Eileen Slovak

Chapter Twenty-four: Girl’s Night?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

What I need is a night out with the girls. I call Maggie. She’s still at the hospital.

      “There are some things only vodka will resolve.”

      “Scarlet, if vodka’s the answer, I’m afraid of the question.”

      She agrees to call Corky and set something in motion.

The frigid evening air in Providence bites at my skin. Although the winter sky is hopeful; brilliant stars flash against an ink blue canopy. An hour later, I pick Maggie up at her apartment. We’re meeting Corky at some new club downtown called Masque.

      “How’s Dad?”

      “The same, mostly.”

      “I’m really glad you didn’t cancel.”

      “Why would I?”

      “You haven’t been yourself lately, since….”

      “Since…Sean crashed head on into a steam roller you mean? You don’t have to tiptoe around it, Maggie. I’m dealing with it.”

      “Sure, you are. Do you know anything about this club Corky’s dragging us to?”

      “Nada. I’ve heard they have some unique entertainment. It’s supposed to be an upscale club where artists and pseudo celebs mix and mingle.”

      “Sounds interesting.”

      “Sounds like a great place to drown my sorrows.”

      Maneuvering through the crowd, I get a very odd feeling. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the blackout interior. The ceiling guided us with dots of miniature lights designed to mimic the constellations. LED candles on the tables and the bar offer the only other illumination. A group of men and women in skimpy outfits are bumping and grinding to booming, re-mixed club music. Above them on four elevated dance floors pierced by poles, single dancers in string bikinis and G-strings spin around. I find myself concerned one of them will fly off, ending up airborne. The waiters are wearing white Zorro masks, white spandex shorts and bow ties. The waitresses switch by in stark alabaster lingerie, glowing in the black light. At least the servers are easy to spot.

      “I have nothing against a strip club,” I say. “In fact, sometimes it’s a nice place to take a break. But they should be honest about the fact that it’s a strip club. That way those of us who aren’t prepared can be in the right mindset before coming in. Plus, I don’t have any singles. Corky’s famous for picking places like this! Where the heck is she anyway?”

      “She said to meet her at the bar,” Maggie says.

      I scan the crowd, but can’t see a thing, growing increasingly more annoyed by the second. This is not what I envisioned for tonight. Maggie and I find a perch at the bar, shouting to each other over the music. We watch the congested dance floor with a combination of confused amusement.

      “Is clothing optional for patrons too?” I ask, gesturing toward the crowd.

      “I have no flipping idea!” Maggie yells. “How did we get talked into this? Where the hell is Corky?”

      “No clue.”

      “Oh, dear Jesus, don’t look now…” Maggie snort-laughs, unable to complete her thought.

      I spot Corky at the other end of the bar. She’s about to be veritably consumed by a round, balding man in a business suit. He has her pinned between his girth and the bar, leaving her no hope of escape. He must have wandered into Masque under the same premise as we did. This type of man is in constant pursuit of Corky. He’s likely well educated, gainfully employed, in sales or middle management, judging from his well-tailored suit. Knowing the cosmos know us better than we know ourselves, he may be an ideal match for Corky. Sadly, she prefers athletes or anyone in uniform.

      “I didn’t recognize her in that outfit. I thought she worked here,” I say. Corky’s decked out in a black leather mini skirt paired with a hot pink and white zebra halter-top. She’s rounded out the look with three- inch studded heels. 

      “Maybe he thinks she’s working too, if you know what I mean. Maggie to the rescue!”

      “Good luck!”

      Maggie weaves her way over there and slides up next to Corky’s captor, making her presence known.

      Startled, the man staggers backward. He stares up at Maggie who is towering over him like an Amazonian princess with her hands on her hips. She and Corky leave him dumbfounded. A bar table opens up so I leap up to snag it, waving the girls over.

      “You know, I take back what I said about this club. I’m finding it entertaining watching Maggie rescue you from another light bulb salesman.”

      “Thanks Mags. I owe you a drink.”

      “I owe you both one,” I say. “It was my bright idea to go out.”

      I flag down a glow-in-the-dark cocktail waitress in sheer lingerie with feather accents. Noting her three-inch heels, I wonder how her feet feel at the end of the night. While I order, Maggie is approached by a well-endowed cowboy in leather chaps and a see-through shirt that showcases his abs. He tips his ten-gallon hat, asking her to dance. She declines, shooting me a cross-eyed look. At twenty-eight, Maggie, who is in the best shape of her life, is someone people notice entering a room. Overweight throughout her late teens, she struggled with self-esteem until she took up power walking, shedding thirty-five pounds. The newfound attention is still so completely foreign it overwhelms her. She simply doesn’t see what others see when they look at her. In her mirror, she’s still a big girl.

      Corky amuses us with stories about what we missed this week at the Un Pub.

