Hands reached out from her charcoal black robes clapped to quiet the young women cackling in the corridor of the convent school. With a phew she exclaimed, “I wish I could find my clicker — clacker. Ladies,” she addressed newcomers and returnees, “you are entering a religious establishment. A show of reverence, silence if you please.” Plucking a clipboard concealed in the folds of her robes, Zaftig shouted, “Andreson,” she pointed to a place along the wall, “Cunningham, next, C’m’n ladies lets snap to it.”
With all the women in line, Zaftig fell into that homey greeting, “Ladies, I ‘m Sister Rachel.” Zaftig pointed to me. “This Amazonian specimen is Sister Evelyn. Welcome to St Agnes, the Virgin Martyr Convent School. Many of you are here for the first time; some of you are returning from your summer vacation. Entering upon your studies here is marked by a ritual.”
One of the young women snickered, “Here comes the schmaltz.”
Zaftig fell into a rage like she was the real thing. “Which of you hussies dared me?”
Advancing face to face on one tall blond in the lineup against the wall, Zaftig screeched, “It was you, Jenny Jennings. Wasn’t it?” When the girl turned crimson red and shook her head, Zaftig roared, “Don’t lie to me, young lady. I ought to slap you silly, but you’ve just arrived. Next one to step out of line will not be spared. Strip bare ass naked.”
As the Jenny removed her yellow blouse, Zaftig returned to the script after a fashion, “Now, you will see Miss Jennings take the first step in her rededication by casting off the frivolities of the outside world. As Jenny unhooked her bra and stood topless, shifting her feet in a kind of dance with the bra dangling from her hand, the cups oscillating like a hypnotist’s watch, Zaftig examining the yellow blouse declared, “A fine label. My niece might like this.”
Cacophony broke out. The other women in line were snickering, “Got anything special underneath those blue jeans, Jen — Jen?” “Are you going to wear those jeans into the shower?” “Won’t jeans chafe your bare rump?” “When will we see Empress Jen’s new panties?”
Her attention drawn to the clatter, Zaftig, quickly looked around before she barked at the women, “Ladies, what are we waiting for? Turn around. Face the wall. Completely disrobe? Neatly fold your clothing and properly place them on the floor next to you.” Clapping her hands, Zaftig urged, “Ladies, let’s move it along.”
That was my cue. I started my welcoming address to the students, “Newcomers, bear in mind. There is no shame in the beauty and majesty of the unadorned human form …”
Noticing Miss Jennings shifting her hips, Zaftig fell into a rage, “What do we have here? An example of false modesty here’s nothing under your jeans that we haven’t seen before. Finish undressing!”
Did my welcoming remarks ring tinny as I resumed? “The unadorned human form, designed in God’s own image and likeness, unify the spirit with the human flesh. United in a blessing, the natural state promotes equality — we are all sisters in the flesh, self — confident, open and candid.”
Pants off, Jenny presented herself pantiless, long legs joined at a full bush as she stood uneasily in front of Zaftig with an apprehensive look.
Eyes widening, rage building, Zaftig flew into a fury, “What do we have here? A scintillating seductress, a salacious strumpet, a street — walker sans culottes suited to slog along the depths of Central Avenue! Turn! Face the wall! Bend over!” To me, Zaftig thunder an order, “Sister Evelyn, fetch my pointer.”
Trembling, with erratic moves Jenny slowly about — faced and bent over presenting an apple shaped, quivering tush. Zaftig turned to me and screeched, “Evelyn, my pointer now. Check in the classroom over there.”
Jenny’s butt was quivering with fear of Zaftig’s impending blows. Zaftig snarled repeating her order, “Sister Evelyn, did you hear me? I need my pointer to administer this lesson.”
Stunned for a second, I deduced from the seething rage in Zaftig’s face that compliance was necessary. Retrieving a pointer from the darkened classroom, I handed it to Zaftig who inspected it like a hunter appraising a new weapon.
Zaftig was reeling back to administer the blows when tall dark faced Al Mandy raced out of the shadows and yelled “Cut. Ladies you were great. I almost believed I was watching the real thing.” Beaming with a smile, Al declared, “It isn’t the script but where the characters take the scene.”
Righting herself, Jenny feeling her tush grunted, “a bit too realistic. I signed up for a T & A flick, not an S & M schtick. Oh, I’ll take the whacks, but I need more cash for a sorry, bruised ass.”
