Free Revue by K.M. Golland

arsehole.”
    “It’s summer.”
    “The air con is on.”
    “You want me.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Yeah, you do.” He stood up and invaded my personal space. I tried to step back, but his hand held me pressed to his side. “Your cute little cunt is pulsing, isn’t it?”
    “You’re such a rude prick,” I whispered, smiling mildly toward Matt who was glancing in our direction, concern on his face.
    Josh, too, joined the pretence and smiled before taking my camera in his hand. “You take selfies with this?”
    I turned and glared at him, knowing where he was going with it. “I can, but I don’t.”
    “Pity. Your pussy in a picture frame would look nice on my bedside table.”
    Snatching my camera from his hands, I headed for the door. I was a big girl and could hold my own, but even I needed a reprieve from someone like Josh. His words were so crude, yet they also lit a fuse within. I’d never been spoken to in the way he spoke to me, and I didn’t want to admit that I liked it.
    As I grabbed the handle, turning it to exit the room, Matt’s voice sounded loud and clear. “Bugs, a word. NOW!”
     
    ***
     
    The room was buzzing with excitement, women of varying ages seated around tables covered in white damask cloth. Wild Nights Revue promo posters and banners adorned the walls, and waiters and waitresses rushed about, clearing the last of the plates from the dinner service. There were grandmas, near-naked skanks, shy wing-women, and brides-to-be wearing novelty veils covered in flashing lights. And I could honestly say that, outside of a beach or swimming pool, I’d never seen such little clothing on women. Holy shit! I think that chick’s vagina just ate her shorts! And, love, a good part of the front of your dress is missing. You may want to search for it.
    I almost swivelled on the spot in an attempt to try and search for it but, instead biting back my astonished smile as I approached a table of women, the discussion they were having centred solely on the guys. “Last year, Matt chose me to go on the stage. God, I hope he chooses me again. I’ll just die if he doesn’t.”
    “I’d rather ride Brad’s surfboard,” another said, dreamily.
    They all laughed.
    “Excuse me,” I interrupted, gaining their attention. “I’m the revue’s official photographer. Do you mind if a take a couple of photos for possible promotion?”
    Squeals pierced my ears.
    “Of course not. Will they be online?” one of them asked.
    “Quite possibly, yes.”
    “Oh my God! How’s my makeup? Does someone have a compact mirror? Please tell me someone has a compact.”
    “Just use the selfie-camera on our phone. That’s what I do,” her friend offered.
    Suddenly, six of the women pulled out their phones and inspected their appearance, a couple of them even taking the chance to touch up their lipstick and pucker their lips in a kiss expression.
    I nearly gagged … on the vanity-inspired vomit that rose up my throat.
    “Quickly, ladies, you all look gorgeous. Trust me.” I didn’t have all fucking day to stand there while they plastered on superficiality. Sure, I got that they all wanted to look nice for the picture, but there’s nice then there’s going overboard nice. These ladies were definitely going overboard.
    “Okay, hmm … how will I get you all in the frame?” Turning, I dragged a spare chair from the table behind me and stood on it, selecting the wide-angle view feature of my camera.
    “Awesome! Above photos are much more flattering,” one of them stated.
    I faux-smiled my recognition to her. “Okay, one two three, smile!”
    Duckface. City.
    … I shit you not.
    If I’d had a loaf of bread handy I would’ve broken off pieces and tossed them in their general direction. Pursed lips had never looked so … pursed.
    Assessing the photo on my screen, it took all of my inner strength and willpower not to burst into giggles. “Excellent! Thank you, ladies.” I jumped down from the chair. “Have