“What is it?” she whispered.
Doris adjusted her cleavage, then sneaked another look around. “Some of the guests are complaining about the waiters and their . . . ah, lack of clothing.”
“What are you talking about?” Cheryl said. “That’s what they’re here for.”
“Yes, but . . .” Doris smoothed her hair.
Without waiting for an explanation, Cheryl rushed in through the double doors. The sudden warmth made her shiver, not to mention the feel of Andy’s eyes on her, all the way from the bar. Thrusting out her chin, Cheryl waltzed into the foyer to survey the scene. After a moment, she nodded. Everything looked good.
Female voices clamored as women milled about the low-lit interior, giggling over well-placed statues of naked men and sneaking looks at live models sprawled over marble benches. Salsa music trilled in the background, its steady beat creating a sultry vibe. The waiters who were not posing walked around, greeting women and passing appetizer plates. Although some hesitated to take food from a stranger dressed in a thong, most were enjoying the apricot-brie bites and pancetta-wrapped asparagus.
“Everything looks great,” Cheryl said to Doris, once again tallying the numbers in her head. “I think we’ll have just enough food and . . .”
“But look,” Doris said, grabbing her arm. “Look over there.”
Cheryl squinted. Back in the corner, one of their hairiest waiters had successfully served a tray of appetizers but had dropped a tray full of forks on the ground. Just like a man, Bronco thought little about grace as he bent to pick them up. From the back of his hairy thighs all the way up to his buttocks, Bronco’s posterior practically pressed into the faces of three shocked women at a nearby table. Plus, he was wearing a tight banana hammock and it ground up the back of his buns, revealing an unfortunate amount of shaggy black hair.
“Ah, I see,” Cheryl said. She was at the table in ten seconds. “Hello, ladies,” she trilled.
“Hi,” Doris chimed in, right by her side.
A group of older women barely looked at them. Instead, they gaped at the way Bronco’s male accessories squashed against the back of his tight silk thong, creating a misshapen alien form. He bent forward to pick up the forks one at a time, again and again. The persistent rhythm should have been saved for sex or push-ups.
“It seems like there’s a problem,” Cheryl said.
“There certainly is,” an older lady said, turning to her.
The woman next to her nodded. “If I wanted to see a hairy ass, I would have stayed home with my husband.”
Cheryl laughed, clapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Doris, get these ladies a round of drinks on the house.”
As Doris rushed off, Cheryl pushed the hairy waiter out of the way and scooped up the remaining silverware. In a hushed voice, she told him, “Book an afternoon at the waxing salon, tomorrow.”
At a nearby table, a Russian lady grabbed Cheryl’s elbow. “I like’em hairy,” she said, smacking her lips together in satisfaction.
Bronco beamed.
“That’s great,” Cheryl said, clapping the woman on the back. “Another satisfied customer.”
“Hi, Cheryl,” Betsy called, waving like a flag from her table.
Cheryl excused herself and headed over to Betsy’s group. The table was crammed full of young professionals, all sipping on The Whole Package’s signature drink. Cheryl, Jackie, and Doris had spent hours trying to find the perfect combination to capture the mood of the restaurant. They’d finally settled on freshly squeezed pomegranate juice mixed with champagne. “Girls’ Night” was born.
“This place is so cool,” Betsy gushed. “It’s everything I dreamed it would be.”
“And the guys are hot,” squealed a pretty dishwater blonde, and Betsy giggled.
Cheryl smiled and extended her hand to the blonde. “Hi. You must be Jenny.”
The girl nodded, sparkling hoop earrings bobbing along with her head. She gestured at Christoph. “And that’s my future husband.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Cheryl said, beckoning to him. “And it’s just going to get better.”
Christoph strutted over to the table. His smile practically glowed in the dim light. “I am Christoph,” he said, leaning one muscular arm on the table and leaning in. “You like The Package?”
“What’s not to like?” Cheryl mouthed to the girls but they were no longer looking at her. Jenny was eyeing Christoph like the first course on a menu.
