She's the Boss (18 page)

At seven on the dot, there was a tentative tap on the door.

“The stripper’s here,” Truong announced with great aplomb. “Now if you have any dollar bills, get them out quickly and stuff them in your pockets!”

There was an unmistakable air of fidgety excitement. I was reaching for my handbag when the door was flung open dramatically. A petite and pasty man strutted into our room, clad in nothing but a scant and bedazzled lederhosen.

All the girls shrieked with stupid laughter.

Um, I thought strippers were supposed to dress as cops, or firemen or pizza guys, or something like that. What in the name of Vegas was
this
freak of nature?

The dainty stripper stood before us. And then the strangest thing happened. He started yodeling. YODELING!

“Guten tag. Yodeleh-hee-hooooo,” he yodeled. “My name is Gottlieb Glitzjuice and I hail from München, Germany.”

Maddy edged closer and whispered in my ear, “Was he just mountain yodeling?”

“
Jah
.” I whispered back, “I believe he was.”

Pamela hissed, “Where is his Tyrolean hat?”

“Huh?” Inge looked perplexed. “What is a Tyrolean hat?”

“A silly green Alpine hat,” we said simultaneously.

“The hat I can deal with.” Maddy shook her head. “But that lederhosen is wrong on so many levels.”

“Girls! Girls!” Truong chastised. “Be a little open-minded, will you? Why are you morally opposed to his lederhosen?”

“You’re not?” I challenged. “Do you own a pair, then?”

“Of course I do,” Truong said with dignity. “In fact, I wear my leather lederhosen with pride at Oktoberfest every year. I even pair them with my Wundersocks for some POC.” Then, seeing our slightly puzzled expressions, he explained, “Pop of color. And,” he continued, “as for Herr Gottlieb’s Tyrolean hat, I’m sure he probably just left it up in the Bavarian Alps.” He raised a champagne glass at the stripper. “Am I right, Herr Gottlieb?”

“Achtung!” Gottlieb grunted in response.

And then I saw “it.”

Great balls of fire! Truong wasn’t mincing words when he said it was something huge. ‘It’ was definitely huge, for lack of a better word.

From Gottlieb Glitzjuice’s scrawny stature, I fully expected a shrinky dink. But as my gaze shifted downward, my eyes clapped on the world’s largest salami in a sling. His one-eyed monster resembled a third leg severely infected with elephantiasis.

“Egad!” Pamela’s eyes grew wide and her expression slightly sick. “Look at that giant Bratwurst!”

Maddy was frowning in disgust. “What on God’s green earth is
that
?”

“What?” I asked. “What?”

“Those yellowish stains all over his lederhosen.”

I smacked my hand over my mouth, fervently praying that those yellow stains weren’t Gottlieb’s actual glitzjuice.

Maddy was thinking, the cogs were turning. “Oh my God!” she shrieked as the cogs were clicking. “It’s his man yoghurt!”

My stomach lurched in horror.

Pamela and Jewel went pale with shock.

“Ggg-gg-got-Gottlieb,” Inge sputtered. “He just wiggled his Wienerschnitzel at me!”

With uncanny timing, Truong dimmed the lights. “Now, now ladies. Relax. Don’t get overly excited just yet. Gottlieb hasn’t even begun. First things first, we need some sexy music.” He started fiddling with his iPod and seconds later, he was gyrating his hips to the
Bom Chicka Wah Wah
beat.

“Achtung! Achtung!” Gottlieb grunted, thrusting his pelvis as he advanced on us.

All hell broke loose.

The sound of shrieking and general mayhem filled the room.

We fled in every which direction as Gottlieb launched himself into the fray. The closer he got, the more we squealed like scared sheep attacked by a killer albino monkey.

“Girls! Girls! Get a grip!” Truong’s sharp voice cut through the hullabaloo. “We don’t want to be kicked out of this hotel suite before the show has even begun!” Acting like the Stripmeister Shepherd himself, Truong corralled us like the scared sheep that we were and ordered us to take turns lying down on the bed.

Maddy, the bride-to-be, was the first sacrificial lamb.

