Claire LaZebnik - Knitting Under the Influence

“They're platforms,” Lucy said. “They don't count.”

“I’m like four inches taller.”

“Which brings you into normal range,” Kathleen said. “Almost.” She was back, now wearing her flip-flops and carrying a box.

“You getting them?” Lucy gestured to the shoe box.

“Uh-huh. I’ll wear them out with Kevin tonight. So he'll forget to be mad that I stood him up this afternoon. Not that he ever gets mad, come to think of it. Those are total fuck-me boots, Sari. I love them.”

“I can't wear fuck-me boots to a kids Halloween party,” Sari moaned.

“Shut up,” Lucy said to Kathleen. “Now you've got her all worried. They're not fuck-me boots, Sari. They're-” She groped.

“Trick-or-treat boots?” Kathleen suggested.

“Exactly! Trick-or-treat boots. They're made for Halloween.”

“More treat than trick for the older boys,” Kathleen said.

“Shut up,” Lucy said. “You're going to ruin everything.”

“What are you guys trying to do to me?” Sari said. “Between these and the warrior costume-”

“You'll be the hottest therapist in town. As you should be.” Lucy bent down and pushed at the toe of one of the boots. “Do they fit okay?”

“I guess. They're slightly big. Wearable. But, guys-”

“We're getting them. I’m paying.”

“Kathleen, don't you think-?”

“They're adorable. You'll get a ton of wear out of them. Do you have any short skirts? I mean, other than the Xena thing? Because that's what they're made for.”

“I don't wear stuff like that. You guys know that.”

Kathleen looked at Lucy. “Next stop, Anthropologie.”

By the time they were done with her, Sari had several new outfits in addition to the costume. Lucy paid for the boots, and, at the clothing store, Kathleen picked out two extremely short skirts, a pair of super-tight, super-low jeans, and a bunch of skimpy tank tops-all for Sari.

“This is fun,” Kathleen said, as she poked through the extra-small sizes. “Like dressing a doll.” She pulled out her own credit card at the cashier, and Sari protested, but Kathleen said, “If I pay for them, I know you'll feel guilty if you don't actually wear them. Sari, you can't sit around complaining about the lack of great guys in your life when you're not even making the slightest effort to get noticed. It's time to show them what you've got.”

“But I can't wear this stuff to work.”

“Why not?”

“I run around with kids all day long. I mean, I literally run around with them.”

“So learn to run in a miniskirt,” Kathleen said. “You'll never regret it.”

They walked back up Wilshire to the car, where Lucy crossed her arms and refused to unlock the doors until Sari promised-swore on her grandmother's grave-that she would wear the warrior princess costume to the Halloween party at the clinic. “There is no backing out now,” Lucy said once that was settled.“Or wearing long underwear underneath,” Kathleen said.

“Or a sweatshirt over it.”

“All right, all right, I promise,” Sari said. “And if I get laughed out of the clinic, I’ll know who to blame.”

“Blame Lucy,” Kathleen said. “She's the bossy one.”

It was Halloween. “Please,” Sari said into the phone. “Please release me from my promise. You have to. It's worse than I remembered. It's like my boobs are being served up on a platter.”

“That's very poetic,” Lucy said.

“Seriously.”

“You have to wear it. You promised.”

“I was drunk when I promised. That doesn't count.”

“You swore on your grandmother's grave. And you weren't drunk anymore.”

“Please, Lucy. If I wear this tonight-”

“Stop being such a coward. If not now, when?”

After Sari hung up, she looked at herself in the mirror again. The skirt seemed much shorter with the boots on, and the tight bodice shoved her breasts up so high they looked like refugees from an Edwardian brothel. The only good news was that the kids wouldn't notice-sometimes the fact that kids with autism could be oblivious to so much came in handy.

She rubbed some hair gel between her palms-she had bought it a couple of years ago when the woman who cut her hair had insisted but usually was in too much of a rush out the door to bother with it-and raked her fingers through her hair so it fell into choppy pieces, like Kathleen had told her to. She had to admit it did suit the warrior princess look. And, having committed herself that far, she felt obliged to search through the makeup she almost never wore for a dark pencil to outline her eyes and a bronzer, which she put on her eyelids and cheeks. She looked… defined. Her large blue eyes had become exotic and mysterious with the kohl around them.

She flexed her arm muscles in front of the mirror. “I am Xena,” she said out loud. Didn't Xena have a sound she made? Like a “ki-ki-ki-ki-ki” kind of thing? Sari said, “Ki-ki-ki-ki” and stopped, because she felt like an idiot.

“I’m not Xena,” she told the mirror. “Not even close.”

“Whoa, baby,” Christopher said when she came walking into the clinic's reception area. He was wearing a UCLA football uniform. “Wish you'd wear that around here more often.” He nudged Shayda, who was sitting next to him, sorting candy bars into big bowls, wearing a black pirate's hat. “Hey, Shade-look at Sari.”

“No, don't look at Sari,” Sari said. She hugged her arms over her chest. “Sari's hideously embarrassed. My friends made me wear this.”

Shayda glanced indifferently at Sari, then turned to Christopher. “’Whoa, baby?” she repeated. “That sounded really sexual harassment-y.”

“Sari knew I was joking.”

“I’m just saying you should be more careful. People get sued over stuff like that.”

Christopher rolled his eyes at Sari and tore open a package of M &M’s, which he poured straight into his mouth.

As they all prepared the rooms for the imminent onslaught of kids and families, Sari continued to tell anyone who commented on her costume that she had been forced to wear it and that she found it embarrassing.

When she said that to Ellen, Ellen waved her hand dismissively and said, “You look great. I don't see what the problem is.”

“Don't you think it's inappropriate?” Sari said. “Come on, Ellen, you're the boss here. Don't you think you should send me home to change? Because I could be there and back in ten minutes. Please tell me to go home and change.”

“Actually, I think you should dress like this more often.”

“Why?” Sari said. “You planning to turn this place into a clinic-slash-whorehouse?”

“Hmm,” Ellen said. “That's not a bad idea. We could use the extra money.” She grinned. “Come on, Sari, lighten up. The outfit's really not that bad, you know. I mean, look at Liza-” She pointed. Liza was walking down the hallway in a body-hugging black unitard. She wore a headband with black velvet ears sticking up. “Her outfit's a lot racier than yours, and you don't hear her worrying about it.”

“She's a black cat,” Sari said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can't believe she went with the obvious choice.”

“The point is, relax. And worry about the kids, not about how you look.” Ellen walked away.

Sari made a face at her retreating back. Of course Ellen would see nothing wrong with Sari's costume-Ellen herself was dressed as a belly dancer with a fringy top that revealed a large expanse of soft white belly and an even larger expanse of mountainous décolletage.

As the kids started arriving, the clinicians all took up their prearranged positions. Every office and playroom in the clinic was set up like its own little “house”-the kids would knock on the room door, the therapist would open it, and whoever was with the kid would prompt him to say, “Trick-or-Treat,” and then the therapist would compliment the kid and give him candy.