I shook my head. I had to admit, just for a moment, I had been carried along too. Imagine me a virgin and a nun. I looked to Al Mandy, Zaftig’s classmate in Medical School. There was something about this Persian — pretend — Englishman I found enchanting. He could take you on a magic carpet ride. Perhaps that made him ideal as a director — producer of in the fantasy world of a skin flick.
“Darling, we’ll talk,” Dismissing Jenny’s complaint, Al announced to the others, “Ladies, hold your places for a second.” To the maintenance men, Al ordered something in a foreign language. For our benefit, he translated his order, “Get a polaroid of the state of undress.” He explained, “Even a low budget film tries to preserve continuity.”
Zaftig, my roommate who got me to play a fully clothed role in this flick, turned toward Al with a silly grin. “I was really there,” Zaftig exuberantly exclaimed, “I was the nun I always wanted to be! As I was acting, I became the person I was pretending to be. The cameras, the lighting all vanished.”
“You were wearing a face, darling,” Al observed, “Doctors doing their rounds do it every day. You keep your real life separate from your bloody work. That’s how you stay sane.”
I shook my head and laughed. “I guess I just saw what lay in store for me had my father carried out his threat to send me to the Convent of the Holy Virgins.”
A dreamy look came across Zaftig’s face, she recounted, “It brings back memories for me to the day I was dropped at the door of the school, where I surrendered my overnight bag. I was hustled — alone — by this tall, gaunt nun into the shower — you’d make a good double for her, MS Ehrlich, eh– I mean Sister Evelyn.” Zaftig poked me.
I pointed at my heart as if to ask, who me?
Zaftig continued, “The obese school nurse handed me a towel to wipe off my makeup and demanded, `your jewelry, clothing, and any money you have.’ Stunned, it took the whisk of a pointer wielded by that Amazonian nun standing behind me to force me to yield my pearl earrings, neckless and wristwatch. Then, the school nurse barked. `Strip, bare ass naked! All your pretty clothes come off.'”
“And after that rough handling, you still wanted to become a nun,” I questioned.
“Right up to the point, I was swept up in the Push — Ahead — Program,” Zaftig replied, “Even in College I believed I might return to the Nunnery as a Novitiate.”
“How is that possible?” I was dumbfounded.
“Yes, I was stripped bare for inspection like cattle,” Zaftig cast that faraway look she bore when she slipped into a lecture, “but what are they really trying to take away, the vanities and superciliousness of egotism, not through humiliation but through self — mortification.”
“After such a warm reception, I’m more surprised that you still wanted to become a nun,” I expressed my credulity, “than your decision to play that role in this skin flick.”
Indeed, I was surprised when Zaftig raised Al Mandy’s offer. In my first semester in Law School, I had been rooming with Zaftig in her cozy apartment in a brownstone on State Street for a couple of months when Zaftig shocked me by relaying Al Mandy’s offer for a part in this movie.
That fall blew in exceptionally cold, but the apartment we shared was so comfortably warm that in a frigid mid — December when I could sit at the kitchen table, as bare as I would dare, in my Che Guevarra T Shirt and panties. I was looking out the window waiting to deliver glum news to Zaftig. I had just spoken with the landlord. How would Zaftig react? Should I be prepared to move again?
Though the window was frosted, I could see Zaftig bounce down the steps of the number 12 bus. Whipping off her scarf as she stepped inside, Zaftig took a deep breath. “You’re home–Oh I forgot you’re still in school. Must be nice.”
“Some holiday I get Dolly! I have exams before Christmas,” I turned to her as I moaned, “I need to catch up on studying. Or I could end up flipping burgers for living.”
“At least you’re paid flipping burgers,” Zaftig answered, “You get a paycheck. I don’t get to punch a time — clock for my day, grueling day.” Shaking her head, Zaftig commented, “I must have seen just about a gut — wrenching wound or burn to just about every anatomical part imaginable. What are you reading?” Zaftig sent me a tingle when she leaned on me to read over my shoulder.
I shot her a smile and clutched her hand. “Nothing important, Dolly,” I answered, “just a notice that since the electric and gas both’ve gone up, our Landlord wants a whopping increase to cover his costs.”
Giggling at the notice, Zaftig quipped, “I guess I’ll have to join you flipping burgers.
“Christmastime here in Capitalland, Dolly,” I sighed, “is bleak in the flipping burgers business. My hours get cut. In Capitalland, everybody comes from somewhere else and picks up to go home.”