“Alana!” Emily’s voice pitches as she yanksme into hug, “You’re getting married!”
“Squeal louder Emily, I don’t think my fatherheard you in New Jersey.”
“Oh my God, your father.”
“He’s blessed off on my relationship.Everything will be fine. Ryan and I will just elope to avoid thespectacle.”
The honorable Judge Remington’s daughtermarrying a male stripper? The humiliation. I wish I’d had a camerato capture my father’s expression when I told him Ryan and I weremoving to Las Vegas, and why. What a conversation that was. But Imade a pact with myself. No more lying or sneaking around. This ismy life and I’m going to live it my way, with the person I want,doing what I love. And for now, he seems to be okay with that.
I’m not going to sit here and pretend that myfather and I have this wonderful new relationship now, we don’t.But it’s definitely different from the way it was before. Wecommunicate more, mostly through texts and emails, since that seemsto be the way he feels most comfortable talking to me. Which isfine. It’s interaction. And over the last few months I’ve learned alot about my father. That underneath that stringent, stoic exterioris a man who’s generous and eccentric and complex.
He said my mother was the only person whoever loved him. But I don’t think that’s true. My father has plentyof people who love him. I think she was the only one who understoodhim. And I really want to understand him too.
“Elope?” Emily puts her hands on her hips.“That might be fun. We do live in the perfect city for it,” shesays with a cocky smile.
“I hear the Little White Wedding Chapel isnice,” I say as I grab her hand and pull her to the door.
“And I know the perfect place for yourbachelorette party,” she laughs loudly.
Um, I don’t think so.
I take a deep breath as I pass through thecorridor, remembering the last time I went to a male revue and themetamorphosis that transpired. Hopefully tonight won’t be so lifealtering, just some good fun.
We get inside and I’m amazed at how differentthis Culture is compared to New York’s. There’s no one hanging fromthe ceiling or dancing on elevated stripper poles. There ishowever, a huge stage and a host of hot, half-naked men walkingaround.
Emily and I make our way down a few levels;there are three large staircases, one in the middle and one on eachside of the semicircular room, and find a spot with a close enoughview. The club is packed to capacity and the tables and chairs infront of the stage are already filled with eager and excited women.We order a drink at the bar with the music pumping and peoplemingling all around us.
“Are you nervous?” Emily asks.
“Yes, this is a big deal.”
“I know, look at this place, Culture in NewYork is nothing like this.”
“Seriously.” I take a sip of my drink,engrossed by the environment. Then everything goes dark for a splitsecond. A spotlight comes on, illuminating a shirtless guy withloose jeans and an exaggerated fauxhawk standing on stage. Heintroduces himself as Sammy, then juices the crowd with some dirtyjokes. He’s actually pretty funny. Next, he addresses the women onthe floor about the Do’s and Don’ts of the show, since they’re theones who are going to get hands on.There are way too may Dosthan Don’ts for my liking.
A few moments later the whistling ofMovesLike Jaggerstreams through the speakers and the stage isovertaken by six guys in leather pants and matching vests. Strobelights flash as they move in a choreographed fashion infectingeveryone in the room; ladies scream and dance as they embrace themen who can most definitelyMove Like Jagger.
“Where’s Ryan?” Emily asks, noticing the samething I am. I see Divan and Logan - who Emily can’t look at withoutblushing - but no Ryan.
“I don’t know,” I shrug, just as a burst ofpyrotechnics grabs my attention. The entire stage halts as someoneplunges from the ceiling on a line like a teardrop. Then the musicexplodes with Christina’s voice and Ryan starts ripping it up. Mymouth falls open.Talk about an entrance.I look on stunned,he’s just so freakin’ awesome. It’s as if I’m watching a bigger,better, amplified version of Jack the Stripper. The audience is onits feet as he twists and turns and straight-up owns the stage. Istare out with all these emotions running through me as Ryanhypnotizes the room; I’m happy and impressed and a littleembarrassed, but above all I can’t believe how far we’ve come. Iroll my engagement ring between my middle and pinky fingers,remembering the summer Ryan and I met; a free-spirited boy and anemotionally unavailable girl. Who could ever have imagined thatthose two people would end up here?
A princess not in love with a white knight orcharming prince, but a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. A guywith swarms of women falling at his feet, but who only has eyes forher.
It’s the perfect fairytale ending.
It’smyperfect fairytale ending.
Love and Laughter andHappily Ever After
Six years later
I stare at my name on the door.
Alana Pierce, Junior Partner.
It still makes me smile, the Pierce partandthe partner part.
I look at my watch; I have to hustle or I’mgoing to be late. I scurry out of Remington, Anderson, Smith andSteele, waving hastily at the receptionists behind the desk. Ipress the star key for the lobby and am whooshed down to the firstfloor.