‘Is it very different?’ I ask Jewel.
‘A little different,’ she says with a wink. ‘I wouldn’t call it family friendly either.’
As if right on cue, the announcer comes over the Danube’s sound system. My whole body tenses, my hands going to a prayer position against my lips when the CMC are introduced. The crowd cheers wildly and the lights flash for one of the highlights of the show.
They’re wearing their uniform, as anticipated, as Harmony leads the squad onto the field to the sound ofGirls Girls Girls. I do a quick headcount. In terms of numbers, they’re four down. Jewel and I are missing, as are Persia and Mona. Other than that, everything is as it should be.
‘How did you get outta performing?’ I ask Jewel as we applaud their entry.
Jewel puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles. ‘Called Kathleen this morning, told her I was puking my guts up.’
We both duck our heads as Kathleen emerges from the tunnel and stalks in a power walk parallel to the sideline just below us, miked up with her head piece and wearing a powder blue pant suit. It means Samantha Conway won’t be far behind.
A few bars intoGirls Girls Girlsand, from the speakers around the stadium, there sounds out a scratch effect. The sound system falls silent. I see Kathleen’s head snap up, and she’s straight onto her mic with a furrowed brow. A ripple goes through the crowd.
Before I know it, a new tune starts up. And seemingly, the entire squad on the field knows exactly what to do. It’s a moment before I recognize which song is playing.
‘Jake asked if he could pick out the tune, all personal,’ Jewel says to me with a grin. ‘You’re gonna have to tell us the meaning behind it.’
A smile dances across my lips. He’s chosen Bonnie Tyler’sHolding Out for a Hero, and it makes my heart sing. I hold my breath. On the field, I can see Harmony, Ashlyn, Angel, Shawny, Tori, Leona, Solana, Lacey, Imara… the entire squad. Armed with both their poms their movements are perfectly in sync, nothing less than I would expect. The navy and white ‘M’ symbols on their shirts pop under the floodlights.
The routine is upbeat and sassy. Jewel wiggles her hips in time with the beat. I glance further down the sideline at Kathleen. There’s a panicked look on her face. It’s clear this is not the routine she was expecting.
After less than a minute, on the pitch, something shifts. All in unison, and in time with the chorus and the bang of the drums, each CMC squad member removes her shirt. My mouth falls open. Underneath, they’re all in matching bikini tops, emblazoned with the same ‘M’ from our uniform, one on each breast.
I look at Jewel. ‘What the hell?’ I shriek.
‘Customized bikinis, baby!’ she squeals gleefully. ‘Just wait,’ she then says, raising her voice over the music.
I look back to Kathleen. She’s furious, yelling at a security guard something crazy, jabbing her finger toward the field.
When the CMC hot pants come off, to reveal bikini bottoms underneath, I swear she blanches. The arches of the ‘M’ are literally emblazoned across their pert ass cheeks. In bikinis and boots, each girl is grinding her pussy into the ground. It’s a classic Surly’s move. And one that I didn’t even teach them.
Halfway through the song, at the instrumental, a group of grounds people run onto the field, each of them holding what looks like a rustic, open back chair, which he or she plants directly in front of a CMC squad member. Two large black boxes are wheeled onto the field, which I’ve seen before when there are performances.
When the boxes are opened, two more women burst out in bikinis and join the routine.
‘Oh my god!’ I blurt. ‘Persia and Mona? But how…?’
‘What’d I tell you?’ Jewel says. ‘Lemon Conway has all the power around here. Just nobody knows it! And she was only too happy to oblige. She got all the grounds people on board too!’
I cradle my face. Each girl is straddling her own chair, just like my routine at Surly’s, which, on the field, has turned a little X-rated.
Jewel leans closer to my ear, shouting over the din. ‘So, a few of us girls may have visited Surly’s Tuesday night. You know… for inspiration. The ladies there were good enough to show us some of your signature moves. They really miss you there!’
I shake my head and grin, still in disbelief at what I’m seeing and hearing. I look around me. The crowd seems to be enjoying the show, although some of the mothers are covering the younger kids’ eyes.
Kathleen is now apoplectic, still hollering at the buff security guard in black, who is doing precisely zip about the scene unfolding in front of the entire Danube crowd, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His colleagues aren’t moving.
I’m dumbfounded. I can’t believe my eyes. The routine that follows could make even the most skilled stripper blush.
That’s when I see her, racing down the field toward the fifty-yard line. Her pink cheeks contrasting with bright red lips, uncharacteristic frown lines deep as a crevasse, and she’s running as fast as her three-inch pencil heels will carry her.
Sam Conway.
‘Here comes trouble,’ Jewel says with a grin. ‘You think Hank Conway couldn’t be bothered to show tonight?’
‘Hank Conway might be having a heart attack right about now,’ I murmur, watching Ms Conway’s arms flap in the air as she hollers at the top of her voice toward the security personnel, who are still outright refusing to do anything other than stand there.
