The Festival

Carlos finished and turned off the compressor. He stood back admiring his work.

"Oh my," Sandra said, staring at my chest. I moved quickly to the mirror. Carlos had created a pair of beautiful eyes using my small breasts as the center of each. Seductive eyes over a partial rendition of a soft nose, mostly just the bridge. Soft eyebrows, sensual lashes. I didn't know how comfortable I was walking around with eyes.

"Eyes!" I said, some of my apprehension coming through.

"Honey, those are your eyes," Kendra said smiling. Can't be. My eyes aren't that sexy.

"You should sign that one," the woman yelled from the front of the store. I looked at my eyes then back at my chest. I couldn't see them at the same time. I looked desperately at Sandra.

"They're beautiful," Sandra sighed. She wanted my eyes; I wanted her bouquet. I turned sideways to the mirror. My green irises protruded slightly from my chest. It was a surreal vision as I turned back. Unblinking bedroom eyes.

"May I sign it?" Carlos asked. The woman came in from the front of the store.

"He doesn't sign many," the woman said as way of a compliment, "he only shows off his best." Some of my reservations were flying away. Somehow the signature made me feel better about it. My eyes aren't that pretty.

"Okay," I smiled. I moved back to the canvas. I saw a small spark of jealousy from Sandra and I liked my eyes even more. Carlos fired up the compressor again and a minute later I had Carlos H signed in the lower left, just above the pants line. It was then I realized I wouldn't be fending off unwanted advances from Carlos. His interest was strictly art. He was giving me a sly smile as he winked and put his hand around his wife. Art and teasing. I smiled brightly back.

We left after our sealing coats dried. Sandra and Kendra walked out of the shop boldly topless. I stalled for a moment, glancing through the windows. People were everywhere. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and followed. When my eyes opened to the afternoon sun, the world did not end. Sandra and Kendra were waiting with horribly teasing smiles. I laughed, a topless laugh that moved more parts than had moved in public before. They created a spot between themselves, a place they knew I would want. Unnecessary fear needed a fearless buffer. I quickly filled in the slot, absorbing their strength.

We owned the sidewalk. I went from embarrassed to willful exhibitionist in the space of two blocks. It was freeing. People I didn't know, and would never see again, gawked with wide eyes. Men with plastered smiles, women with a mix of shock and envy. We passed other painted people. Few had works of Carlos's caliber. Pride cloaked me. I tugged my shorts slightly lower to better emphasize the signature.

"May I?" an older gentleman asked. He was pointing at his camera. I was in a euphoric haze and answered yes before Sandra and Kendra even processed the request. I dropped my bag, wrapped my hands around Sandra's and Kendra's waists. A second later, we were digitally frozen with silly smiles.

"That's going to find the Internet," Sandra said, poking me in the side. I hadn't thought of that. I shoved it aside. I wasn't going to let the future ruin today. Besides, it wasn't exactly illegal. At least I didn't think it was. They would have to arrest half of Key West if it was.

"Then we're going to need more drinks," I announced. Kendra laughed. We continued to the beach house to drop our extraneous clothing and packages from the morning of light shopping. I spent some time in the bathroom straightening my hair and fixing up around my eyes - the real ones. I was anxious to get back out again and show off. I wasn't quite sure why I enjoyed it so much. It wasn't a sexual feeling, more a sense of power. I felt stronger inside and I liked it. Timothy Griffin be damned.

We headed out again with the goal to find food and drink. There was no hesitation this time. I was out the door first and no longer needed to be between Kendra and Sandra. We bounced our way down the street. We posed for more pictures, dodged some seedy requests and laughed. The crowds slowly increased as we neared Duval Street. We were not as unique as I had first thought. No matter, I was wearing a Carlos original. At least I was impressed with myself.

We were able to squeeze into a patio bar. It was a timing thing. One couple left, and we just sort of slid in. It didn't look like we would be able to get in for a sit-down dinner. The whole world had shown up sometime after lunch. We feasted on appetizers washed down with frozen margaritas. There was guy behind the bar who was doing nothing but margaritas. They disappeared as fast as he could crank them out. One hell of a party.

"That's beautiful," a man dressed in some kind of Great Gatsby getup said. Black shirt, fat white tie and topped off with a white fedora trimmed in black. His eyes were directly on my breasts. The margaritas were strong. I arched to display my second set of eyes better. "Carlos signed it?"