With a great sigh and even greater trepidation, Maddy edged closer and closer to the bed and arranged herself on the mattress. Taking his cue, Gottlieb crouched over her and swung his giant Bratwurst in her face, spinning his flaccid penis like a helicopter propeller.

Christ! The guy’s fervor made the average Chippendale look positively restrained.

Next, it was my turn. My stomach was in knots. “Um,” I broke off and restrained a shudder. “Why don’t you go first, Inge?” I ventured anxiously and shoved her forward. At this point, I was fairly certain that I would’ve shoved my grandmother forward to delay the inevitable.

“No-no.” Inge jumped and took ten steps backward. “You go first.”

“Methinks the ladies doth protest too much,” proffered Truong, the Shakespearean Stripmeister.

Meanwhile, Gottlieb was looking distinctly put out by our reactions. “Lay down!” he commanded to all and sundry.

Oh hell no! I recoiled as far as I could, but still not far enough to evade Gottlieb’s clammy fingers. He grabbed me by the arm, backed me up against a wall and began grinding on me like a Chihuahua in heat. Paralyzed with fear co-mingled with repulsion, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut to block out the images. The unimaginable horror.

Truong, sensing my mounting distress, stepped in between us and announced gleefully, “My turn! And I’d like a Tea Bag, please.”

“Tea Bag?” Inge frowned, confusion clear on her face. “Isn’t that a Republican movement?”

“No.” I shook my head slowly and explained with patient resignation, “That’s a Tea Party. Two
totally
different things.”

Pamela nodded gravely. “
Totally
different.”

“Oh.” Inge looked absolutely dumfounded at this. “So what’s a Tea Bag?”

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Just stand back and watch Inge . . . you’ll find out soon enough.”

With the prowess of a European gigolo, Gottlieb squatted over Truong and dunked his sagging ball sacks onto Truong’s radiantly beatific face.

Inge blinked. “I’m so glad Gottlieb didn’t take off his lederhosen.”

It was my turn to blink. “Thank heavens for small mercies.”

“Ohhhh!” Truong squealed with delight, “Dunk the Darjeeling tea, my darling! DUNK IT!”

Good Lord Ganesha, Krishna, Vishnu and Shiva!

I almost expired in a dramatic fashion. In all fairness, I’m no Naive Nellie and I’m certainly no Debbie Downer, but this was, unequivocally, one of the most disturbing experiences in my life.

At this point, all the women in the room were either gagging with revulsion or shrieking with sheer terror at the top of their lungs.

Thankfully, the Tea Bag ceremony only lasted about a minute. Gottlieb cast us a feral look and snarled, “Ach, which one of you would like me to munch on your sauerkraut?” He began thrusting his meat pole at us. “Achtung! Achtung!”

It was pandemonium. Screaming bloody murder, we darted to a corner and huddled there, clutching one another, far, far away from Herr Gottlieb Glitzjuice.

“Ack!” Inge shrieked. “He’s coming closer! HE’S COMING CLOSER!” She squeezed her eyes shut and began muttering Hail Marys under her breath.

“Get out your dollar bills!” I ordered urgently. “Quickly! NOW!”

In sheer desperation, I started flinging dollar bills at Gottlieb from behind the huddle, hoping he’d leave us alone.

Gottlieb did not get the hint.

Quite the contrary.

The stripper started stripping.

And while mooning the whole room, he tripped over his lederhosen and face planted. Fully nude, he picked himself off the floor and came charging toward the huddle. We took off running with sudden supersonic speed.

Alas, the hotel suite was small and despite our preternatural speed, Gottlieb ultimately caught up to one of us. It was inevitable.

This time, he cornered Pamela and she stood there shrieking while he did the obligatory grind. Eventually, Gottlieb let her go and Pamela bolted for the relative safety of our pack (we tried our best to stay together, you know, safety in numbers and all that). She was relieved, and all of us assumed the nightmare was finally over.

It was not.

Gottlieb was relentless. He hunted down and trapped his next prey. This went on for quite some time. This endless sufferance! I desperately wanted to wake up from this Nightmare On Gottlieb Street.

