Knitting Under the Influence

thirteen blocks down Wilshire Boulevard to the shoe store. It was a beautiful afternoon, and they were all still drunk enough to feel giddy and laugh a lot for no reason. People turned to look at them-men, especially-because they were pretty girls who were laughing and chatting and who weren't trying to catch anyone's eye-were, in fact, completely uninterested in any company except one another's.

At the store, Kathleen sashayed toward the others on a pair of shoes with high, spiky heels. “What do you guys think?”

“Jesus,” Sari said. “You're like this Amazonian thing.”

“You could whip Xena's ass,” Lucy said, looking up from a stack of shoe boxes she was scanning for Sari's size.

“Yeah?” Kathleen loomed over Sari. “Well, then, I challenge you, warrior princess. Kathleen the Amazon will smash you into dust.”

“Do it in the mud, and we can charge admission,” Lucy said. “Guys'll pay a fortune to see two girls fight in spikes and leather. I can't find a seven in these, Sari. Will seven and a half work?”

“Probably not.”

“That's the spirit. Sit down. You're trying them on.”

Lucy extracted the box she wanted as Kathleen went lurching back in her high heels to the aisle where she had found them. “I wonder why she likes to wear such high heels when she's already so tall,” Lucy said. “I mean, I know why I do it-it's the only way to make my legs look halfway decent. But the last thing she needs is more height.”

Sari sat down on the floor and pushed off her Crocs. “People notice her,” she said. “I think she likes that. First time I met her, she walked into this party-at Laurie Wong's house, actually-remember her?-and everyone immediately turned to look at her because… well, you basically couldn't miss her. I thought she was a model or actress or something and I figured she'd be all stuck-up and full of herself.” Lucy handed her a boot and she pulled it on and held out her hand for the other one. “But she was Kathleen. She threw herself down next to me and said she was bored, so I said something about how I wished it wasn't rude to knit at a party, and she told me how some baby-sitter had taught her when she was in sixth grade but she hadn't done it in ages. So then I started telling her about how there were all these amazing new knitting stores in Santa Monica and at some point we said we'd go to one the next morning together and we did and had a blast. And then you took that knitting class and got all excited about starting a club-” She stood up. Wobbled. “A little high, don't you think?”

“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.”

5. Slip, Slip, Knit

I

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