Jessie's Journal (8/13/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

There was one epic moment on the cruise I haven’t mentioned yet.  I met Shanna Stevens.  In the flesh. All of it.

It was on a travel day at the beginning of the second week.  I had already seen her first two shows.  The first one, which I already wrote about, was with the whole family.  The second night, I went by myself.  Mom and Dad were hitting the casino, and sissy wanted to check out the ship’s nightclub.   I think, after a week at sea, she was horny and needed some action.  She must not have found any because she was in bed when I got back at 10 PM, snoring like a jackhammer, her sparkly club dress in a heap by the back wall where it had been thrown.

But I digress. 

I figured my shock at Shanna’s appearance had tainted things the first time around, and that, with that out of the way, I could focus on what I truly loved about her: her pure and angelic voice.  So, I arrived at the theater early and settled into a seat in the front row, ready to enjoy the show unfettered by preconceptions or annoying family. 

But, if anything, the second show was more disappointing than the first.  It was one thing for my idol not to look like she was supposed to, but now she didn’t sing like she was supposed to, either.  It sounded like she had a cold.  Either that, or her voice was competing with her body to see which was huskier.    

And as much as I hate to admit it, especially as a plus-size person, her extra weight bothered me.  In her videos she’s so lithe and graceful, but she hardly moved onstage, and when she did it was slow and awkward.  Clumsy even.  At one point, she nearly tripped on her microphone cord.               

I felt bad for her.  I’m sure she noticed that (unlike herself) the crowd was thinner than it had been the first night.  It had to have added insult to injury for someone who seemed to be struggling through illness in the time-honored “the show must go on” tradition. 

My pity began to fade; however, as I began to suspect that she wasn’t sick, but drunk.  Her glassy eyes showed no connection to the crowd, and the nebulous platitudes she uttered were slurred.  She still performed relatively well, especially by cruise standards, but nobody who attended would’ve guessed this was the same singer who had recently sung at the White House and been nominated for a Grammy.

Of course, my disappointment didn’t keep my heart from palpitating when I realized Shanna was lounging on a nearby deck chair.

I elbowed Michelle, who was sunbathing beside me.  “It’s Shanna Stevens,” I whispered tersely.

As sis sat up, her belly rolled over the waistband of her rubberband-tight bikini bottoms.  “Then go say hi,” she said, lifting her sunglasses for a better look.

“Should I?  You don’t think it would be creepy?  I don’t want to seem like a weirdo stalker.” 

“Do whatever you want,” Michelle said, settling back in her seat.  Her stomach receded like the tide, leaving behind a trio of angry creases that blighted her bronzed skin.  “Just stop bugging me.”

After a bit more hemming and hawing, I rose to my feet and slowly wound my way through the maze of deck chairs until I stood beside her. 

“Excuse me, Ms. Stevens?”

Shanna squinted open her eyes, shielding them from the sun with her hand.  “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m your biggest fan.” 

I cringed.  How lame. I tried covering it up but only made things worse. 

“I have all your albums.  Do they still call them albums if they’re on your phone?  Don't worry. I didn’t pirate them.  I paid for them.  I have a job.  I work at Dutch Bros.  Y’know, the coffee shop?  I’ve only been there a couple weeks, but I—”

“Kid,” she interrupted.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Could I trouble you for an autograph?”

“Sure.”  Shanna sat up, her belly bubbling over the band of her bathing suit just like my sister.  “Do you have a pen?”

I did not.  I looked around, but found nothing but empty glasses.  “Maybe we could take a photo instead?”

“Sure,” Shanna said.  “Do you have your phone?”

Once again, I did not.  I had left it in my chair. I felt like such an idiot. 

“Tell you what,” Shanna said, reclining back.  “Find a pen, a camera, and a Banana Monkey, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

“But I’m not 21.”

“Just tell the handsome guy behind the bar that it’s for me,” she said, waving me away like a servant.

I hurried off to the bar for the beverage and a pen.  “It’s for Ms. Stevens,” I said to Charles, the bartender on duty.  He smiled knowingly and began mixing it.  It took a long time.  Apparently, Banana Monkeys have tons of ingredients. 

When he finished, he poured the frothy concoction into two glasses and handed them to me.  “One for the budding star and one for the winsome waitress.”

“But I’m not—”

“Shhh,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips as he slid a pen across the bar.  “I won’t tell.”

I took my drink back to my chair.  Sis was passed out and didn’t respond to my prodding, so I grabbed my phone and delivered it to Shanna along with her drink and the pen.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the drink on the table beside her.  Then she scribbled on a cocktail napkin—

To my “biggest” fan,

Shanna Stevens.

After handing it to me, she stuck a pose somewhere between annoyed and seductive.  “Take your picture.”

I wanted to get a selfie with her, but she didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask, so I hurriedly snapped my shot and scurried away with a mousy, “It was nice meeting you.”

At first, I felt invigorated by the experience, but much like the Banana Monkey, it left a bad taste in my mouth.  I didn’t like how dismissive Shanna had been of me and, after examining the autograph, didn’t like the way she had put “biggest” in quotes. 

She probably hadn’t meant anything by it.  She was merely quoting me.  And I had interrupted her leisure time, after all. 

 The more I thought about it, however, the more it bothered me.  I was tired of making excuses for people, especially for beautiful and talented people who already have it easy.  That’s what people always did for sissy.  At least in her case, it was coming back to bite her in the ass. 

As I watched Shanna flip over like a flapjack in the sun, her backside jiggled like Jello…

And I realized it was beginning to bite her in the ass, too.

--Jessie

(Nota Bene: This entry, as well as the few before, tie into an earlier story of mine: The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. )