PodCastle 883: Redo
* Author : Brigitte Winter * Narrator : Julia Rios * Host : Matt Dovey * Audio Producer : Devin Martin * Discuss on Forums Previously published by New Year, New You: A Speculative Anthology of Reinvention Content warnings for violence and coercive control Rated R Redo by Brigitte Winter 3. In our third timeline, I met you on New Year’s Eve. I had slept off a migraine half that day, so I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening by the fireplace cuddling with Jamie and our ancient basset hound. But New Year’s Day would be my fifth wedding anniversary with Jamie — our “wood” anniversary — and he had gotten tickets to a burlesque show because he thought he was hilarious. Predictably, he insisted that it would be wasteful to skip the show because the tickets were fifty dollars each. Plus, booze was included. Plus, he could watch women dance out of their clothes, which was significantly more interesting than watching me sit around all night in the oversized sweater and leggings I’d been wearing since Christmas. “Plus, Mary,” he said, “maybe you’ll surprise yourself and have fun for once.” And so I pulled a black slip dress over my leggings and twisted my unwashed hair into a bun, and Jamie and I squeezed into the dingy black box theater just as the first dancer finished her set. Jamie muttered something about me making him late again before disappearing to the bar. He didn’t ask me if I wanted anything, which was fine because I didn’t. My temples pounded along with the bass blaring from the too-close speaker. Everyone in the audience was standing, and the guy directly in front of me was well over six feet tall and completely blocking the stage. The back of his jacket was a maroon velvet that looked so soft and dark that I longed to press my face against it until the bass stopped pumping and my brain stopped throbbing. And then the bass stopped pumping. I pushed up onto my toes to peer around the velvet jacket as slow piano and the first rich notes of Des’ree’s “Kissing You” wrapped around me and pulled me forward until I found myself standing in front of the tall man. By the time you glided onto the stage, I had somehow edged my way to the front of the crowd. They introduced you as Ale Mary. Your sequined teddy glinted like a disco ball with every slow, luxurious spin, and your arms were clad in long feathery wings, which you used to cover and uncover your body in delicious, teasing motions. You were the most glamorous woman I had ever seen. And each time you spun toward the audience, you looked directly into my eyes. By the time the song ended, Jamie had made his way to the front of the house and draped his heavy arm around my neck. I barely felt it. “I have to pee!” I yelled over the music, untangling myself from him. He nodded, eyes glued to the stage. The next dancer was already down to pasties and a thong, flossing a purple boa between her legs. I didn’t want to fight the crowd to the back of the house, so I slipped through a door to the left of the stage. I realized my mistake as soon as the door clicked shut behind me and an icy wind whipped down the alley outside the theater with enough force to make my eyes water. “Shit.” I grabbed the door handle and yanked. Nothing. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I spun around and growled, eager to kick the nearest dumpster or brick wall or some other big hard alley thing,