Strip Me Bare

by Marissa Carmel

  “So, your girl, huh?” Lorenzo asks as he lights up too.

  “Ah, no, old acquaintance,” I interject before Ryan can answer, pinning him with a cold stare.

  “This is Alana,” Ryan tells Lorenzo as he takes the cigarette smoothly from my hand.

  “Alana?” Lorenzo looks at me surprised. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he slides his shifty eyes over to Ryan and then back to me.

  “You have?” I answer astonished, taking the cigarette back from Ryan. I pull hard, blowing out a thick stream of smoke from my mouth.

  He nods, then puts a hand up to his ear, like he’s listening to something. “Yo, bro, they’re looking for you inside. Someone’s requesting you,” his voice rumbles.

  I turn white.

  “I gotta get back,” Lorenzo says clasping Ryan’s hand. “It was nice to finally meet you, Alana.”

  “Yeah, same here,” I mutter. “Thanks for the smoke.”

  Lorenzo nods, “Anytime for Ryan’s girl.”

  “I’m not Ryan’s girl,” I retort.

  “Whatever you say,” he responds with a smile and then he walks away.

  “How does he know about me?” I ask Ryan as soon as Lorenzo is out of ear shot.

  Ryan rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “The first night, I, uh, danced, I got piss drunk afterwards and sort of,” he glances away then back at me, “sort of unloaded on Lorenzo about you. About us.”

  My jaw drops.

  “And when was that? The first time you danced?”

  Ryan shrugs, “About a year ago.”

  “And what exactly did you tell Lorenzo?”

  I can’t wait to hear this.

  Ryan opens his mouth to talk when Lorenzo’s deep voice interrupts him, “Bro, they want you inside, like yesterday.”

  “Shit,” Ryan glares at Lorenzo.

  “I thought they’d be fine without you for a little while?” I say passive aggressively.

  “Throwing dumpsters,” Ryan shakes his head amused. He tightens the tiny towel around his waist, “Tomorrow, promise you’ll meet me tomorrow? I’ll explain everything,” he puts his hand on my hip and draws me close to him. “Please,” he whispers earnestly.

  I think my knees are about to give out, five years, I haven’t heard a peep from him in five years, and yet he still feels as right now as he did then.

  I close my eyes and concede, “I’ll meet you.” I put my hand on his shoulder, his skin soft under my touch.

  “Good,” he turns his head and plants a soft kiss right on the corner of my mouth causing my whole body to flare.

  “Is your number still the same?” he asks as he pulls away from me.

  “Ah, yes,” I answer a little light headed.

  “Okay, I’ll text you with a time and place,” he says taking my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

  “I won’t hold my breath.”

  He lets go and I suddenly feel like I’ve lost him all over again.

  “Look, Alana, you can throw all the dumpsters you want,” he gets in my face, “but hear me, now that I’ve got you back, I’m not letting go of you again.” His eyes flash, and they are deadly serious.

  “Why did you let me go the first time?” I whisper desperately.

  “Tomorrow,” he demands, but he doesn’t turn to leave. It’s as if he’s warring with himself.

  “Can you send Emily out?” I ask.

  He nods, those dark blue eyes heedful.

  We both stand there staring at each other. Neither of us wanting to be the first to turn away.

  Suddenly the door swings open, “Ryan,” a deep, velvety voice calls, it’s the Dominator. “Yo, there are ladies downstairs waiting for you, man.”

  My stomach turns.

  “Go,” I tell him and turn around. I can’t look back; I can’t bear to see him go through that entryway. I try not to picture him grinding on all those women. Try not to picture him humping Emily up and down the stage.

  I tell myself I shouldn’t be jealous.

  He’s not mine.

  Not anymore.

  “Alana!” Emily calls my name just before I climb into the limo. “Are you okay?”

  I examine the multiple meanings of okay; passable - acceptable or tolerable but not exceptional, allowable - acceptable to somebody or permissible, physically well - in good health or condition. I’m a bit of a dictionary geek.

