by Lisa Edward
As I showered and dressed, I pushed my nerves aside, convincing myself I’d have a good time with my new friends. It felt foreign for me to be going out with a large group of girls, having only been out with Tiff, Becca, and a couple of others to the dancers’ bar around the corner.
For years I’d danced all day and gone home. The people I had been surrounded by day in, day out, had been my dance partners and my troupe, but not my friends. Everyone had had their own lives, and had parted ways after rehearsals to see their families and loved ones, while I had gone to my apartment to eat microwaved mac and cheese.
At least once a week I had gone to see my mom, my only family, to make sure she was doing okay without Dad. For the first year she was definitely not okay, but over time she’d found her way and I’d started to think that maybe I would be able to go to New York after all. And now here I was, with Bax again and with actual friends.
The girls on When the Ship Comes In were increasingly friendly after Tiffany and Becca had led the way, seemingly unperturbed by the new girl stealing the lead in the production. I now felt like one of them, like I belonged, so much so that Louisa had invited me to her bachelorette party, my first ever. Life was good; in fact, it was better than good. It was fantastic.
Checking my reflection in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door one last time, I turned and looked over my shoulder to see the back of my outfit. I had no idea what to wear to a bachelorette party. Louisa had told me to ‘dress to impress’ and while I didn’t quite know what she’d meant, I wasn’t the one getting married so I didn’t need to stand out. I had dressed in black pants and black top which would fit any occasion, and I was happy to blend in to the background and observe the goings-on of the evening.
A white stretch limo pulled up outside and I grabbed my coat, nervous butterflies circling frantically and filling me with excitement. The music coming from the back of the car was so loud I could hear it all the way upstairs in the apartment when the door opened and nine girls climbed out. All were dressed in skin-tight mini dresses that left little to the imagination.
“Jasmine! Jasmine!” they chanted below the window. I raced to buzz them up, then held the door while a stream of scantily clad girls with big hair and high heels filed in.
“Why aren’t you ready?” Louisa asked, taking in my outfit.
“I thought I was.” I looked at my pants and top. “Isn’t this okay?”
“Pfft!” Was the only response from Louisa before she wandered off and made herself at home in the one comfy chair we owned.
Tiffany leaned in. “Better get changed or she’ll be here all night,” she whispered.
“I don’t think I have anything suitable.”
My clothes were in the corner on a chrome clothes rack, and Tiff quickly shuffled through them until she pulled out the tiniest dress I owned.
“Here. Put this on.” She flung it at me, and I stripped off and shimmied into the dress.
“Is this better?” I asked, gracefully pirouetting for them to inspect my little fire engine red dress that showed way too much cleavage.
“Perfect!” Louisa exclaimed, stumbling from the chair to pull me into a hug that lasted an awkwardly long time.
“How much have you had to drink?” I giggled nervously and disentangled myself from her embrace.
“Well, I am the bride-to-be.” She pointed to the pink satin sash draped over her shoulder. “See? Bride. To. Be.”
The other girls all seemed to have had a head start on me as well. Some swayed and danced to non-existent music, already amped up for a night out to celebrate their best friend’s, my newest friend’s, impending nuptials.
“Is lover boy home?” Louisa asked, peering over my shoulder toward the bathroom.
“No, he’s working tonight at the bar.”
“Oh! Free drinks at Baxter’s bar!” Louisa announced and the other girls gave off a cheer.
I shook my head. “It’s not a club, it’s just a little bar on the other side of town. Not really”—I pointed to her sash—“bride-to-be appropriate.”
We all clip-clopped out the door and dove into the back of the limo. No wonder the girls were already in a partying mood; there were strobe lights, music pumping, and two empty champagne bottles in a bucket with a third bottle opened.
Louisa tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s move out, James.”
James, if that was his real name, pulled away from the curb and we all slid across the long seats, with one girl landing heavily on her ass on the floor in between the two benches. She laughed madly, staying on the floor for the remainder of the ride until we pulled up forty minutes later outside a narrow black building with a red rope across the doorway.
