Thanks Em, but I can take care ofmyself.
“Why would you say that? I’m here aren’t I?”I interject. “I’m just not partial to tiny male underwear. And Ithink the politically correct term isMale Revue.”
“Whatever,” Jill laughs at me. “This is theperfect night to let your hair down and get a little action betweenyour legs.”
“Jill!” Emily chastises. “They don’t sleepwith you.”
“I’m sure if you paid them enough theywould.”
“You’re so crude,” Emily says.
“I’m just real. And I’m pretty sure allthey’d have to do is take one look at Alana’s blonde hair, browneyes and long legs and they’d pay to sleep with her.”
“Well just don’t let my father find out ifthat happens,” I say dryly. “I don’t think he’d respond well to mepimping myself out.”
“I have a feeling you don’t need monetarytransactions for sex,” Jill pours herself a glass of champagne aswe haul down 5th Avenue.
I glance at Emily and she gives me asympathetic look.
“Where did you tell him we were going tonightanyway?” Emily giggles, her bright blue eyes sparkling, her longdark hair pouring over her shoulders. She’s five foot two and onehundred pounds soaking wet, but she has the persona of asupermodel; beautiful, confident, sexy, fun.
“I told him we were having an early dinner,then seeing a Broadway show. I almost choked on my granola when heasked me which one. Most of the time, he barely recognizes I’malive, but of course the one time I’m not prepared with a coverstory, he catches me.” I shift around in the cream leather seat,trying to pull down the clingy hem of my gold pleated tube dresswithout much success; if I’m not careful I’m going to end up givingeveryone a pre-show.
“So a male strip club would have been a no-gowith him, huh?” Jill asks sarcastically.
“Like I need to answer that.”
I’ve known Jill most of my life and she’sfully aware of my family situation; my father, the strict, detachedman who has stern expectations of his daughter, which includes animpeccable social image. Me, going to a male strip club? No-go is adrastic understatement, and she knows it.
“My uncle has very firm views about how hisdaughter should act,” Emily says annoyed. “What she should wear,who she should date,how she should breathe. And he’s colderthan damn ice. I swear I don’t know how our fathers share the sameDNA.” Both our fathers are prestigious figures in the lawcommunity. Mine is a superior court judge in New Jersey whileEmily’s is a big shot lawyer in New York City. They both have areputation to uphold, but my uncle John is very personable and laidback and he and Emily have a great relationship. My father is theexact opposite; stringent, disconnected, career driven. I don’teven think he has emotions. And we have no relationship.”
“So no little lost strippers following youhome then?”
“Jill.” I roll my eyes.
“Not unless they have a seven figure paycheckand republicans as parents,” Emily adds wryly.
Everyone in the limo looks at me and I’m notexactly sure what they’re thinking; it’s probably a toss-up. Theyeither feel incredibly sorry for me or think I’m some tight asswho’s going to ruin the fun. If they take one look at my dress theyshould know it’s not the latter.
As we drive through Times Square, the lightson the billboards are flashing and droves of people are walking.The city is always so alive, bustling, moving, churning. I love ithere. And I’ll love it even more when I live here. I start lawschool in three months, and I can’t wait.
It’s nearly eight o’clock when the limo pullsup to Culture, the only all male ladies club in the world. Atleast, that’s what the website boasts. Already, the line is aroundthe corner with eager women waiting to get in. All six of us stepout of the limo into the New York air. Along with Emily, Jill andI, there’s Beth and Liz the groom’s two sisters and one of Emily’sroommates from college, Jen. The smell of hot dogs and pretzelsdrift in the breeze from the street vendors as we make our way upthe sidewalk. There’s a secondary entrance that has a street signwith several shirtless men that reads ‘Male Revue’, and when I lookcloser I catch some fine print scribbled on the bottom that says‘lip smackin’ dick’.
Oh man, maybe I am too straight laced forthis.
Emily nudges me as we wait in line for thedoors to open. “Sorry about Jill,” she whispers.
“Why are you apologizing? She’s right,” Icross my arms. “I do need some action between my legs. I just haveto build up enough nerve to actually let someone in.”
“That’s not the only place you need to letsomeone in.”
I bristle, “Em, I don’t want to dwell on mypast. At least not tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” she concedes, the penises bobbling onher head.
“Are you going to wear those things allnight?” I ask incredulously.
“No, I’m just going to wait until Jill isdrunk enough not to notice I took them off.”
