a bathroom brawl while on a date with steve martin

i was dressed up swank. a long, tapered-fit, slinky, silk-type skirt in a deep orange-y red, with a matching high-collared, short-sleeved top in an asian sort of fashion. i held a cream coloured lightweight button up sweater folded against the crook of one arm, and in my other hand, a small, black vinyl pocketbook. we were standing in line, waiting for a train that would take us to a special, intimate performance of some modern existentialist play in downtown los angeles. i chatted with my friends (none of whom i recognize) in a very sophisticated way. i was first in line at the turnstile, but we were stuck waiting to get through for quite a while. at some point i turned and surveyed the crowd and was very surprised to see steve martin standing just a few people behind me. he looked dashing in a cream coloured linen suit and black shirt with no tie; and was smiling his big doofy smile and laughing with his date. she was small, short, with huge soft blonde curly hair and big blue doe eyes. i suddenly felt exceedingly self concious and when he made eye contact with me, i looked down and turned away rapidly.

finally the train arrived and we all stepped in and i lost sight of him. i sat very primly on the edge of my seat but was all too aware of my fat body. i felt i could not look dignified or beautiful no matter how hard i tried. i felt slouchy and ashamed.

when we arrived at the playhouse, we were all immediately seated because the train had been running late and the performers were anxious to get on with the show. you can imagine my surprise when i found myself in a seat with the aisle to my left and steve martin to my right. his date was next to him. i smiled self-conciously at him and he smiled back and i felt this instant warm rapport with him. the show started and the theatre fell silent while the actors began speaking and moving on the stage.

there were some very funny moments during the show, and i was laughing heartily, and so was steve martin, but no one else around us was. at one point when i giggled, a middle aged woman turned around and hissed at me! steve and i apologized quietly and gave each other a look, like we were in cahoots. his date was not impressed either and wouldn't look at him. i could feel the air between them shift and his affections were now focused on me. i felt suddenly flirty and happy and beautiful. until the stool i was sitting on began to bend and buckle under my weight. i started to topple backwards and grabbed steve martin's knee to try and remain upright. he was a little surpised at how forward i was being but did not try to remove my hand, he just smiled sideways at me. i tried to support most of my weight with my legs and sort of hover my ass over the stool, but that didn't work, i wasn't strong enough. to avoid the embarassment of the stool completely crumbling under my large ass, i gathered up my things, whispered to steve martin that i wasn't feeling well and i'd be back, and then found my way out of the theater to the bathroom.

somehow, my elegant sweater with the tiny pearlized buttons and shiny vinyl handbag had multiplied and i found myself carrying an armload of dirty laundry into the bathroom. i locked myself into a stall and dropped the stinky pile of clothes onto the floor while i squatted down onto the toilet. there were a few other people in there, and i peered out through the crack between the door and stall wall to see that two young men had come in, dressed like hippies, obviously stoned and laughing. for a moment, they paused in front of the mirrors and had a giggle. then one of them turned and noticed some of my dirty laundry on the floor. he bent over, picked up a pair of my underwear, and made an ugly face. "ew," he said. "oh fuckin' gross," the other one said.

"hey!" i shouted from behind the closed door, "put that down!"

"ewwww," the first one said, picking up a second pair of my panties, "ewww, lady, are these yours? your pussy stinks!"

"shut the fuck up!" i screamed, "put those down, you fucks!"

they continued laughing and mocking my dirty underwear and i was gripped with this blind rage. rage over the stool bending under my weight, rage over my shame and it's ability to make me abandon exciting prospects, rage over these boys mocking me. i burst out of the bathroom stall and tackled one of them. we fell to the floor and i began punching him in the face repeatedly. he didn't fight back very hard and was knocked out in just a few blows. the second one tried to run past us to get out the door but i tripped him by grabbing one of his legs and he fell and hit the tile hard. that wasn't enough for me, though. i picked him up by his ankles and swung him around and cracked his head against the line of mirrors. he fell silent against the floor next to his friend. two women who had been adjusting their make up in the mirrors just looked at me in shocked silence. i gathered up my dirty laundry, my purse, and my sweater, and went back into the theater to talk to steve martin.

"hey," he whispered as i approached him, "an usher came and replaced your stool...the top part was broken and the casters on the legs were faulty. he apologized profusely. have a seat." he patted the stool and helped me place my things on the floor. so the stool hadn't been bending under my weight. it had been broken to begin with. steve martin grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. "sharon left," he whispered into my ear, cocking his head at the empty seat next to him, "she wasn't having a good time."

"oh," i whispered back, thinking about my dirty laundry and the bleeding boys in the bathroom, "well. i'm having a great time." we smiled at one another and he left a kiss near my temple.

last night in my dreams i recieved a big box of brand new stuff in the mail. a set of beautiful blue ceramic dishes. brand new blue bedding. a pair of knee-high vinyl lace-up blue boots without much of a heel. i sat on my freshly made bed and did up the boots slowly, pulling the laces taut, making the vinyl creak and running my hands up and down their slick sides. i went downstairs naked but for the boots, and served myself a huge pile of vietnamese salad rolls stuffed with vermicelli and tofu and vegetables and dipped in hoison sauce, all off my thick blue plates.

it was such a good dream.