With a tiny smile, Cheryl shook her head and stepped away from the table. She took a moment to appreciate the murmur of pleased voices, bright music, and the fire popping in the fireplace, then breathed in the heady aroma in the air. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and roasted meat wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the musky cologne of their waiters. The ambiance was perfect.
“We did it,” she said out loud.
“You sure did,” said a familiar, male voice.
Cheryl’s body flushed. Slowly, she turned to face Andy. Those green eyes held hers for a second, then dropped to the ground. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. The move pulled his cashmere sweater down tight over his stomach. The material clung to his abs in a way that put The Whole Package dancers to shame.
Cheryl gritted her teeth. “Can I help you with something?”
Andy looked up. In a brief, unwelcome flashback, Cheryl saw him as he had been in her bed. Sweat glistening off his skin, the sheet falling off his shoulder, his lips moving in to touch hers.
“I just wanted to tell you, it looks really good in here,” Andy said.
Cheryl surveyed the restaurant, mainly to give herself somewhere else to look. The salads were just being delivered. Although the women seemed to like the colorful blend of frisée leaves, walnuts, goat cheese, pear, and pomegranate, they clearly liked the waiters even more. The women blushed as the men circled the tables in their tight spandex bottoms, leaning in close to offer fresh ground pepper.
“You did a great job,” Andy said.
“Yup,” Cheryl said lightly. “Now, what can I help you with? The bar’s in the front, the entrees should be coming out in just a minute . . .”
“Cheryl,” Andy said, face dark. “I just wanted to say . . .” He reached out and gently touched her arm. “I’m sorry.”
His hand was warm on her skin. Cheryl’s knees went weak and for a moment, her gaze softened. What was the problem? She liked this guy. For a moment, she thought she could have loved him. But he had betrayed her. Humiliated her. Picked Stan. Pushing his hand off, she stepped back, almost knocking over the tray of salads the food runner had just set down.
“I need you to leave me alone,” Cheryl said.
Andy’s face fell. “Cheryl . . .”
Just then, Jackie swooped in. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she chirped. “Are you the young man responsible for the lovely Japanese men up at the bar?”
Andy’s eyes still held Cheryl’s. “Yes.”
“Darling,” Jackie said, physically turning him to face them. “It seems that, without you to translate, our gorgeous little waiters don’t know whether or not your men are gay.”
Andy peered up at the bar area, confused. Sure enough, Anthony had led Marco, a spicy Italian of ambiguous sexual orientation, over to the Japanese clients. Marco was batting his eyelashes and running his hands over his washboard. The Japanese were nodding and smiling, but looked incredibly confused.
“Shit,” Andy said. “Cheryl, I have to—”
Cheryl shrugged. “Have a good night.”
The moment Andy was out of earshot, Jackie whispered, “Are you all right?”
Cheryl nodded. “Of course,” she said, too brightly. “Another day, another guy.”
Jackie frowned slightly, her pretty face concerned. “It seemed like . . .”
“And you’re absolutely right,” Cheryl admitted, eyes still on Andy. He was back up at the bar, arm draped across Marco like a good buddy. At Andy’s command,
the bartender lined up a row of shots and, in quick succession, the Japanese pounded them. They hit the table, cheering. “But sometimes, that’s the way it goes.”
Jackie nodded. “Well, if you want me to do anything . . .”
“The only thing I want you to do is to stand there and look pretty,” Cheryl said, forcing herself back to the present. She gestured at the bustling room, determined not to let Andy ruin her good time. “I’m so excited. It’s going perfectly.”
“I know,” Jackie squealed, fluffing her hair. “It’s the most fun ever.”
Just then, the lights dimmed and 2 Live Crew blasted out over the speakers. From across the room, Cheryl saw Betsy and Jenny turn to each other, eyes wide and screaming. They started bouncing up and down in their chairs. Jenny reached into her purse, pulling out a handful of dollar bills and waving them in the air.
“Oh, my God,” Cheryl murmured. “Betsy’s friend just pulled money out. Does she think it’s a strip club?”
As the pulsating notes of “Me So Horny” pumped through the dining room, flashing lights drawing attention to the stage, Jackie giggled. “Now, why in the world would she think that?”
