“Yes.”
“Okay,” I shrug, wondering what the hell hehas up his sleeve.
Ryan grabs his phone off the end table by thecouch and punches a button, a few moments later he’s talking toDivan. “Hey man, change of plans tonight,” he turns and walkstoward my bedroom. “No Male Revue, and I need…” He disappearsbehind the door before I can hear anything else.
A few hours later I’m looking at myself inthe mirror. Ryan has already left for work, and my cab should behere any minute. I glance at the clock, 9:30 PM. I decided to stillskip the Male Revue even though Ryan opted out. I can have a malestrip show anytime I want, just look at what happened thisafternoon.
I run my fingers through my blonde hair, Iblew it out so it’s pin straight, the ends touching just below themiddle of my back. My bangs are styled to the side and my eyessmoked out with a black sparkly shadow; my lips are a glossymagenta pink.
I slip on a pair of black knee-high bootsover my skinny jeans. My shirt is a sheer peach-colored tunic. It’spleated all the way around, the front hem shorter than the backwith a black tank top underneath.
It may be December outside, but inside, thatclub will be hotter than the Fourth of July.
I stuff my ID, some money and a lip glossinto my black Coach wristlet, then grab my coat and head downstairsto wait for my cab. Twenty minutes later the yellow taxi isdropping me off on the doorstep of Culture. I step out andimmediately see a familiar face; Lorenzo is standing behind the redvelvet rope checking IDs. There’s already a line two city blockslong of women and a few men waiting to get in to one of NYC’shottest social scenes.
“Chicka!” Lorenzo’s voice vibrates when hesees me and, like usual, I hear the chords toStill Not aPlayain my head. Lorenzo’s dressed in his typical threads,black leather jacket, black shirt, black pants and derby hat. “It’sbeen too long, mommy. Where you been?”
“Stuck under law books,” I tell him as heunhooks the rope, allowing me to bypass the line.
“Ryan got the hookup for you and your girliestonight,” he tells me with a smile.
“Oh really?” I respond surprised. “What doesthat mean?”
“You’ll see,” he grins. “Have a smoke for oldtimes before you go inside?”
I sigh, “I quit.”
“Good for you.” Lorenzo nudges me and thenopens the door.
I curl my lip, “I’m not so sure.”
“Star! Alana’s here.” He yells just before Iwalk through the doorway. Lorenzo winks at me. “She’ll take care ofyou. Have fun…” he teases.
“Thanks,” I say, my curiosity piqued. Iremember the last time I was here, and my thoughts immediately dartto the semi-private room in the back of the club. The cluster ofalcoves is called the dance quarter, which I later came to findout. And I can’t help but wonder if Ryan and I are going to end upthere again.
I walk in and find Star sitting behind alittle table with a cash register on it. She’s African Americanwith a huge afro and beautiful almond eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Alana,” she says sweetly,pulling up one side of the black curtain. “Everything is ready foryou and your guests.”
Guests?
I follow Star into the club, a remix ofTroublemakerby Olly Murs and Flo Rida is pumping throughthe sound system. It looks mostly the same, except now there arepedestals with stripper poles sprinkled around the floor, and halfnaked men dancing systematically to the music. There’s also a newCirque du Soleil attraction on the ceiling. Huge rings hung byribbon, it’s a spectacle to say the least.
“This way,” Star leads me left.
“Where are we going?” I ask curiously.
“The VIP area.” We start to climb up steps ina dark corridor lit with tiny twinkle lights. There’s a longhallway at the top with several large doors on the right hand side.She opens the second one and motions for me to step through. As Ienter the room, I realize it isn’t a room at all; it’s a hugebalcony with a bird’s eye view of the entire club. There’s aU-shaped white leather couch with purple spotlights shining overit. A large, shiny, white square table with several bottles ofchampagne chilling in silver buckets, and a small wet bar in theleft corner.
Wow.
“The rest of your party is on their way upand Ryan should be here shortly. Would you like a glass ofchampagne?”
Um,yeah.
“Yes, please,” I say, and she pulls out abottle of Cristal and pops it open.
Ryan didn’t skimp, I think to myself,as I take the glass from her.