Free A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body by Lauren Weedman Page B

harder and harder for anyone to be emotionally naked?”
    Rick laughs like I’ve told a joke, then calls out to the group of midriff-baring women, “Hey, you guys!” And they all turn and run in our direction, like in a nightmare, clicking their way toward us in wobbly stilettos, calling out Rick’s name, and refusing to look in my direction.
    Inside, Daisy Von Crazy is drinking her birthday drink (a Screaming Bloody Orgasm on the Beach) out of a giant straw shaped like a penis and telling us about an audition she’s just had to be the naked weather girl on the Playboy channel. I ask if they are hiring any news correspondents, and she gets mad and asks the crew of women around her, “Is she making fun of me? Is she?”
    Everybody is so physically exposed, with their miniskirts and push-up-bra tank tops, that trying to talk about anything other than how great their bodies look is impossible. It’s like trying to eat dinner while a porno is on.
    The deepest conversation I fall into is with Daisy Von Crazy’s best friend, Beth. Beth comes right up to me and says, “I like you. Let me tell you something—you’re a strong woman. I can tell. I’m a strong woman too. I like you.”
    â€œYou just think I’m a strong woman because my voice is low and you saw me benching 200 in the bathroom,” I say.
    Daisy Von Crazy overhears me and yells to Beth, “She’s making fun of you!”

    But Beth ignores her and leans in close to me. “Listen to me! Strong women have to stick together. I mean, I walk in a room and women hate me. For these right here!” She grabs her fake breasts in her hands and shakes them at me.
    â€œThose?” I say. “They seem perfectly friendly.”
    â€œAre you making fun of me?” she asks.
    â€œAbsolutely not. Listen, people hate me for this up here,” I say, pointing to my head.
    Her eyes light up. “Oh my god, I know! And mine is natural!”
    Seeing how we’re kindred spirits, I try to talk to Beth about my divorce, but I’m interrupted by her screaming in my face.
    â€œOh yeah, this is my cut!” she shouts, bopping her head to the song the DJ just put on. She grabs my hand and leads me to a tiny dance floor and starts grinding up against me. Soon we’re surrounded by men and women, all grinding and groping away. Fake breasts are bouncing off me at all angles, and belly button rings are threatening to snag my full-coverage knit top. Every time an anonymous hand lands on me, I grab it and follow the arm up to see who it belongs to so I can make eye contact and tell them, “NO! No touching!”
    At one point a man locks in on me and motions for me to lean in so he can tell me a secret. I put my ear to his mouth and he screams, “Let’s see that ass of yours!”
    I motion him forward so I can scream back in his ear, “You mean just pull my pants down and show you?”

    He raises his eyebrows and very slowly nods his head.
    â€œI WAS KIDDING!” I yell back.
    He motions me back in again. “Flip your hair!” he encourages.
    I yell that I’m not a prostitute and go to find Rick to ask him if knows that guy. He does and he loves him.
    â€œHe’s lecherous and stuff, but a really, really sweet guy,” he says.
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    In the car on the way home, I tell Rick how different his group of people is from “my people.” He doesn’t understand exactly what I mean, so I have to tell him that I don’t know anybody else who works in porno. As far as I know.
    â€œThey aren’t porno people!” he says. “This is just California. It’s warmer here, people dress differently.” He flashes his capped-teeth smile at me and reaches across the stick shift and grabs my leg, and I let him.
    I tell him about what Beth said to me, and he laughs and enjoys my replay of the evening. So much so that he invites me to come over to