Everyone in the restaurant set down his or her fork in confusion, necks craning to see what all the commotion was about. With a flourish, Gabe leaped to the center of the room. At the sight of him, the women in the restaurant cheered. Gabe began a slow gyration, his eyes grazing the room. Spotting two women who were standing up, drinking cocktails, he turned and gave three quick thrusts. It took him just seconds to slide across the room and grab the hand of the blond woman. Setting down her drink, Gabe pulled her to the center of the dance floor and started a dirty dance. Instead of playing along, the poor woman froze. She put her hands up to her face and turned a slow, bright red.
“Uh-oh,” Cheryl said. “Should we—”
“It’s fine,” Jackie said, squeezing her arm. “Gabe will figure it out.”
Sure enough, Gabe had noticed the woman’s discomfort. He gave her a saucy wink, then deliberately, moved toward the opposite edge of the dance floor. Everyone in the restaurant stared in admiration as Gabe’s body writhed under the hot lights.
Noticing the attention was off her, the woman peeked out between her fingers. She darted backward, dangerously close to one of the fully nude male statues lining the floor. Gabe chose that moment to turn. He flashed a smile and gave one simple, suggestive pelvic thrust. This was enough to send the woman into a full panic. Scrambling toward the safety of the tables, she crashed full-on into the naked statue.
“Watch out!” Jackie cried, but it was too late.
The white plaster statue toppled to the ground, pulling the woman down with it. The flaccid plaster member broke off, rolled, and landed next to her face. As the woman made slow and intimate eye contact with the penis, her mouth gaped open, creating an even more scandalous sight.
Lawsuit, Cheryl thought, mind panicked. On-premise injury.
Cheryl and Jackie tried to push through the crowd but Doris got there first. She succeeded in pulling the woman up, but then lost her own footing in the process. Trapped by her long dress, Doris straddled the statue like a bull at a sawdust-floored bar. As Doris put her hands on the ground and struggled to stand, a photographer from the local paper snapped pictures. The flash on his camera pulsed like a strobe light. This heightened the sight of Doris’s movements and created the utmost picture of vulgarity.
“Go for it, Mom,” Mandy cheered.
Doris’s daughter was the youngest person in the room. It had been a battle to get Doris to let her come but Mandy had won her over with some line about being proud. The young girl sat sandwiched between a group of Doris’s friends from bridge club. It only took a quick look for Cheryl to realize that the other women at the table were not amused.
Marjorie McClemens, the president of the bridge club, was at least twenty years older than Doris. Apparently, when she first heard about The Whole Package, she suggested bringing the members of the bridge club to the grand opening. In spite of Doris’s protests, Marjorie had put together a field trip. As Doris had predicted, the women were shocked. Instead of cheering on Doris’s wild ride like every other woman in the restaurant, Marjorie stared glumly into a glass of Chardonnay.
Cheryl glanced around, trying to spot any camera phones documenting the incident with the statue for YouTube. Instead, her eyes fell on an old lady. Even in her hunched and fragile state, this grandma had managed to find her footing on top of a chair. She was standing there at full height, overlooking the crowd from above.
“Get down,” Cheryl cried, trying to push through the crowd. “We don’t have death insurance!”
The old lady gave Cheryl a beatific grin. As a line of oily backup dancers took the stage, the old woman raised her arms in the air and screamed, “Aiyee aiyee aiyee.” The catcall was louder than a cab whistle. Everyone in the restaurant turned to stare.
Delighted to have an audience, the old lady ran her hands over her sagging body and eyeballed the line of handsome young men.
“Hi, honey,” the old woman called. “You looking for a date?”
Guests laughed and cheered, swiveling their heads. They were clearly torn between watching Doris, the dancers, and the old lady. Most of them just kept their eyes on Gabe, who had managed to thrust his way over to Doris and was in the process of helping Doris up. Finally on her feet, Doris gazed at Gabe with adoration.
“You all right?” he asked.
Doris nodded, tugging at her dress. With a grin, Gabe leaned forward and gave her a quick, sexy kiss on the lips. Doris’s eyes widened. In spite of all the chaos, Cheryl grabbed Jackie’s arm and whispered, “Did that just happen?”
