5. Kiki

Chapter 5

Kiki

I wasn't expecting the Ritz, but we’re herded into a dorm-style cavern that’s actually pretty swanky in a rustic, subterranean chic kind of way.

Plush fur rugs, sleek stone furniture, some kind of soft glowing light emanating from the walls—it’s got a kind of underground Flintstones-meets-Jetson’s vibe.

Our guide, a short, slight young man in a trucker cap and baggy clothing ushers us inside. "Welcome to Grotto, ladies. I'm Frankie…er, Frank . Yeah, call me Frank. I go by Frank." His voice wavers in pitch from high to low under the hat pulled low and I wonder if he’s even out of puberty yet.

We all just look around, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. I think we're collectively wondering if someone spiked the water supply. Because honestly, what even is my life right now?

Chatty Steph pipes up, "So...those things..um..creatures out there. They're really Bigfoot?" She pauses. "Or is it Bigfeet? What exactly is the plural form of the word?"

"They prefer Sasquatch, actually," Frank says. "But yes, they're the real deal."

"Holy Hanna-Barbera!" the scarred woman exclaims as she looks around taking in our new digs.

“So Sasquatches really exist.” It’s a dumb thing to say, but I state it aloud anyway.

Frank nods. "Indeed they do. And this is their home, Grotto."

Questions ping-pong around the room:

"Are we supposed to date them?"

"How long do we have to stay?"

"Can we leave whenever we want?"

"They're not going to, like, eat us, right?"

"Whoa, ladies. One at a time." Frank holds up his hands.”As you already know…well, as some of you already know, you are here to test compatibility as potential matches to the single males here. It’s a mate-matching program and you all were carefully selected.”

“Are we stuck here?” The green-eyed, auburn-haired woman asks, and I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before. “Like prisoners ?”

“Absolutely not.” Frank shakes his head and his too-big cap falls lower, shading his eyes. He doesn’t bother to adjust it. “You're free to go anytime. You’re also free to stay and allow things to play out—for thirty days. If, after thirty days, you haven't paired up with one of the Grotto residents, you’ll be required to leave Grotto permanently.”

“Just like that?” I ask. Clearly Sasquatches are things of legend. Something tells me they’re not going to just release us so we can go blabbing to the media about the secret underground city of bigfoots. (Big feet ?) “We can just…leave?”

“Please don’t say that now that we’ve seen their secret dwelling, they’ll have to kill us.” Steph wrings her hands in front of her.

“They won’t kill you,” Frank sighs. “You will have your memory of your time here erased before you go. It’s a thing the Sasquatches can do, kind of a Men in Black mind-wipe thing. They’ll zap out any memories of your time here and replace them with alternate memories.”

As Frank continues to answer questions, my mind drifts to the hulking furball who tried to give me flowers. God, I feel like such a bitch for screaming in his face like that. A sharp stabbing pain of regret pierces my chest remembering the hurt look on his face as the flowers dropped from his hand to the stone floor.

Great way to make a first impression, Kiki.

In hindsight, he was actually kind of cute, in a Chris Hemsworth meets Chewbacca sort of way. And his scent—like pine needles and fresh rain—I can still smell it, earthy and oddly calming. Yum.

I'm jolted back to reality when the auburn-haired woman asks, "Um, are we even, you know... compatible with them? Like, anatomically?" Her cheeks flush the color of tomato soup.

Frank clears his throat, appearing about as comfortable as a vegan at a pig roast. "The Sasquatch have done extensive research and, um, well, bottom line is yes. Interspecies intimacy is quite possible."

This earns a chorus of nervous giggles and one "Hubba hubba!" from Steph. I just sit there, trying very hard not to picture what's underneath all that fur. (Spoiler alert: I fail miserably.)

“Since none of you brought any luggage, you’ll find a variety of toiletries in the bathroom and stacks of t-shirts and yoga pants in the drawers. In the next couple days, I’ll place a shopping order for whatever you need,” Frank tells us seeming relieved to change the subject.

Just then, the door creaks open and a timid-looking Sasquatch shuffles in carrying a huge tray of covered dishes. It’s clear the Sasquatch is female by her curvy figure and feminine features.

"Ah, ladies, this is Enfys," Frank says smiling at the Sasquatch. "She's brought you dinner."

Enfys gives a small smile and I notice the fangs that peek out over her bottom lip as she does. Dinner is doled out, plates piled high—and I do mean piled high— with some sort of steaming stew, fresh bread, and what looks like a giant slab of berry pie. Each of us is served a portion big enough for an entire family. I realize I'm famished. I never did get to eat the pancakes I made back in the motel, a million years and one trans-dimensional Sasquatch portal ago.

As we dig in (and holy cow, it's delicious), Frank tells us that after dinner, Enfys will give us a quick tour of Grotto's hotspots and he’ll be back tomorrow to see how we’ve settled in.

I figure now's as good a time as any for introductions, so I swallow my mouthful of savory stew and say, "I guess we should get to know each other a bit." I gesture with my spoon. "We can go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. I'm Maria. Maria Garcia." The name tastes wrong in my mouth, like I'm chewing on aluminum foil.