Next, Gottlieb managed to back Jewel to a wall. “Ohhh,” Gottlieb purred. “You have the body of a gym rat.” Then he began grinding on her, rat on rat.

Jewel kept faking modesty. “Oh my God, I’m
sooo
embarrassed.” She giggled hysterically. “I can’t believe he’s doing this!” But then she’d thrash about, grinding on Gottlieb as if he were the last gerbil on the planet.

This is when Truong stepped in and placed a firm hand on Gottlieb’s shoulder. “I think it’s time for you to go now.”

Gottlieb wrangled on his lederhosen, then Truong slipped him a hefty tip and showed him out the door. “Thank you for your services.”

Gottlieb gave a cheery wave and with a resounding “Tschüss. Bis später!” he headed off back to the Bavarian Alps. Well, that was the hope.

Truong sagged against the door and breathed out a sated sigh. “So what did y’all think of Gottlieb Glitzjuice?”

I blinked. “Is he really gone?”

“He’s gone,” said Maddy.

Inge squeaked like an overwrought mouse, “Is he really?”

“He is.” Pamela breathed out a big sigh of relief.

Then we collapsed into a heap on the floor, weeping uncontrollably, giggling together in shared, mild hysteria.

I polished off my drink and signaled to the bartender for a refill. “I’m never drinking tea again,” I announced, pushing the memory of Gottlieb’s tea bagging performance from my mind.

Inge took a deep swig. “And I’m never eating cake again, either.”

I found it impossible not to stare at the giant penis cake as my eyes made the scenic route back to my drink. Oddly enough, the giant penis cake was staring right back at me. The baked phallus loomed large with the words: ‘Cumgratulations Maddy.’

Truong was in charge of the cake, so really, I should have seen this one coming, pun intended.

I winced into my vodka. “I’m not so sure I’m up for eating baked genitalia.”

“I’m up for it!” Truong downed his drink and slammed his glass on the counter. “It just proves that I
can
have my cake and eat it too!”

Maddy pirouetted over to the bar and draped her arms around our shoulders. “I love my phallus cake, guys. I mean, the two of you have certainly outdone yourselves! Look at this schlong! Blue icing for the knards and chocolate shavings for the pubes! Really. I couldn’t have asked for a better cake.” She was teary-eyed and choking with emotion.

Clearly, she was drunk off her ass too.

“Well, I’m glad you love the cake,” said Truong, ensconced in his smug sense of superiority. “Pssh! All the bakery had was Buttercream Marbles. And I said:
No, no, this will not do!”

I twisted back to my drink, staring into the clear liquid. “So this cake is your creation?”

Truong beamed like a beacon. “All mine. Anyway, enough about me.” He raised his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Maddy. Here’s a toast to love and laughter and happily ever after.”

“Hear, hear!” We clinked glasses.

“And,” I slurred, “here’s to being single, drinking doubles and seeing triple.”

We did another round of shots. “Salud!”

Maddy lifted her glass. “And I’d like to propose a toast to Kars. May you have a blast in Malaysia!”

I raised my glass even higher. “I’d like to propose a toast to Truong and Inge—who will be joining me!”

“WHAT?” Truong and Inge were practically shouting, “WE’RE GOING TO MALAYSIA?”

“Ooops!” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “My bad! I wasn’t supposed to say anything until next week.”

“So we’re going?” Inge’s voice was incredulous with disbelief.

Truong’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “Are we really?”

Oh! What the hell. The cat was already out of the bag. Besides, I was in a blindingly good mood and decided to dispense bonhomie to all.

“Yes!” I breathed, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Carter said I could bring along two of my top sellers. And you two are
it
! You’ll help me spearhead the new call center and all your expenses will be paid for!”

Truong punched the air and shrieked, “Free trip!”

“An exotic getaway,” said Inge, staring into space with a still expression on her face. “Just like
Eat, Pray, Love . . .
Coconut trees swaying on white beaches. Snorkeling in waters filled with rainbow colored coral. A medicine man named Ketut. Ahhhh,” she released a dreamy sigh.