The dance was highly choreographed and highly salacious. A lot of thrusting and grinding was happening on that stage. Frankly, Edie had no idea that sort of thing was allowed in public. She’d never been with a man who could gyrate like the men onstage.Moreover, she’d never been with a man who had so much to gyrate with. She was enthralled by it, and when the four men pulled a drag queen up onstage and sat her in a chair, they really began to work their magic.
The drag queen was a natural—she played up the heat, pretending to swoon more than once, her mouth skirting dangerously close to the dancers’ genitalia as they were thrust into her face. When the drag queen was released from her chair (she pretended to faint on her way back to her seat, much to the delight of the drunk crowd), the dancers moved to the edge of the stage, inviting the audience to put their faces close to their crotch, too.
“Shit,” Joan said, grabbing Edie’s arm and knocking her out of her trance. She nodded toward Mark Wachtel. His head was turned, as if he was looking for a server. His gaze was not on the stage.
“What do we do?” Edie asked.
Mark stood up, his neck craning, as if trying to see someone.
Joan suddenly surged forward, putting her hand on the arm of one of the drag queens next to them. “Excuse me!” she said loudly. But whatever Joan said to them was drowned out by the music. She turned back after a quick discussion. “We need cash.”
“How much?” Frances asked.
“A lot,” Joan said. “Big bills.”
Frances pulled the pleather bag from her shoulder and withdrew a thick roll of bills.
“What the hell?” Joan said. “Did you rob a bank?”
“I thought we might need cash.”
“We do,” Joan confirmed. “For a lap dance. Irene was right.”
Joan took the roll of bills from Frances and turned back to the helpful drag queen. In the very next minute, Joan was standing up, waving bills in the air and shouting“Yoo-hoo! Trojan! Yoo-hoo!”
“Yoo-hoo?” Marcy repeated, cringing.
Trojan danced his way over, pretending to mime a rope that Joan had thrown to him, pulling him in.
“What do you need, doll? You want some special attention?”
“Not for me. For the gentleman at the end of the bar.” She pointed to Mark Wachtel, who had turned back around in his seat to face the stage.
Trojan looked at the bills Joan held up. “Sorry, doll, that’s not enough for special attention.”
Joan quickly peeled off more twenties from the roll until Trojan was satisfied. “Okay,” he said, and thrust his pelvis forward for Joan to put the bills in G-string. Edie had a desperate urge to cover Marcy’s eyes as Joan shoved the bills into the already overstuffed pouch of his G-string.
Trojan winked at Joan, then danced his way back into the routine and across the stage to where Mark was sitting.
“Where is Irene?” Frances said desperately. “Can anyone see her?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t see anything but that ass,” Joan said, watching Trojan undulate his body in Mark’s face. His gaze was fixed on Trojan’s groin, his lips pressed tightly together.
“I can’t see her,” Frances said. “Why did we ever believe this would work?”
The dance lasted for about five minutes, during which Mark’s attention was laser-focused on Trojan. But then he offered Trojan some bills, and Trojan stood, joining the others for a bow before heading offstage. Mark looked down at his drink. And then turned in his seat, as if he intended to get up.
“Shit shitshit, where is she?” Joan hissed.
Mark caught the server’s eye and signaled for a check. He then proceeded to pat down his pockets, as if looking for something.
“I’m going to have a heart attack,” Frances said. “He can’t go yet. We don’t know where she is!”
The dancers came back onstage, this time in police uniforms. They were playing to the crowd, encouraging touches, twirling handcuffs, and threatening arrest for salacious infractions. Joan stood up as they began to dance. “Trojan!”
He tried to ignore her, but Joan was practically crawling onto the stage. She held up several bills—the roll Frances had given her was about half the size it had been when she’d first removed it.
“One more time. Please!” Joan said.