  I look her dead in the eyes, “No.”

  “Shit,” she pulls me into a hug. Emily knows all about Ryan and me. She’s about the only one who knows. She was there the night we met, she heard all about our relationship issues and she’s the one I leaned on when he left me in the dust.

  Emily hands me my purse, “You probably need a cigarette.”

  “I probably need a shrink,” I pull one out of the pack and light it.

  I remember Emily trying to convince me that Ryan was just a jerk, that he played me for one thing, and I fell right into his trap. But I just never believed that. I may have been young and inexperienced when it came to guys and relationships, but character is something I could always read, even then. And read it well.

  My father says being able to read a liar makes for the greatest of lawyers, and being able to lie makes you untouchable. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to the law. Not that I take pride in being a good liar, but being able to read people has proven beneficial, in academics and in life.

  “I swear to God, Alana, I didn’t know it was him until I ripped off his mask, and then when I saw his face all I could think about was you.”

  “Did he know who you were?”

  “He had no idea, the last time he saw me my hair was bleach blonde and shorter than his. And you can barely see anything under those lights. When he recognized me, he asked if I wanted him to stop. I just told him to finish quick.”

  “He came after me,” I say astonished.

  “I saw. As soon as you ran out of that room, he was right behind you. One of the other strippers, er, guys grabbed him by the arm and shoved shoes and a towel in his hand. Then I told Hugo that I wanted him as our private dancer the rest of the night.”

  “You requested him?” I suddenly feel worlds better.

  “Ah, yeah, there was no way I was letting another woman touch him in front of you,” she says making this kneading dough gesture with her hands.

  “You’re seriously the best, Em.” I hug her.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve been covering your ass forever.”

  “And I love you so much for-”

  “So what did he say?” she interrupts me, not caring at all about the gratitude. “Did he pull the whole ‘it wasn’t you it was me thing?’ Or ‘I didn’t think it was going to work out so I thought it was best to just cut my losses’ asshole, man, excuse thing?”

  “Ah no, actually, he told me,” I bubble with laughter because it’s just so unbelievable. “He called me his girl, and said now that he got me back he wasn’t letting go of me again.”

  Emily’s mouth falls open, “No shit, well where the hell has he been for the last five years?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “That raises a red flag.”

  “No,” I clarify exhaling smoke, “he says he wants to talk about it tomorrow. He wants to have coffee.”

  “Coffee?” Emily responds the same way I did. “Well I wouldn’t hold my breath for that phone call,” she says pessimistically.

  I laugh, “I told him the exact same thing.”

  My purse suddenly rings. I take out my phone and look at the screen. It’s flashing with an unknown number and a text message:

  Dean & DeLuca Broadway and Prince. Noon. Xx

  Holy shit. I look up at Emily stunned, “I think it’s safe for me to hold my breath.” I turn the phone and show her the message.

  She looks down at it with an unsure expression, “So much for not dwelling on your past.”

  Fuck.

  I sit quietly at the dining room table poking at my oatme
al. I have no appetite. I just keep glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, 9:23 AM. I need to catch the 10:36 train if I want to make it into the city by noon. I know the path’s schedule by heart.

  I’m sitting diagonally across from my father, who’s quietly reading the newspaper like he does every Sunday morning. We barely speak and when he does address me it’s formal, like I’m a business acquaintance.

  The honorable Merrick J. Remington, that’s how the public knows him, and that’s exactly how he wants it, like he’s constantly sitting on the bench. A persona to uphold. And I am a direct reflection of him; his beautiful, perfect, obedient daughter. That’s who I am because that’s who he’s molded me to be; on the outside.

  I glance at him in all his stateliness, his thick salt and pepper hair combed back meticulously, his posture perfect, his defined chin pointed down. I don’t look anything like him. I’m tall and lean, with long, pale blonde hair just like my mother’s. The only trait we share is the color of our eyes; a light chestnut brown with black specs around the pupils.