So this was where brides-to-be came for one final hoorah before tying the knot. As tall, tanned, muscular topless waiters skirted between the scantily clad women, I suddenly didn’t feel so uncomfortable in my teeny-tiny red dress.
Even at the beginning of the night, when most of the girls seemed to be reasonably sober, they were taking every opportunity to touch the guys as they carried drinks on trays.
Thank goodness Baxter doesn’t work in a place like this. Watching the way the women groped the guys then giggled together as they made crude gestures made me feel sorry for the girlfriends sitting at home. Did they know where their boyfriends were? Did they have any idea that the guys flirted outrageously for tips and allowed the random women here to take advantage?
The emcee, dressed in a too-tight white sailor outfit, stepped onto the stage, and the crowd went wild. I’d never seen women act this way. Our group were all roughly the same age, but in some of the bridal parties were women wearing ‘Mother of the Bride’ sashes. I couldn’t imagine my mom ever wolf-whistling a young guy in his twenties or calling for him to take his clothes off.
“Please take your seats, ladies, and we’ll get the show started. You can call me Captain, and I’ll be your emcee tonight.”
I didn’t know where our seats were. There were rows of foldaway chairs in the middle of the small venue and couches around the outside wall. Tiff grabbed my arm and led me back to one of the couches that was just large enough for the ten of us to fit.
“Tonight, ladies, we have a treat for you,” Captain’s voice boomed over the constant hollering of women. “The man you’ve all come to drool over has prepared something to tantalize … to mesmerize … and to make your panties drop.” A deafening roar erupted; obviously they wanted their panties to drop. I was quite happy to keep mine on. “But first, is anyone here in need of a doctor?” He stepped aside. “Here’s Doctor Lurve.” A guy dressed in a white doctor’s coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck stepped into the spotlight.
He was gorgeous and could have easily been a model with his jet black hair and sparkling blue eyes. So this was the show; hot guys were going to dance. Okay, I could handle this.
“Bad Case of Loving You” blared around the tiny room. “How predictable,” I yelled at Tiff who bopped along beside me.
“Who cares about the song?” she yelled back before whooping her approval as Doctor Love removed his white coat to reveal his smooth, bare chest and ridiculously chiseled abs. He was impressive, no doubt about it, but Bax was just as chiseled and just as good-looking, and he was all mine.
There was a line of girls side-stage and at this point, the doctor took the first by the hand and led her up into the spotlight. She looked nervous and waved to her posse, who all cheered her on. He pulled a chair to the center of the stage and indicated to it for her to sit. As he gyrated on her lap, he took her hands in his and slapped them on his butt. If she’d been nervous before she didn’t seem to be now as she took full advantage of the situation and kneaded his ass through his black pants.
“I wanna go up,” Louisa called, waving her arms in the air. “Pick me!”
One of the waiters came over and she said something in his ear that I couldn’t make out, then pointed to her sash. He nodded and slunk away,
careful not to take focus from the act on stage who had now whipped off his pants so he was left wearing a sparkly gold thong and his stethoscope. Another girl was called up, but this time she didn’t sit on the chair. She was told to stand in the middle of the stage facing us so Doctor nearly-naked Love could stand behind her with the ear-tips of the stethoscope in his ears and check her heartbeat. She didn’t seem to mind that he thought her heart was somewhere inside her bra, but I instinctively pulled the plunging neckline of my dress up and crossed my arms over my chest.
Now it was her turn to check his heartrate, which apparently he kept in his gold sparkly thong.
I shook my head in disbelief. I didn’t think I was a prude, but I would never in a million years stick my hand down a random guy’s pants, especially in front of a room full of screaming, half-drunk women.