      “Here we are, ladies.” Our waitress lays the drinks down one by one: “One Mojito, one Moscow Mule, one Gin and tonic. That’s thirty-three even.”

      I hand her two twenties, saying, “keep the change.” She deserves it for working in those heels.

      “Kind of expensive,” I say. “We must be paying for the entertainment too.”

     “What is that?” Corky asks, pointing to my drink.

      “What do you mean? It’s a gin and tonic. Why?”

      “Old lady drink,” Corky quips, sipping her Moscow Mule.

      “No. It’s a sophisticated drink.”

      “Trust me, I’m a bartender, you can tell a lot about a person by what they drink. You, my friend, are repressed. It’s been going on for a while. Way before Sean,” she says waving her hand in the air. “Next thing, you’ll take up knitting.”

      “God! Could everyone get off my back! Just because I don’t drink the trendiest new thing, doesn’t mean I’m ancient.”

      “Guys, there are tons of men here. But Scar, I hate to say it, none of them will notice you looking like that. You need to dress a little sexier, like me. Advertise you’re available. I’m not saying you dress like a nun or anything, but would it kill you to show some cleavage?”

      “I thought nuns wore habits,” Maggie says.

      “I guess when they go to strip clubs, they dress like this.” I say, about my black jeans and tan sweater. “You’re right though, Corky, no self-respecting nun would be caught dead wearing that ensemble.”

      Corky flashes me her middle finger. She can pull off almost any look with her petite frame. Tonight, even though she is aiming for sexy, she looks like someone’s little sister playing dress up.

      “I’m dying for a cigarette,” she says. “I need to step out for a bit.”

      “Don’t rest on any street posts,” I say. “You may get arrested. Then again, knowing your affinity for uniforms, that could work out for you.”

      “Whatever, Red. I’m not the one walking around with a stick up my butt half the time. So what if I want to look hot? At least I’m not hiding like you two.”

      I roll my eyes.

      “Wait a minute, what did I do? I’m not hiding. I’m too tall to hide,” Maggie counters.

      Corky’s annoyed now, looking around the room for an exit to go have a cigarette.

      “Besides what’s with ensemble and affinity? Where do you get off talking like that? I’m sorry, but you look like you’re dressed for church. A true friend speaks the truth. The only guy getting turned on by that outfit is one who lives in his mom’s basement and hides bodies in his freezer.”

      The truth is I didn’t even change my clothes for tonight. I forgot to put on jewelry, and didn’t bother touching up my make-up from earlier in the day. I ran a brush through my hair on my way to pick up Maggie. Corky is nothing if not honest. It’s the trait I respect the most in her. Right now though, I don’t want to hear it.

      “Corky, go easy!” Maggie says, with a warning look.

      “We should have left you over there with your little friend,” I say. “You two could have run away together to have five kids on a farm in Minnesota. Ensemble and affinity come from the French language; I believe.”

      “Oh man, here we go. I really hope I hook up tonight. It would save me from dying of boredom here with the language lessons,” Corky says. “You know what your problem is, Red? You think you know it all. But you don’t know anything about men. That, my pretty, scares the living crap out of you! I mean, what do you know about that guy? Maybe he’s really smart or has a great sense of humor. No wonder you sit home alone every night.”

      “Or maybe I saw the glow of where his wedding ring used to be. Maybe I suspect there are pictures of his wife and eight kids in his wallet. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go pick his pocket to back up my story. Maggie was doing you a favor. Remember we agreed, I rescue you, you rescue me, is our creed.”

      Corky sighs. “Ok, so you pegged that guy. The point is, I’m still trying, while you find something wrong with every dude.”

      Maggie is making a thrashing motion across her neck to get Corky to stop talking.

      “Maggie, I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough, I’m throwing the BS flag. It’s time she stops ducking and running, that’s all I’m saying. Sometimes you have to take a chance.”

      “What do you think Maggie?” I ask. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

      “Don’t ask me. I’m getting more action here than I do in other clubs. I think I found my new favorite hangout.”

      “Let’s just go. You two aren’t open minded enough for this. God-forbid we try something new,” Corky says.

      “There’s new, then there’s whatever this is Corky. You have to admit, it’s pretty in your face,” Maggie says.

      On our way out, a man approaches us suggesting we have a foursome. He offers himself as the centerpiece for the event. Then he goes on to describe his intentions in intimate detail. We leave the self-proclaimed stud bewildered that we turned him down.

      “Pig! Get lost!” Corky says.

      “Your loss,” he counters, moving on to other prey.

      “I hope no one saw me here,” I say.

      “If they did, they were there too,” Maggie adds.

     “That guy was such a perv. I think I’m gonna be sick,” Corky says once we reach the car.

      “That’s very open-minded of you,” I say.

      “Shut-up and drive, Scarlet,” Corky says, lighting up.