  Judge Remington shakes out his newspaper, then folds it and throws it down onto the table, “What are your plans today Alana?”

  I look up at him, “I’m going into the city to meet Jill.”

  She’s the perfect alibi since she lives there.

  “Ummm hmmm,” he tinkers with his watch. “Good. Be careful,” he says the words but there’s no interest or care, just obligation. “Have you decided if you want campus housing or an apartment yet?”

  He’s talking about law school, Columbia.

  I’ll never forget the day I told him I was applying; it was like being branded with a hot poker. His eyes lit up, and not because I was following in his collegiate footsteps, but because he keenly caught on to the quiet excitement in my voice and the enthusiasm on my face. He knew it was something I really wanted, which meant it was something to hold over my head. I knew it too, but I didn’t care. Because being a lawyer is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So if I have to play good little rich girl to get what I want, I will.

  But trust me when I say, I don’t plan to star in this role forever.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I say, looking down.

  “Well, you have until Wednesday. I’ve set up an appointment with a realtor. 9 AM sharp.” He clears his throat, “On the West Side.”

  “Okay, daddy.”

  He gets up out of his chair; he’s dressed in white shorts and a light green polo shirt, which means he’s probably going to play tennis at the club.

  “Have a nice day,” he tells me in a detached tone, then walks out of the room.

  All business, all the time.

  Bye dad, love you too.

  I step off the train at 11:38 AM and head up the stairs of Penn Station. The city, like always, is alive. It’s a clear spring day as I walk down West 33rd with the sun reflecting off the high rises. I slip on a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses and trek towards Broadway. It’s about a ten minute walk to Dean and DeLuca. Which is good. I need the time to assemble my thoughts. Actually, I need the time to devise a geometric defense strategy to protect my heart, because I know today, my emotions are going to engage in war. For five years I’ve wondered what happened to him. Wondered what happened to us, and now, almost seamlessly, I’m going to get the answers. But answers aren’t the only thing I think I want. Seeing Ryan last night, feeling his body, smelling his skin recharged the feelings I’ve so desperately tried to repress. I’m so torn. I’m angry and hurt, and yet, at the same time, all I want is him.

  I’m delusional.

  He’s a stripper.

  How in the hell would that ever work?

  I check out my outfit in the window of the coffee shop. Skinny blue jeans and a white, short sleeve, eye hooked top, a slight tease of my midriff showing. My long blonde hair falling down my back and over my shoulders, it’s a little windblown, but it gives it an oomph of sexiness.

  I pull my sunglasses off as I look around the room. No sign of Ryan. My heart flutters a little.

  I order a cup of coffee and take a seat next to the window, if nothing else, I can people watch.

  I glance at the clock, 12:03.

  Then back out the window.

  Then back at the clock, 12:05.

  This is frustrating. Then I hear his voice before I see his face, “Punctual as ever.” I turn around as he glides past the table and sits in the chair opposite me. He puts a single flower in front of me. An orange stargazer lily. My throat closes.

  “For you.”

  I pick up the hefty flower. It’s fully bloomed and smells sweet. I think about that night in the cabana. There was a fresh vase of these exact flowers on one of the end tables.

  “You remembered.”

  “I remember everything.”

  I swallow hard.

  Me too.

  This is so awkward. All I keep thinking about is five years ago and Jack the Stripper.

  “Nice to see you came fully clothed,” I quip.

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “No.”

  Yeah, maybe just a little.

  “My clothes only come off at night.”

  I frown trying to erase the image of him seducing Emily out of my head.

  “Except with you, they can come off any time with you.”

  “Good to know, but I’ve already seen you naked so the mystique is gone.”

  He furrows his brow, “I know you’re upset with me.”

  “Upset is too mild of a word. Full-blown-pissed-off-hurl-something-at-your-head is more like it.”

