Previously on Bewitched, Part 1:
My boy and I looked at each other, then back at her, and she must’ve seen our incredulity coz she laughed out loud. "I really am a witch."
I tried to disguise my skepticism. After all, it’s not like she was wearing a crooked hat or threadbare clothes. She didn’t have warts on an oversize nose and didn’t cackle when she laughed, as folklore would have us believe. And there was no cauldron bubbling in the immediate vicinity that she could use to cast spells and stuff, while sprinkling in it rat whiskers or platypus droppings.
“Sooo,” The Dishwasher continued. “Are you a good witch or…”
“Oh, I’m a good witch,” Pam quickly interjected. “Here, take a look at this.”
She pulled out a small, gold-colored pentagram dangling on a thin gold chain out of her [ample] cleavage and held it out.
“See, good witches like me wear ours upright, like this. Bad witches wear it upside-down. Good witches make good things happen, like I do.”
Maybe it’s just me, but the words ‘witch’ and ‘good’ sounded a little off, spoken in the same breath. Seeing how I’m all for The Man Upstairs, I was a little flustered by this bold declaration of practicing witchcraft. Dude, we hadn’t spoken to her 5 minutes yet, and we already knew this? How many more people in that same joint knew about it then, knowwhatimean? No wonder she was chillin’ by herself when we walked in; must’ve spooked ‘em. I mean, she looked a little too good not to have some drunken dude putting a bug in her ear about copulation, if you catch my drift.
“Do you have to wear that all the time?” The Dishwasher pressed on.
“Oh yeah,” she said, nodding vigorously, making her loose curls bob. “I never take it off, not even when showering or swimming. I’d feel naked without it. That and my tattoos - I can’t do without them. I want soooo many more too!”
“Yeah, I noticed that one right below your wrist,” The Dishwasher said, pointing. “You mean you’ve got more?”
“Oh, lots more! Like omigod, I’ve got 13!”
And it all goes downhill from here, as Russ Parr would say.
She pulled up the right sleeve of her tank-top and showed us one tattoo sitting high on her upper arm, then did the same to show off one on the left. She then pulled down her shirt-front to show us another sitting on the upper arch of her left breast. I glanced at The Dishwasher and almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face, then looked back in time to catch the flash of a multi-colored bra-strap. Then she turned around, lifted up the bottom of her tank top and flaunted a magnificent one on her lower back.
[I wish my memory was photographic, if only to remember some of this stuff in intricate detail.]
She then turned back around, lifted up her shirt-front [noticed the taut belly - good stuff] and showed us a tiny one sitting directly below her [pierced] belly-button. The clincher was, though, when she slightly pulled down at the front of her pants, reached for her [matching] multi-colored panties with a manicured thumb and lifted them up just enough so that we could see another tiny tattoo sitting right above the… ummm, landing strip. Apparently she was a natural brunette coz the curtains matched the rug, if you know what I mean.
Then she turned back around and looked up at us, a wicked glint in her eye.
"I've got more, but I can't show you those now."
[Hmmmm - was she insinuating we could see 'em later?]
“Do you intend to get any more tattoos?” The Dishwasher ventured, once he had sufficiently recovered from all that flamboyant display of skin. Notice I hadn’t said a thing this whole time.
“A lot more, actually,” she replied. “You see, the more tats I get the more my power grows.”
“With that many tattoos you must have a lot of power then.”
“Not by a long shot. I know people that have hundreds, and are totally more powerful than I am.”
“Oh, so you know other witches? Of course you know other witches, what a stupid question.” The Dishwasher and Pam laughed. I smiled.
“What’s up with your friend over here?” she asked, looking up at me, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “He hasn’t said two words since I got here!”
“Nah, I’m just absorbing all this,” I said.
“A little too much for you, is it?” she challenged.
“Oh no, not at all,” I countered. “To be honest, I never met a witch before, and I never thought they’d look like you. Besides, [The Dishwasher] is way ahead of me in this line of questioning.”
She had to laugh at that.
“So,” the relentless Dishwasher persisted. “Do you… er….. what do you call it….” He gesticulated, not finding the right word. “Do you….. you know, meditate?”
“You mean project? Oh yes, we do! It’s my favorite thing to do, so awesome!”
“How do you do it? Like, could I do it?”
“Well, at first it’s a little disconcerting…” [Good word, I thought] “But you get used to it after a few times and can do it for hours.
I was, all the while, staring at those two while they talked, first one and then the other, a little amazed.
“You wanna know how we project?” she offered, that glint in her eye again. “We sit around inside a pentagram, facing inside. We sit cross-legged, close our eyes and then begin."
“You mean you don’t do it by yourself?” The Dishwasher queried.
“I can do it by myself, sure. It’s just a lot more powerful when there’s like 5 people all projecting at the same time. Oh, and we do it naked.”
“For real?! Why?!”
"It doesn’t work quite as well with clothes on. And we also can’t do it indoors; gotta be outdoors.”
We both looked at her, at a loss for words. She looked up at us, looking pleased with herself. I don’t know what The Dishwasher was thinking about, but I was conjuring up - pun intended - images of 5 Pams sitting butt-naked around a pentagram.
“So,” The Dishwasher jolted me out of my reverie. “What things can you do? Can you cast spells? Curses?”
“Spells I can do,” she explained. “I’m a good witch, remember?” We smiled. “But yes, I can do stuff.”
“Well,” she looked around and conspiratorially leaned in closer. “Like when you’re having sex, I can make your thing go deeper.”
“Deeper? You mean bigger?”
“Yeah, that too.”
We stared some more, then at each other, then back at her.
“I can also make you both irresistible to any woman in this bar.”
Now that was interesting.
“For real?” The Dishwasher exclaimed. “Any woman here?”
“Sure,” she said as she shrugged.
“Like, you can make the bartender want me, as in come over here right now?”
The bartender was foine, the type every dude, drunk or not, ogles at, and I must admit The Dishwasher was rather slick with this challenge.
For the first time all evening she seemed hesitant.
“Sure I can,” she said. “It’s just that most of the time I gotta have absolute silence when I need to work on a spell, and it’s just too noisy here. I’ll try though.”
She rubbed her palms together, all the while staring at the bartender. She then started muttering incomprehensible nothings while covering her mouth with her clasped hands, almost as if she were praying. The bartender at first kept on doing her stuff, taking orders and such, and was in the middle of punching at the keys to the cash register when she paused in mid-stroke, turned around and looked right at us! My heart started hammering away like crazy, while the bartender continued to stare at us!
“Hey Pam, what’s up?” the spell broken, literally, we all turned around and saw this other older woman smiling. I glanced back at the bartender and she was back doing what she do. Damn, that could’ve been interesting! Was that incidental or did she really do it?
Then I turned back to this new older woman and knew we had to get out of there quick coz yo, this one DID look like a witch! Long, waist-length black hair with streaks of gray here and there, long, crooked nose with a bump on its left side, jagged, discolored teeth, full-length black dress and black shoes that would best be described as platforms. That’s when we had to get the hell outta there, quick. We crushed our drinks, claimed we had to meet up with someone and literally ran out that joint. That fleeting meeting with a practicing witch was disturbing, but 2 of them? We’d be done for!
Spooked, we drove 5 minutes in silence. Then The Dishwasher started to laugh and I joined in, and we couldn’t stop laughing for the longest. That was too weird.
Later, we argued about if we had to mess with them witches, who would holla at who. Boys will be boys.