“Right.” Rob adjusts himself in the chair, which barely contains him.
“Give him your number,” Stephen urges me, waving the pen frantically at me.
There’s no chance I’ll be able to make the show tonight. But rather than reiterate the point, I grab the pen from Stephen and an unused napkin from the place setting next to me and write down my details. I hand it over to Rob as a little girl approaches Alexander with a piece of paper.
“Can I get your autograph, please?” she asks sweetly, holding out what looks like a copy of one of his albums. Her expression is one of awe.
“Sure!” he says, motioning at me to pass the pen.
My hand shakes slightly as I pass it to him.
Is that nerves? The hangover kicking in?
I reach for the Bloody Mary, sipping at it once more, pushing through the heartburn in hopes that the alcohol will do its job and calm my nerves.
Alexander places the pen on his table, returns the album to the girl, and fiddles with his watch.
Rob gets up as the little girl smiles and runs back to her table near to the palm trees on the far side of the restaurant, and Alexander copies the motion, downing the last of his coffee.
Before they head out, Alexander turns and looks at me.
“We’ll leave the passes on the guest list and if you can make it, then great.”
And with that he turns and is gone.
Once they’re out of range, Stephen leans over toward me. “I think he’s into me,” he says. The smell of his breath makes me want to vomit.
“Sure,” I respond, looking down at the table. “He’ssointo you that he left your details on the table.” I slide the napkin back toward him.
“Can you believe it—this one,” Stephen gives one of Kelly’s friends wide eyes and jabs a thumb at me, “turned down Alexander Morgan offering us passes to see him at the O2 tonight?”
Stephen’s been downing drinks like they’re going out of fashion since breakfast, at the cocktail-making class, the karaoke bar, and now here at Magic Mike Live. I truly don’t know where he puts it. Must be the Irish in him.
“We could be backstage now, lapping it up with Alexander, but instead we’re here with a load of middle-aged women, watching some low-rent Channing Tatum wannabe stripping for cheap thrills.” He shakes his head as we wait for the next section of the show to begin.
I get his disappointment. I’d wanted to go to see Alexander tonight too. Stephen was like a broken record, begging and pleading, trying to convince me to go. But that’s where we differ, morally and value-wise.
Loyalty has never been one of his strong points. Like so many other gays I know, he’s noncommittal and likes to keep his options open—just like his legs on a Friday night—in case something or someone that’s a better option comes along. In the queer world, monogamy and commitment are seemingly a rare thing these days.
Even if we had ended up going, Stephen would have invariably made it about him backstage, and I know the only reason Alexander invited us in the first place was because of me.
Ignoring Stephen, I take in Kelly, who’s a few seats down from us. Two plastic dicks are attached to springs on her headband, and she’s bopping away to Blackstreet’sNo Diggity.I can’t help but laugh.
I know I made the right decision.
If something is meant to happen with Alexander, it will. But tonight, it’s about Kelly. My sister’s friends all let out a loudscream when one of the strippers, dressed up in a skimpy police outfit, appears from behind the red curtain. He steps around the lone chair on stage and walks toward Kelly, taking her by the hand and pulling her up on stage.
“What’s your name?” he asks, removing the hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Kelly?” She sounds nervous, like she’s unsure of her own name.
“Well, Kelly, your friends here tell me you’ve been a bad girl,” he says, gently pushing her down into the chair. “So, I’m going to have to punish you.” He removes a truncheon from his leather belt, and starts sliding it up and down on the palm of his other hand, his fingers gripped tightly around it.
Screams erupt from the crowd, and I’m relieved that our mother went home after the karaoke. She’d almost had an epileptic fit when they played Pin the Dick on the Daddy earlier. I can’t even begin to think about what she’d say if she was here watching this now.
Ginuwine’sPonystarts to play, and the guy cuffs my sister’s hands behind the chair and starts to seductively gyrate around her. As he straddles her, he rips off his top and encourages Kelly to stick her tongue out, then moves his washboard abs over it before dropping to his knees.
When the second verse kicks in, he spreads Kelly’s legs apart, thrusting his head up underneath her skirt. The screams from the crowd are deafening, and even Stephen gets in on the action. He’s up on his feet, shouting at Kelly to take it all in.