  “Like a dumpster?” Ryan teases.

  I purse my lips, “Talk.”

  “Can I get a cup of coffee first before I spill my guts? I just got up.”

  I look at my watch, 12:17. Slacker.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Ryan says. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “I’d rather not talk about your occupation,” I retort.

  “Do you want anything?”

  “Yes, another cup of coffee,” and a Quaalude, “please.”

  “Still black?” he asks.

  I nod, surprised.

  “I told you, I remember everything,” he smiles, then saunters to the counter.

  I can’t help but stare at him. His tall, lean body dressed in a pair of dark washed jeans and a clingy gray t-shirt. His sandy brown hair long and wavy on top and short on the sides. He dominates casual-sexy.

  Ryan places my coffee in front of me, and then takes a big swig of his own before he sits back down. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he did that on purpose just to give me a show.

  “You look different,” he says as he slips into the chair.

  “In a bad way?” I shift in my seat, crossing paths with a sunbeam shining down through the window.

  “No, in an unbelievable way,” he slides his hand across the table and laces his fingers with mine. I really don’t know how to interpret this behavior. We’ve been separated for so long, yet he has no issues with PDA. Like we’ve never even been apart.

  “Ryan,” I pull my hand away from his, “I came here for an explanation, so can you cut the crap and just tell me what happened so I can move on.”

  He straightens in his seat, a worried expression on his face, “Is that what you want, to move on?”

  I stay silent, stoic, because I don’t know what I want.

  “Okay,” he concedes, “But before I explain I need to tell you something first, because I don’t know what your reaction will be and I need you to know how I feel. I can’t let you walk away without you knowing how I feel.”

  My mouth pops open a little.

  “Alana, I never lied to you about anything, when I told you I loved you I meant it and I still mean it. I still want us to be together, and this time I’m in it for life.”

  Life?

  “Losing you was the hardest thing I ever had to endure. And now that you’re here, in front of me, I’m not going to let you go ag
ain,” he runs his hand through his hair uneasily. “Unless-”

  “Unless, what?”

  “Unless there’s someone else,” he taps his foot under the table, his whole body shaking. “Someone you love.”

  I laugh aloud, “Someone I love? You’re hilarious.”

  His blue eyes widen, “Why is that hilarious?”

  I shake my head at him as the anger does revolutions in my chest. “Ryan, there isn’t anyone else. Because you ruined me for anyone else.”

  His jaw drops, “Oh God, Alana, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I respond lividly, “Ryan, I gave you my heart, my soul, not to mention my virginity and the very next day you disappeared without a trace. And now five years later you have the audacity to tell me you still love me and that you’re sorry. Do you think that’s going to magically fix it? Fix me?” I crack my knuckles restlessly, “I can’t get close to anyone, because I don’t trust anyone. Especially you.”

  Ryan rubs his palms against his temples as if this conversation is agonizing.

  Well I can tell you, it’s certainly unbearable for me. “So, no. There’s no one else,” I say irate.

  He slides his forearms across the table again, a pained expression on his beautiful face, “Alana, I don’t know what else to say. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that what happened, it was out of my control.” He goes to grab my hand again, but I pull away.

  Ryan looks down, “Alana, please.”

  “Please what?” I spit.

  “I love you,” the words roll right out of his mouth, and I swear to God, it takes all the self control I have not to slap him.

  “How can you say that after all this time?”

  “Because it’s the truth, I never stopped loving you, I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Then where the fuck have you been for the last five years? And why all of a sudden now, after I find you stripping at a night club, are you so forthcoming?”

  “Look,” he balls his hands into fists. “I wanted to find you, to call you, I just couldn’t. But I swore if fate ever gave us a second chance, I wasn’t going to blow it. So I’m here, telling you I’m yours, if you still want me. I know we have a ton of shit to work out, but I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. Just please, consider it.”