The green-eyed auburn-haired woman beside me goes next, merely introducing herself as Bambi without offering a last name.

Steph chokes on her stew. Then blurts out, "Oh my god, you’re Boom Boom Bambi!"

Bambi's face falls. Steph’s expression immediately morphs into one of remorse, and it hits me why Bambi looks so familiar.

A few years back, there was this huge sex scandal with a married megachurch pastor and a young female parishioner. The press had a field day dragging Bambi through the mud, branding her as a homewrecking harlot and calling her “Boom-Boom-Bambi” while the pastor was portrayed as a good man who temporarily fell under the spell of a Jezebel. Personally, I had him pegged as a self-righteous prick.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Steph flashes puppy dog eyes at Bambi, and I have to admit, she does look truly remorseful. “I’m such a motormouth. I never should have said that. I really don’t know when to shut up sometimes and then next thing I know it’s ‘open mouth, insert foot.’”

I clear my throat. "Listen, I don't believe anything the media and gossip rags report. They're vultures. I know for a fact they’ll take a grain of truth and tack on a bushel of lies and the general public will spread it on social media like wildfire as though it's ALL gospel."

Bambi shoots me a grateful look and the other girls chime in with similar sentiments, all of us attempting to put Bambi at ease.

“Wait,” Steph suddenly looks around. “Where’d that other woman go?”

It hadn’t registered until now, but Steph is right. That skinny, tired-looking chick with the thousand-yard-stare is gone. Pretty sure she's the one who fainted when we got off that prison bus. Just before I screamed like a psycho. Ugh.

“Maybe she’s resting somewhere?” I offer.

Octavia, the blonde woman with the badly scarred face agrees with a nod. “They probably took her to like a Sasquatch sick bay or infirmary, or…whatever they have here.”

Enfys returns as we’re finishing what I have to admit was a delicious meal, and despite the Sasquatch’s protest, Octavia insists on helping her gather the dirty dishes.

There's some kind of commotion outside. Shouting, thumping, and loud as day I hear a booming voice shout “Humans go home!” I know we all hear it because every head swivels as we make eye contact with one another.

Enfys's fur bristles and she mutters something under her breath before schooling her features into a tight smile and hustling out into the hallway.

There's an awkward beat as we all try to pretend we can't hear the growling argument happening just outside the door. When Enfys returns, she looks a bit frazzled.

"Is everything okay out there?" Bambi asks. "It sounded intense."

Enfys does this shuffling thing with her feet, not meeting our eyes. "It's nothing to worry about. Just a small...disagreement." It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak—the first time I’ve heard any Sasquatch speak and her voice is low and sensual like crushed gravel.

She catches her bottom lip between her fanged teeth, her face creased in worry. "You know, it might be best if we postpone the tour of Grotto until tomorrow. You all must be exhausted from your journey."

"Are we in any danger?" Steph asks, a note of panic in her voice. “Do we need to remain in here for protection?”

Enfys's eyes go wide and she shakes her head emphatically. "No, no, not at all! You're free to come and go as you please. It's just..." She hesitates, then seems to deflate a bit. "Some of the Sasquatch are a bit...apprehensive about humans being here. But I assure you, you're in no danger. No one would ever dream of harming you."

I raise an eyebrow. Apprehensive? Sounds more like an angry mob out there.

Enfys has the decency to look chagrined. "I apologize. This is all very new for us as well. But please, don't let it trouble you. Get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning, hmm?"

And with that, she's out the door, leaving us standing there blinking in her wake.

Well then. Welcome to Grotto, I guess.

Deciding to take Enfys's advice to "not let it trouble us," we disperse and start exploring our new digs.

I poke my head into the bathroom and have to do a double take. This is no rustic, outhouse setup. The shower could comfortably fit a football team and there are more buttons and doodads than a NASA control panel. It's like the Starship Enterprise and the Ritz-Carlton had a bathroom baby.

As I gape at the space-age commode, a little traitorous part of my brain whispers that maybe, just maybe, hiding out down here for a month won't be so bad. I could lay low, enjoy the experience, maybe even do a dry run of this whole "interspecies romance" thing. Again, my mind drifts to that handsome Sasquatch with the bouquet.

Wait... Handsome? Did I just think of a hairy monster as handsome?!

What is wrong with me?

The point is, this isn’t so bad. I’m safe here, at least. And it’s temporary. Besides, it’s better accommodations than the last seedy motel.

Still, I pray for a miracle. I just want to go back to being me again, back where I belong sashaying down red carpets and smiling for flashing cameras and fawning fans. (Louboutins and designer shades, I miss you!)

My fondest wish is to be able to give Maria Garcia the boot and let Kiki Karaprtyan reclaim her rightful place as the queen of the glitz and glam social scene.

Maybe. Someday.

I flop on my surprisingly plush fur-covered bed and try to will my overstimulated brain to sleep. But even as I try to drift off, a certain earthy, pine and fresh rain scent plagues my senses and I can't help but wonder what might have been if I had simply accepted those flowers graciously like a darn normal person.