Strip Me Bare (20 page)

A few hours later I’m looking at myself in
the mirror. Ryan has already left for work, and my cab should be
here any minute. I glance at the clock, 9:30 PM. I decided to still
skip the Male Revue even though Ryan opted out. I can have a male
strip show anytime I want, just look at what happened this
afternoon.

I run my fingers through my blonde hair, I
blew it out so it’s pin straight, the ends touching just below the
middle of my back. My bangs are styled to the side and my eyes
smoked out with a black sparkly shadow; my lips are a glossy
magenta pink.

I slip on a pair of black knee-high boots
over my skinny jeans. My shirt is a sheer peach-colored tunic. It’s
pleated all the way around, the front hem shorter than the back
with a black tank top underneath.

It may be December outside, but inside, that
club will be hotter than the Fourth of July.

I stuff my ID, some money and a lip gloss
into my black Coach wristlet, then grab my coat and head downstairs
to wait for my cab. Twenty minutes later the yellow taxi is
dropping me off on the doorstep of Culture. I step out and
immediately see a familiar face; Lorenzo is standing behind the red
velvet rope checking IDs. There’s already a line two city blocks
long of women and a few men waiting to get in to one of NYC’s
hottest social scenes.

“Chicka!” Lorenzo’s voice vibrates when he
sees me and, like usual, I hear the chords to
Still Not a
Playa
in my head. Lorenzo’s dressed in his typical threads,
black leather jacket, black shirt, black pants and derby hat. “It’s
been too long, mommy. Where you been?”

“Stuck under law books,” I tell him as he
unhooks the rope, allowing me to bypass the line.

“Ryan got the hookup for you and your girlies
tonight,” he tells me with a smile.

“Oh really?” I respond surprised. “What does
that mean?”

“You’ll see,” he grins. “Have a smoke for old
times before you go inside?”

I sigh, “I quit.”

“Good for you.” Lorenzo nudges me and then
opens the door.

I curl my lip, “I’m not so sure.”

“Star! Alana’s here.” He yells just before I
walk through the doorway. Lorenzo winks at me. “She’ll take care of
you. Have fun…” he teases.

“Thanks,” I say, my curiosity piqued. I
remember the last time I was here, and my thoughts immediately dart
to the semi-private room in the back of the club. The cluster of
alcoves is called the dance quarter, which I later came to find
out. And I can’t help but wonder if Ryan and I are going to end up
there again.

I walk in and find Star sitting behind a
little table with a cash register on it. She’s African American
with a huge afro and beautiful almond eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Alana,” she says sweetly,
pulling up one side of the black curtain. “Everything is ready for
you and your guests.”

Guests?

I follow Star into the club, a remix of
Troublemaker
by Olly Murs and Flo Rida is pumping through
the sound system. It looks mostly the same, except now there are
pedestals with stripper poles sprinkled around the floor, and half
naked men dancing systematically to the music. There’s also a new
Cirque du Soleil attraction on the ceiling. Huge rings hung by
ribbon, it’s a spectacle to say the least.

“This way,” Star leads me left.

“Where are we going?” I ask curiously.

“The VIP area.” We start to climb up steps in
a dark corridor lit with tiny twinkle lights. There’s a long
hallway at the top with several large doors on the right hand side.
She opens the second one and motions for me to step through. As I
enter the room, I realize it isn’t a room at all; it’s a huge
balcony with a bird’s eye view of the entire club. There’s a
U-shaped white leather couch with purple spotlights shining over
it. A large, shiny, white square table with several bottles of
champagne chilling in silver buckets, and a small wet bar in the
left corner.

Wow.

“The rest of your party is on their way up
and Ryan should be here shortly. Would you like a glass of
champagne?”

Um,
yeah.

“Yes, please,” I say, and she pulls out a
bottle of Cristal and pops it open.

Ryan didn’t skimp
, I think to myself,
as I take the glass from her.

“If there isn’t anything else, I’ll let you
get comfortable.”

“No, thank you,” I smile and she closes the
door. I walk over to the railing and look out over the club. The
acrobats are eye level, and I can see the entire dance floor below.
People’s hot, sweaty bodies are mashed together as the lights under
the DJ’s booth flicker, the colors of the strobes changing from
orange to yellow to purple to red. I hear some energetic screaming
coming from the balcony next door; I can’t see what’s causing the
commotion, but I can definitely imagine.

A few seconds later, the door busts open and
Emily, Jill and the rest of her party come stumbling in. Jill
throws her arms around me as soon as she sees me. “Ryan hooked it
up!” she yells, reeking of some kind of fruity alcohol.

“You had a good time at the Male Revue I take
it?”

“Amazing!” she screams excitedly, grabbing
the champagne bottle off the table, taking a huge swing.

Oh, this night is going to be
interesting.

“Not only did I have the hottest dancer in
the club, besides Ryan of course,”
of course,
“he got all
the girls in my party private dances and a bunch of guys to hang
out with us all night.” She downs more champagne. “Do you know the
rumors that swirl around about Culture’s VIP rooms? Only rock stars
and celebrities hang out up here. This is the best bachelorette
party ever!” she screams in my ear.

“I’m glad,” I say, holding her up as she
hangs on me. “How much did she have to drink?” I ask Emily.

“Not as much as you think. Jill was
hyperventilating earlier about walking down the aisle. We needed to
calm her down, so one of the girls gave her a Xanax.”

“You sure that was a good idea?”

“Probably not,” she shrugs, “but at least
she’s having fun now.”

“Clearly. The question is for how long.”

I prop Jill up on the couch with her bottle
of champagne, her eyes are glazing over and her head is bobbing all
over the place. I feel bad for her. She’s going to have one wicked
hangover in the morning.