"Yes," I said proudly, thrusting the signature out. He was kind of margarita cute. "It's an original."

"You should be out on the street," the man commented, waving his hand along the avenue, "the world needs to see it before it disappears." He looked up into my eyes, "Carlos sure knows how to paint." He had a kind smile.

"I'm Sandra," Sandra said. Big sister to the rescue. I wasn't sure I wanted to be rescued. "And you are?"

"Doug...Doug Fuller," he answered. His eyes moved to Sandra's chest then widened on Kendra's. Kendra laughed at the attention. Doug flushed and tried desperately to keep his eyes up.

"This is Victoria and Kendra," Sandra said, making Doug fully aware I was not alone. I wasn't sure I needed the protection. I knew I didn't need Kendra's breasts butting in.

"These are all Carlos's work?" Doug asked. His eyes once more surveying the art. It was a license to stare at our tits.

"Yes, they are," Kendra replied. She raised her glass and sucked up some of the green slush into her mouth.

"Simply beautiful," Doug repeated, "you interested in being in the parade?"

"Hell yes," I answered loudly. I couldn't believe it came out of my mouth. A few hours ago I would never have considered it. Now all I wanted to do is show off. I wanted to be in the center of the party. I felt Sandra elbow me lightly. I was moving too fast for her. I relished the change.

"There is a float that follows mine," Doug continued, "they are doing a beaded skirt thing. Sort of a surreal luau with painted ladies. They would take you in a heartbeat. You'd have to hula for a few miles."

"We didn't bring our beaded skirts," Sandra said. She wasn't smiling. Kendra seemed indifferent.

"They have a trunk full of them," Doug argued, "they're just plastic that glow in the lighting."

"They sound lovely," I responded, maneuvering in front of Sandra. Doug smiled.

"You've had too much to drink," Sandra whispered into my ear. She tried to pull me back, away from Doug. I set my weight and stayed where I was. "Help me," Sandra pleaded with Kendra.

"This was all your idea," I lashed out at Sandra, "and now you're the one with cold feet. I want to ride on the float." I liked being the outgoing one for once. There was a power in it.

"Not a good idea," Kendra added from behind Sandra, "you sure you want to go that public?" One thing about alcohol, it doesn't have a strong understanding of the concept of tomorrow. Today, people wanted to check me out. I loved the attention. Half the city was half naked. I wasn't even close to the most brazen.

"You're not coming?" I asked Kendra. I had already decided, and Sandra was obviously a party pooper.

"You can't," Sandra jumped back in. She grabbed my hand and turned me toward her. "This was a silly idea, just for a laugh. You get on the float and half the world is going to see you and they'll tell the other half." I ripped my hand from her grasp.

"I can and I will," I said stubbornly. I was tired of people telling me what to do. Twelve months of Timothy Griffin had taken its toll. The tequila was surging courage through my veins. "Let's go," I said brightly to Doug. He took my hand and led me through the growing crowd. I heard the tail end of a desperate plea from Sandra. I turned back to see neither following me. I smiled. Who's the chicken now?

I pulled up next to Doug as we walked. I didn't like him pulling me along. A few steps more, and I was leading him through the crowds. He pointed once in a while to keep me going in the right direction. Other than that, I was leader, the driving force. It was exhilarating not to follow. This was exactly where I wanted to be - in front. I smiled back at Doug and increased my pace. He followed willingly - yes, he followed me.

The float was as surreal as Doug had said. Neon palm trees, glowing with internal light, growing out of tiered platforms covered in bushes constructed of many different colors of flowers. Anywhere else, the term garish would apply. Here, it was wonderful.

Tammy, the float's organizer seemed excited to have another rider. Carlos, it seems, had a cult following. His signature bought me a lot of goodwill. I was given a skirt constructed of strings of red beads that glowed in the hidden black lights that bathed the platforms. Like the flowers, each girl had a different color. The artwork on the other girls was as amazing as mine. I was one of two who hadn't had her face done, which made me slightly jealous. We practiced a simple synchronized hula routine which was more sexy than correct. Tammy was leading us through the choreography, her wide hips doing a much better job than my slender ones would allow.