“Whoooo!” Louisa bellowed. “Grab hold!” She was on her feet, screaming at the top of her lungs, flinging her arms in the air and showering Tiff and me with the half-full glass of champagne in her hand. Tiff jumped up as a waiter approached. They may have stayed out of the way when the acts were on stage but they had eagle-eyes when it came to making sure everyone was having a good time.
“Another bottle.” She indicated to the two empties on the table. “Keep them coming.” The waiter who could have also been a model with his tanned muscular body and dazzling white teeth gave Tiff a little wink and strutted off to the bar. “I’m taking him home tonight,” Tiff told me with a nudge.
“Oh, really?” I laughed. “Does he have a say in it?”
She shrugged. “The guys here will do anything or anyone. If you didn’t have bangin’ Bax at home, you could have your pick.”
I’d been looking at Tiff as she spoke so saw her focus shift and a huge grin spread across her face. I followed her gaze to see Doctor Love now had a white towel wrapped around his hips, his back to the audience. There was a third girl down on her knees in front of him. As he opened his towel in her face, the cheer was deafening as the crowd rose to its feet in appreciation for the lucky girl who was copping a face-full.
Maybe I needed to drink more and unwind. As if on cue, the waiter returned with another bottle and topped up our champagne flutes, then blended into the shadows again.
“Those guys are like ninjas,” I said to Tiff.
She laughed a little too loud. “He can ninja me any time.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I guessed it was some sort of sexual innuendo, and I laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.
As soon as one act ended, another started. This time the guy was dressed as a biker, complete with ponytail and beard. He followed the same formula. Take something off, call a drunk girl onto the stage. Take something else off. Call another staggering girl onto the stage. At least this guy had a few moves and had rhythm as he gyrated to “Born to Be Wild.”
We worked our way through a police officer with handcuffs for props and a fireman with a big hose. I had to admit the costumes were excellent, and the guys must have spent a lot of time in the gym because they were all totally hot.
After four acts in a row, Captain came back out to announce that after a short break, the man we’d all been waiting for would be on, and again he told us our panties would be dropping. House music crackled through the speakers. It was time for the waiters to top up drinks and mingle with the girls to ensure everyone was having the night of their lives.
Our tall, tanned, and built waiter returned with another bottle of champagne and topped up our glasses, before squeezing his bulk in between Tiff and I. Seemed he was settling in for a chat. Louisa, by this stage, was a hot mess, slurring her words and spilling her drink as she talked animatedly.
“I want to get up there,” she told the waiter, pointing to the stage just in case he hadn’t figured out what she meant. “Can you get me up there for Soldier-Boy? He’s supposed to be the hottest.”
“Of course.” The waiter smiled, his brilliant white teeth iridescent in the strobe lighting.
She seemed happy with that response and staggered off to find the bathroom, dragging two other girls with her. With the space opening up on the couch, Tiff and I spread out a little and the waiter sat back, his arm on the back of the seat around Tiffany’s shoulder. I chuckled to myself; it looked like Tiff might get to take the guy home after all as he edged closer and leaned in to talk intimately to only her.
This gave me a chance to check my phone to see if Bax had messaged me like he usually did throughout the evening, whenever he had a quiet moment.
Hey beautiful girl, how’s your night? Hope you’re having a great time and not getting up to too much mischief.
He was so thoughtful.
It’s certainly interesting.
I didn’t know how much to tell him. Would he be upset that I was at a strip club? Surely it was almost expected for a bachelorette party.
I’m missing you. Can’t wait to see you xxx
That would do for now. I could tell him in person tonight where I’d been, and we could have a good laugh about it. Maybe he’d even do a private lap dance for me. Just the thought of it put a goofy grin on my face. Bax could dance rings around these guys, and he was sexier and hotter.
The music stopped, the lights dimmed, and a huge roar lifted the roof off the venue.
“Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Captain informed us. “Can you say ‘sir, yes sir?’”
The crowd replied in unison. “Sir, yes sir.”
“I can’t hear you. Can you say ‘sir, yes sir?’”
