla had attended, and now I could see what she meant about Dottie’s terrifying yet magnetic personality.
“Let’s all stand for this,” Dottie said.
The women set their purses on the chairs and we formed a standing circle in the open half of the room.
She continued, her words still like bells, but running together now like an entrancing melody. “Ladies, stretch your bodies up tall and shift your weight over your heels where it’s supposed to be. Relax your toes and let them be light as air, light as little helium balloons. If a sheet of paper could slide under your toes, you’re doing it right. Now, I want you to close your eyes and own the ground beneath you.”
In the silence that followed, the chatty part of my brain started up a monologue. This is my ground, my space. You don’t shush me, Dalton Deangelo. Nobody shushes me on my ground.
“Encourage your chattering mind to be still,” Dottie said, as if she’d been reading my thoughts. “Keep standing and owning your ground. Keep your toes light and your spirit will soar. Here’s another thought: Be yourself, because everyone else is taken. Fat or thin, be your wild, wonderful, unique self. Now when you’re ready, I’d like you to gently open your eyes and take a look around, not at the carpet in this room or the furniture, but at what matters. Have a look at the people around you, and all of their beautiful faces. Our lives are all different, yet we share in this tapestry of life. Fate has tugged on each of our threads today, and here we are together. Why? Because it was meant to be. Now gently open your eyes and look around at the beauty and collective wisdom in this room.”
I opened my eyes and beheld the woman standing across from me. She looked surprised, her eyes wide open, taking everything in as though for the very first time. Her hair was long, thick, and a mix of white and silver. She offered me a smile, and there was such kindness, it made my own eyes sting with a flush of grateful tears at the ready.
Blinking, I looked to the next woman, who was as round and short as the previous one was tall and thin. She had short, spiked hair, dyed red, and seemingly endless piercings in her earlobes, nose, lips, and eyebrows.
Dottie gently urged us to keep looking around the room, silently greeting each other. I recognized several of the women as regular customers at the bookstore, which made sense, as we do sell a number of self-help books.
The third woman I looked at was my third grade teacher, Mrs. Chan. She was a little older now, but her hair was still pure black and swept up in the bun I remembered. I enjoyed the look on her face as it scrunched up, puzzled, then relaxed into a smile as she placed where she knew me from. The woman next to her had to be her daughter, with the same round face and brown eyes.
Except for the mother and daughter duo, Dottie was certainly right about every woman in the group being completely unique.
Dottie gently called our attention back to herself and repeated, “Be yourself, because everyone else is taken. Every one of us is a role model. We just don’t know yet for whom.”
I was nodding before she finished her sentence.
The rest of the workshop was quite the experience, and not at all what I’d expected.
Charm, as Dottie explained it, is a combination of using your feminine charms and embracing your individuality. To draw a man to you, you stand or sit in such a way that one toe points at him. That should lure him in, bringing him over with an offer to dance or buy you a drink. Then, when you’ve got him near your claws (ha ha, I mean hands), you gaze up at him like he’s a strawberry sundae while discreetly stroking the parts of your body you want to draw attention to.
When we got to that part of the workshop, I raised my hand and said, “What part do I rub to draw attention to my brains?”
Dottie didn’t miss a beat. She said, “Honey, it’s not a job interview, so I suggest you go with the boobs,” and moved on to the next question.
Shayla scrunched her face at me. “Smartass.”
“Hey. Smartass is who I am. I’m an original.”
Dottie squealed and grabbed me in a spontaneous hug. “You’re doing so well!”
Over her shoulder, I stuck my tongue out at Shayla.
She mouthed the words teacher’s pet.
~
I left the workshop feeling more confused than ever. Three hours of being told to be yourself but also act in specific, manipulative ways will do that to you.
Shayla was trailing behind me on the walk back to her Rav.