While we waited for the parade to begin, we partied. The whole parade was one big party. Doug and his similarly-dressed bros brought over jugs of cocktails. I no longer had any idea what I was drinking. It was all camouflaged so well with sugar. Knowing my tolerance, I slowed, but didn't stop. For some reason, the strength I was feeling gave me power over the booze. Tammy, obviously, was of a different opinion. About fifteen minutes before our float began to move, she handed me a bottle of water. My glass of whatever-it-was mysteriously disappeared while I was opening the water. It didn't matter, I didn't need the liquid courage anymore. I was invincible.

The parade was glorious. I couldn't remember when I had had a better time. My glowing skirt, my painted chest and all the cameras flashing. I should have been in theater. I was right at home on my traveling stage, swinging my neon skirt in sync with the others. Tammy had told us to smile, a useless request. I couldn't not smile if I had wanted to. Deep down, I knew the cheers and applause were for the float as a whole. On the surface, I felt it as private adulation. I was disappointed when the parade ended. I wanted my audience back.

"Was it all you hoped for?" Doug had come up behind me as I was handing in my skirt of beads.

"That and more!" I smiled. "I am so glad I ran into you today." I handed my skirt to Tammy who thanked me sincerely for participating.

"The night is just starting," Doug said, "a bunch of us are going to a beach bash - should run until the sun comes up." He looked younger suddenly. I felt older. I don't do all-night parties anymore. The booze began to weigh heavier on my mind.

"Not for me," I said warmly, "I have to catch up with my friends."

"Those losers?" Doug continued, "come on, join me. I'll show you all that Key West has to offer."

"Not tonight," I replied. I really disliked having to say no twice. Doug surprised me by taking my hand.

"There's no 'no' on fest night," Doug said, walking backwards, pulling me along as if I were a dog. I snatched my hand out of his.

"I said no!" My voice was louder than I intended and some people turned. Doug's eyes shifted around the crowd then back to mine.

"Look, you owe me," Doug said, his face no longer held a smile. Where was my big sister? He somehow got hold of my arm.

"Let me go!" I cried out, this time I meant it to be loud. A tall guy in the same kind of Gatsby dress as Doug broke through the crowd. Fear shivered about my skin. I took a step back, feeling highly outnumbered. The tall guy grabbed Doug's arm and freed me.

"He's drunk," the guy said, "put a shirt on and get out of here." He gestured with his head off toward the main street. I moved quickly. Put a shirt on? Now I felt naked. I didn't have a shirt. I no longer liked the looks people were giving me. Behind all the eyes, I saw the word slut. I moved quickly, I needed Sandra and Kendra. Why did I ever leave them?

"Bitch!" Doug shouted. I moved quicker - shame and fear pushing me along.

It took me a long time to return to the patio bar where I left Sandra and Kendra. Panic set in when they weren't there. Not that I expected them to be after I ditched them. I wanted them to be there. I leaned against a wall and pulled out my phone. People passed, my shoulders hunched, arms and elbows covering myself as much as possible. I sent a text.

help

I waited as the alcohol began to wear me down. Doug had slaughtered my courage, and I was replacing it with shame. Nothing had changed but me.

where r u

Sandra responded quickly. My heart lifted at her text.

same patio bar

stay - 5 mins

I nearly cried. The day came slamming back on me. I wasn't strong. Doug thought I was weak. I hated not being strong. I was on a float, topless, challenging the world and now I was trying to hide my painted breasts. I wallowed until I saw Sandra and Kendra jogging toward me. Then I did cry.

Sandra handed me a t-shirt; they were both covered as well. I tried to speak, but shame kept me silent. I didn't know how to apologize to myself, much less them. They hugged me.

"I'm sorry I didn't go with you," Sandra apologized.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen," I slobbered.

"Let's get our sorry asses back to the house," Kendra added. I nodded and walked between Sandra and Kendra. I needed them there. I loved them both, which was good because I currently had a very low opinion of men, especially one wearing a fedora.

The next morning was hard. The coffee machine was too noisy, and my stomach wasn't happy to be alive. It took the better part of three hours before I could handle solid food comfortably. I didn't receive the I-told-you-sos I deserved. Just friendship and a mutual hate of men in fedoras. We spent the afternoon on the beach sipping iced tea. Between the waves and the sun, I was feeling worlds better.