The room quickly fills up with men in those
tiny metallic blue briefs, each choosing a girl to entertain.
Everyone is drinking and partying, stirring up a mix of
testosterone and estrogen so potent you can almost smell sex in the
air. Emily and I just stand in the corner taking it all in.

I can’t lie, this is all highly
entertaining.

The music changes to Far East Movement’s
Like a G6
and the energy in the club explodes.

As Emily and I succumb to the let loose beat
and start to dance, I feel someone slide their hands down my sides
and push their body up against mine. “Hey beautiful,” a familiar
voice rasps. I smile, dancing another second before I turn around
and jerk my head back. “Sean?”

He smiles wickedly at me.

“What are you doing here?” I take a step
back.

“I came to see Ryan.”

“Here?”

“Yeah here. I come and hang out all the
time.”

“You do? Why?”

“Um, a room full of hot, horny women. Why
wouldn’t I hang out here?”

Okay, he’s got me there.

“How did you get up here?” I ask.

“I snuck up. I saw you from the dance floor.
Where’s Ryan?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him yet.” I
glance at my watch; it’s been over an hour.

“Well I can keep you company until he gets
here,” Sean says leaning into me. I put my hand on his chest and
glare into his eyes. God, he really is the spitting image of Ryan,
it’s uncanny. “You can hang out, but keep your distance,” I say
playfully, yet equally serious. He steps back, taking the hint.
He’s wearing an over-sized black t-shirt and baggy jeans. No hat,
which is unusual; his hair is much shorter than Ryan’s, but it’s
still wavy like his on top. I’ve only seen Sean a handful of times
since Ryan and I started dating again. That first meeting at the
café, and then here and there when he would show up unannounced in
the city. Other than that, Ryan pretty much keeps me segregated
from his family. Which I don’t hold against him at all. We have a
mutual understanding; we each have our own plateful of family
problems. How do we deal? The way we always have. We concentrate on
each other instead of dwelling on the drama. And Sean is most
definitely drama. I pour myself another glass of champagne and one
for Sean. I hand him the flute and he grimaces, “You rich folk
actually drink this shit?”

“Have you ever had it?”

“No.”

“Then don’t call it shit unless you know what
it tastes like.”

He looks at the glass tentatively, then
shrugs and takes a gulp.

I watch as he downs half the glass. The
number tattooed on his neck catching my eye. “Not shit I guess,” he
swirls the liquid causing the bubbles to fizz, “but I’d rather have
some Henny.”

“Henny?”

Sean laughs, “Hennessy. I’m surprised a
little rich girl like you hasn’t heard of it.”

“I have heard of it. I’ve just never heard
someone call it that. And is money all you see when you look at
me?” I ask annoyed.

“No, I see a girl who’s probably going to
break my brother’s heart once she’s done with law school.”

“Why would you say a thing like that?” I
snap, offended. “I love Ryan.”

“I’m sure you do, today. But the pauper never
ends up with the princess, he ends up on his ass.”

Sean is beginning to piss me off.

“Are you trying to start a fight?”

“I’m always trying to start a fight,” Sean
finishes the rest of his champagne arrogantly.

“I’m not going to walk into your trap,” I
stalk away from him and lean onto the railing on the other side of
the balcony. I look down into the crowd below and spot Ryan on a
pedestal, snake-charming a bunch of women. He’s shirtless and
wearing a pair of faded blue jeans that are hanging off his hips;
the waistband of his white Calvin Klein’s exposed. And for a hot
minute, I wish it was my name stitched onto the elastic so every,
single, woman, in this freakin’ club would know exactly whom he
belongs to.

M.E.

Ryan spins and twirls effortlessly around the
pole like they’re old friends, the strobe lights beating off his
body as he moves. I stare mesmerized, realizing he can hypnotize me
just as easily as those strangers on the floor. Watching him in his
element is a duality for me; it kills my spirit just as much as it
makes it feel alive.

“Show pony, isn’t he?” Sean leans on the
railing next to me, snapping me out of my daze.

“Jealous your brother gets all the
attention?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m worried.”

“You don’t strike me as the worrying
type.”

“About him I do.”

“And what is it that you worry about?”

“That he’s going to end up just like me.”

“Only if he steals your identity.”

Sean cocks an eyebrow at me.

I stand up straight and get right in his
face, brother or not, I’m not going to let him get in my head, or
Ryan’s for that matter. “I’m going to be blunt with you. Ryan and I
may come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, you know what
that is right? Tell me if the little rich girl uses too many big
words.” I bite and Sean just nods mutely. “Ryan and I are more
alike than you will ever know. So don’t come at me like you know
me. Because you don’t know jack shit. I don’t buy for one second
that you’re concerned about him, because if you were, he wouldn’t
have spent three years in jail for something you did.”

Sean clenches his jaw like I just slapped him
across the face; an inferno of emotion blazing in his blue
eyes.

“It doesn’t bother you that Ryan goes Full
Monty for a living?”

Of course it does, I hate it, but I love
him
.

“If it did, would I be standing here wasting
my time with you?”

Sean glares at me like he’s ready to brawl.
If he wants to go, bring it on. I’ll show him just how tough this
little rich girl can be.

“Maybe Ryan does have a fighting chance with
you after all.”

“Maybe,” I respond snidely.

“Maybe what?” Ryan’s voice carries over the
music and Sean and I both look over at him.

“Maybe nothing, Sean just needed some
reassurance about something,” I say pseudo-sweetly.

“Anything I should know about?” Ryan pins
Sean with an accusing look.

“Nope, nothing, bro. Your girl was just
putting me in my place,” Sean says derisively.

“Right where you should be,” Ryan smiles
scathingly. “Do you need a drink?” he asks me.

“Like the desert needs rain.” I hand him my
glass.