Bambi (Flash Fiction)

Catherine fell down into the loveseat with a heavy sigh.

“Rough day?” asked Bob. He lifted his head just high enough from the couch to see her blow a puff of air at her bangs.

“I’m so sick of working at Applebee’s,” she said. She wiggled her shoes loose and flung them off her tired feet. They landed in front of the TV like dead fish.

“Not this again,” Bob said. “Seriously.”

“Seriously?” Catherine said. “I’m being serious. I’ve been serious about this for weeks!”

“I know, I know,” Bob said. “I can’t even get to sleep because of it.” Bob dropped his head back onto the pillow and resumed his viewing of ESPN. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I’m not gonna let you do it.”

Catherine’s eyes seethed, and it looked as though she were trying to burn a hole in the side of the couch. Brian walked into the kitchen and laughed at the expression on her face. “Hey, Cat,” he said. “Fun day?”

“Fucking Applebee’s!” she cried out. “And then there’s that guy holding me back.” She pointed a finger at a socked foot hanging over the arm of the couch.

“I’m not gonna let my girlfriend turn herself into a whore,” Bob said. He began to flick through the channels in frustration.

“Strippers aren’t whores, Bob,” Catherine said with a glare.

Bob sat up with a jerk. “Strippers are most definitely whores. Brian, back me up on this one.”

Brian peeked up from behind the refrigerator door with a piece of cheese in his mouth. He pulled out some meats and bread and paused at the entryway. “Well, it’s kind of relative, isn’t it?”

“See!?” Catherine said.

“Brian, I said back me up, man. What the hell?”

Brian disappeared into the kitchen. The two could hear drawers being opened and closed while he prepared his sandwich-making station. “Well, technically,” he said, sticking his head out just enough to be seen, “they’re not having sex with anyone. They’re just dancing.”

“How many strippers do you know that haven’t had sex with someone from the club?” asked Bob.

Brian gave Bob a look and tossed a thin slice of meat into his mouth. “How many strippers do you think I know, man?”

“See? See?” Catherine said, sitting up and repeatedly pointing her finger. “This is the best part. He used to go to strip clubs all the time, but now because I’m his girlfriend, all of a sudden they’re terrible places.”

“Why’d you say girlfriend like that?” asked Bob.

Catherine fell back into the loveseat with a frustrated sigh.

“You don’t know what goes on in those places,” Bob said. “Those guys are animals.”

“You should know,” said Brian with a giggle.

“Shutup Brian. You’re not helping. Did you know she’s already been going down there and hanging out with some of the girls?”

Brian’s head popped out into the entryway again. “Really?”

Catherine nodded. “They’re actually really nice. You wouldn’t believe how much money they make.”

“Whores make a lot of money, Catherine,” Bob said. Catherine shook her head.

“I don’t know, Bob,” said Brian. He joined the two in the small living room with a mountain of meat held between two slices of bread in his hand. “If you look at the whore spectrum, strippers are pretty conservative. They’re conservative whores.”

Bob rubbed his fingers at his forehead. “I can’t fucking believe I’m hearing this.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Catherine said.

“Have you picked out a stripper name yet?” Brian asked.

“Oh!” Catherine said with a smile. “Some of the girls came up with one for me. Bambi!”

“Oh yeah,” Brian said with a nod. “I can see that.”

“What!?” Bob screamed. “How can you see that?”

Brian bit into his sandwich and answered with a mouth full of bread and meat. “Well, ya know. She’s got the whole big brown eyes thing going on, and the brown hair and love marks. She totally looks like a Bambi.”

Catherine smiled and Brian ate his sandwich and Bob just shook his head.