“Actually … the opportunity has not presented itself.”
“You’re kidding! I thought it was a rite of passage for women to visit a gay bar at some point. Are you shocked?”
“No!” Frances frowned at her.
“Take the shot and chill out,” Irene said, forcing her to take it. “Our guy is here.”
Edie and Frances gasped at the same moment.
“End of the bar around the stage. Heavyset guy. Looks like every extra in every army movie ever made.”
Edie and Frances turned to look.
“Good God,” Irene said. “Don’t make it so obvious.”
Irene was right, of course, but before she turned back, Edie managed to get a good look at their mark. He was burly, with a military buzz cut. He sat alone at the end of the circular bar around the stage, nursing a drink as he watched people dance. There were two empty glasses at his elbow.
Irene gestured for all of them to move closer. “Get a table at the stage across from him. I can’t let him see me—he might recognize me.”
“What are you going to do?” Frances asked.
Irene shrugged. “Pick his pocket, I guess.”
Marcy laughed, like it was a joke.
“How are you going to do that?” Frances asked.
“Well, I obviously don’t know yet. But I know how to pick pockets.”
She did not look or sound as certain as Edie would have liked.
“You do?” Frances pressed, obviously thinking the same thing. “Because I never knew that about you, and it seems like the sort of skill that would require continued practice.”
“I think we’ve established there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Franny.”
“Hey,” Frances said, and pointed a finger at Irene. She blinked. “Fair point.”
Just then, a rowdy bar customer knocked into Joan and her tequila went flying out of her glass.
“Go,” Irene said, pushing the rest of them forward. “Make sure his eyes stay locked on that stage. Make a scene if you have to.” She disappeared into the crowd behind them while the man apologized to Joan and insisted on buying her another shot.
“How are we going to get seats at the stage?” Marcy asked.
“I don’t know. Improvise,” Joan said. “The show is starting.”
Edie and Frances exchanged a look. Edie sensed a familiar current between them—the buzz of something big starting. Thisheist was no longer an exercise in fantasy. If Irene managed to get that key fob, the game was on and the real work began. Edie felt buzzy with excitement and a tad nauseated by fear.
Marcy led the way to the stage, apparently intending to improvise as ordered. She pushed a path through the crowd and managed to squeeze them in between two parties of drag queens, both of whom seemed happy to share space with old ladies.
The first man onstage was none other than the door man they’d met at the entry. The lights went down,TROJANflashed in neon pinks and blues above the stage, and then the lights came up along with the music. Trojan began to dance to a heavy bass beat. At first, he looked to be doing a line dance. But his moves grew more suggestive, his hips circling and thrusting. Then his clothes started to come off. Edie looked at Marcy, expecting her to be shocked or embarrassed. But Marcy had joined the drag queens in egging the dancer on.
When Trojan had stripped down to a bright green G-string thong, and had gathered the bills thrown at him, an announcer came onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen! A round of applause for theone and onlyTrojan!” The crowd roared as Trojan took another bow, flexing his muscles and grabbing his crotch.
“Join me in welcoming Buck Wild! Jiggler!AaaandRyder!”
Three men joined Trojan onstage as the announcer stepped off to the side. The lights went down again, and when the lights began to come back up, the four of them had arranged themselves in suggestive poses against each other. The music started, and the dancing began.
Edie poked Frances, nodding toward their mark. Mark Wachtel’s gaze was fixed on the stage. When the lights strobed across the stage, he sat forward, his tongue darting across his bottom lip.