“Sir, yes sir,” we bellowed.
Louisa raced back and shook the waiter by the shoulder roughly. “Get me up there,” she screamed at him.
He stood, towering over her, and grabbed her hand, leading her to the side of stage.
Now this was going to be interesting, because she wasn’t shy at the best of times. Totally wasted, she was liable to do anything.
Spotlights flashed around the venue, periodically blinding me so I had to look away. They were going all out for this guy. Smoke billowed onto the stage, and I sat on the edge of my seat as the expectation for something great built.
Heavy boots thumped, echoing through the sound system, and as the lights flashed across the stage again, a tall, broad figure stood in silhouette with feet apart and arms by his side.
“Here’s Commando,” the emcee announced, and the crowd screamed so loud that I missed the opening chords of “Pony.” Everyone was on their feet and I joined them, dancing along to the music and fist pumping the air. The room had been wired the entire night but the level of excitement had risen to fever-pitch.
Commando was decked out in military combat gear, including a peak cap and rifle. My heart raced even though he hadn’t moved yet, and I couldn’t comprehend why. There was something familiar about the stature of the guy and my mind, in its champagne-soaked state, struggled to pull the thoughts together.
He rolled his body in time with the music, and my stomach lurched. I felt around behind me to find the couch so I could sit before I fell down. Even though he was still only a black figure with the lights shining through the smoke behind him, there was no mistaking that body and that movement as he broke into dance. He was a superb dancer—the best I’d ever seen and ever danced with.
My Bax, the one man in the world I believed would never do anything to hurt me, who would always put my happiness before his own, was standing on a stage about to bare his body and soul to a room full of drunken women who knew nothing about him. His struggles, his hopes and dreams meant nothing to them—all they cared about was seeing his naked body and, if they were lucky, getting to touch him.
The women in the front row of seats clamored to get up on stage, and two waiters had to intervene before a herd of drunken women charged. Instead, they planted their feet back on solid ground and stretched their arms out to touch my boyfriend, and he stepped forward and into the light so they could reach him. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t tear
my gaze away. I’d seen act after act already and they all followed the same formula of strip and grope, strip and grope.
Maybe he didn’t strip—maybe he only danced instead. As I watched full of hope that he would continue to dance, the first layer of clothing came off. I shook my head in disbelief as bile rose in my throat.
“He’s so hot,” Tiff yelled over the music. “I’d definitely do him.”
I couldn’t watch. I needed to run but my legs wouldn’t obey so I just sat there, my head in my hands, and prayed for it to be over.
“Hey.” She nudged me hard in the ribs. “What’s wrong? You’re not gonna vomit again, are you?”
It was so hot, the air around me closing in until I felt faint. “I can’t …” Finally managing to stand, I took one last look over my shoulder toward the stage. Bax took hold of the neck of his singlet and ripped it from his body, ripping my heart out in the process. He was going to strip—of course he was. To think he would only dance was naïve. To think he would care enough about me to only ever want my hands on him was foolish.
The girl up on stage looked so drunk she could hardly focus as the crowd cheered her on and Bax rubbed up against her. As he danced in front of her, showing off his glorious body to his adoring fans, her claw-like hands wrapped around him from behind and grabbed at his chest and abdomen. I’d seen more than enough.
“Holy fuck,” Tiff said, pulling on my hand. “Is that …” She leaned forward, squinting through the smoke and crowd to get a better look. “Holy fuck, Jaz, that guy looks like …”
I looked down at Tiff through tear-filled eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat, then hightailed it out of there as fast as my four-inch stilettos would carry me.
IT WAS break time before the main event—me.
This was what I lived for—this was what made me feel alive. Not the stripping. That was the worst type of dancing I could ever imagine. It was the spotlights, the music, even the stage makeup and the feeling of performing. Going into character and totally embracing that persona for ten minutes. The appreciation from the crowd was what got me through, knowing that with every body-roll and arm-raise, the women idolized me.