Jackie squealed, “That just happened!”
Gabe leaped back into the center of the restaurant. He started snapping his fingers like Patrick Swayze in the last, triumphant dance scene of Dirty Dancing. The dancers crowded round. To the beat of the music, they gyrated in unison.
The old woman remained on the chair, gyrating right along with them.
Gabe looked at Cheryl, who waved her hands in a panic. “Get her down,” she shouted. Gabe nodded. He rushed over to the woman, thrusting his huge package with every step.
“Aiyee aiyee aiyee,” the old lady cried, wiggling her hips to the music. “Come and get it!”
Through the pulsing lights of the room, Cheryl could see that Mandy was doubled over, laughing hysterically. Jackie was clutching George’s arm, and he was saying something to her in earnest. Andy’s clients were speaking to each other rapidly. Andy’s face was expressionless.
As everyone watched, the old woman fumbled with the top buttons of her shirt. Luckily, her arthritic fingers protested the action, so instead the woman grabbed for her heavy leather purse and began swinging it over her head.
Cheryl grabbed Gabe and practically shoved him toward the old lady. “Get her down.”
Gabe nodded. He moved forward with careful, measured steps. The crowd leaned forward, hanging on every motion of the hunt. Just as he got close enough to grab her, the old woman took a flying leap off the chair. The crowd gasped as, for a moment, she hung in the air like a broken piñata. Before she could hit the ground, Anthony pushed Gabe aside and dove between him and the old woman. With strong arms and a heavy coat, Anthony caught her just before she could crash to the floor and shatter.
“I’ve got her,” he shouted. “I’ve got her!”
The restaurant cheered. Gabe let out a huge breath, flashed a sexy grin at Anthony, then concentrated on working his way back across the room. He blew kisses and gyrated as though his life depended on it.
Just then, a shout went up from the other side of the room. Wearily, Cheryl twisted her neck to see. A drunken Jenny had taken up where the old lady had left off. She was on top of the table, tantalizing Christoph with a dance number of her own as her friends egged her on. Waiters were trying to place entrees on the tables but at this point, no one was paying attention to food.
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Doris rushed over and pulled Jenny down from the table. “That is inappropriate!”
“I’m sorry, Doris, but this entire place is inappropriate,” said a woman from the bridge club. “I think I have to leave.”
“You haven’t even eaten,” Doris said. “Look, the entrees are coming out.”
Marjorie shook her head. “I think it’s best if we go.” The rest of the group nodded, standing up. “We’ll take Mandy home.”
“No,” Mandy pleaded. “Mom, let me stay.”
Doris was on the verge of tears. “No, honey. Go home.”
In spite of Mandy’s protests, the group of women moved toward the exit. Doris leaned against the table, clearly upset. Cheryl headed in her direction but the Russian woman who liked hairy men stepped into her path.
“Excuse me,” the Russian woman hissed, holding Cheryl’s elbow in a talonlike grip and guiding her back to their table. “You manager?”
“Yes, I’m one of the owners,” Cheryl said, proud to say it in spite of everything.
“This is too oily,” the woman said.
Confused, Cheryl peered at the table. The woman had pushed the fish entree away. A slight gloss of lemon caper sauce shimmered from the plate. Although the overall presentation was perfect, Cheryl nodded. “Absolutely. I will bring you back another one, this time with the sauce on the side.”
“I don’t mean fish,” the woman scoffed. “I mean him.”
One of their younger waiters, Eric, was standing by the table and offering fresh ground pepper. The Russian lady was right. The oil on him was so thick he could have slid across the restaurant like a Ferrari in an ice spin. “Hot though, no?” Cheryl tried.
The Russian lady downed her drink and grabbed her purse. “Everyone else is leaving, we may as well, too.”
“Everyone else is not leaving,” Cheryl said. “One table left.” She knew the danger of the lemming effect. If she let this happen, the entire restaurant could clear out. “Help!” she mouthed to Jackie.
Jackie raced over and started speaking French to the woman. The Russian woman cursed at her and grabbed her coat. The rest of the women at the table got up and pushed their way to the front door.
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