The rest of the week passed in virtual harmony. We went sightseeing, walked the beach and ran up our credit cards shopping for stuff we really didn't need. My brief moment with Doug had been forgotten, and only the pending return to Timothy Griffin weighed heavy. I let it slip to the back of my mind as we enjoyed our last sunset in Key West. Just the three of us, a bottle of wine and a hundred million colors reflecting off the gulf. A picture just wouldn't do it justice so we just greedily memorized it. Not to be shared with anyone else. My new bikini never did see the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

Monday I was back in hell. I arrived at EL Corcoran Brokerage fifteen minutes early. I had no desire to be late. Mr. Griffin would have a week's worth of stored anger to throw my way, and I would prefer I didn't get it all Monday morning. I was surprised to find Frank, my temporary replacement, sitting at my desk. He looked incredibly nervous, and nearly burst when he saw me.

"He's not happy," Frank started. Not even a hello, how was your vacation. "I screwed up his calendar somehow and ended up with two overlapping meetings. I was supposed to call this account." He held up a notepad with a number written on it, "and cancel his Tuesday appointment. I don't know whose account it is and there is nothing scheduled on Tuesday." I saw the panic in his eyes. He wanted out. "He also wanted last month's numbers, what the hell are those?"

"Didn't you asked him?" I smiled.

"I asked him one question on the first day," Frank replied, "I'm never doing that again. That's everything - I think. Oh, wait - pick up dry cleaning. I was supposed to do that Friday, but I didn't know which dry cleaner - he didn't give me any receipts." I smiled again. Maybe a week of Frank would lessen my inevitable admonishments. At least I was used to Griffin's tirades and suffered through the necessary questions.

"I'll take it from here, Frank," I said calmly. A week on the beach had done some good.

"Thanks," Frank moved quickly to the door, trying to leave before Griffin arrived. He turned as he exited, "Oh, and welcome back." I gave him a gentle wave and my smile.

I received my welcoming frown at exactly eight o'clock. An immaculate black pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie. Griffin rarely deviated. I would have considered him fairly good looking, if he ever took the time to smile. His ever-present gloom detracted from his whole appearance. At least I no longer cringed when he walked in.

"Good morning, Mr Griffin."

"You left me with an idiot," Griffin said crossly, "next time train them better or I'll find someone who can." He didn't even slow down. Whipped right past my desk and headed into his office. I didn't respond to his threat of replacing me. I had decided early on to let those comments go. I had become somewhat immune to their effect.

The morning went as expected. I cleaned up Griffin's calendar, received another verbal scolding for scheduling a Mr. Corey before a Mrs. Sampson. Only a moron would schedule them in that order. I made the necessary calls to switch the appointments and was promptly abused for making the change. Twice the idiot on my first day back.

I fetched Griffin's dry cleaning at lunch. Figured out the who and when of his Tuesday meeting and canceled it. I dreaded that call. Mrs. Pritchard, a widow, was always trying to meet with Griffin. He handled her sizable account, very profitably, but preferred to not meet with the old woman. He would create appointments to appease her and then have me cancel them. She was a sweet lady, obviously bored, who wanted a reason to get out and talk with other humans. She had yet to realize that Griffin wasn't really human. It took twenty minutes of chit-chat to once again cancel one of her meetings. I was beginning to think Mrs. Pritchard knew more about me than Sandra did.

So went my first week back. One failure after another as graded by the mighty Griffin. Twice during the week, I had letters I developed returned to me with scathing verbal commentary and the most irritating red marks. There was rarely a true mistake. It was all subjective bull that had little to do with the letter accomplishing its task. I developed a strong hatred of that damn red marker of his. The color was chosen specifically to remind me of grade school. He was the learned teacher; I, the adolescent with the learning disability.

My weekend consisted of laundry, housecleaning and a good book. I should have raked the leaves, but another week would just add more. I wasn't much of a landscaper, and purposely bought my small red brick ranch because the yard was small. I was lax in its care. The hedge needed trimming, leaves raked and the mulch weeded. I was still recovering from my vacation. At least that's the feeble excuse I used to put off the yard work.

My next week was much the same. At least until Thursday evening, just before close. I was busy building Griffin's special, labor intensive, anally designed month-end report. Most brokers would just accept what came out of the system. Not Griffin. I had to import the data, correlate it with the previous four quarters, develop pivot tables and trend graphs. It was just complicated enough and always contained enough data holes and changes to disallow me from automating it. I knew he did it on purpose. Generate work just for the sake of work. Just so he could tell me how wrong it was.