Friday Night Chicas

by Mary Castillo

  “We just want to make sure someone special gives our friend some undivided attention,” Lisa said as she fished into her purse. She pulled out a fifty and held it up for him to see it. “Think you might be able to help us?”

  The MC took the bill and said, “I can see to that personally.”

  “You strip, too?” I said. Then I chided myself for being politically incorrect. “I mean, you’re a dancer?”

  “They save the best for last,” he grinned. “Which one is your friend?” Lisa and I pointed toward our table. “The little blonde with the red dress?”

  “No, the other one.”

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes opening wide. “She’s a hottie. The pleasure will be all mine.”

  “What’s your name?” Lisa asked.

  “I’m Frank, but the DJ will introduce me as the General. I’ll be dressed as a naval officer.” Then he winked at us. “And a gentleman.”

  Lisa and I squealed like teenyboppers. An Officer and a Gentleman. It had to be a sign that we made the perfect decision. Gladys loved that movie! Not only did she play that soundtrack over and over again, she once dragged us to a downtown indie theatre having a Richard Gere retrospective so we could “see it on the big screen the way it was meant to be seen.” I mean, the guy’s a good actor and easy on the eyes, but Gregory Peck or Raul Julia, he ain’t.

  “And, Frank, we want this act to be just a duet,” said Lisa. “Get it.”

  “Got it.”

  We thanked him and rushed back to our table. “Gladys will pay us libations for the rest of her days,” I said.

  Lisa stopped in her tracks. “I know this is her night, but maybe we should have someone show some love to Miriam, too.”

  “You took care of Gladys, so leave Miriam to me,” I said, “She doesn’t want a hard-bodied man. What she needs is a stiff drink.”

  When we arrived at our table, it took all our willpower to play nonchalant. Lisa kept the singles in Gladys’s fist and I, the martinis down Miriam’s throat. It tickled us to watch Gladys’s eyes burn with envious outrage as bride after bride—and the occasional committed single who came out of her own pocket for the honor—had an opportunity to costar with every hunk that took the stage. One dancer dressed as a firefighter carried his charge—a stunning black girl who seemed more at place at a cotillion than a night club—on the stage, gently laid her on the floor, eased her legs open, and mimed oral sex. The poor thing just buried her face in her hands and shook her head back and forth. If she were as lucky as she were adorable, her husband-to-be would produce the same effect with the real thing on their wedding night. Even a middle-aged Filipina had her way with a stripper in a doctor’s costume, wasting no time showing the doctor what ailed her. He led her to the chair at the center of the stage, but instead of taking a seat, Ms. Thang immediately bent over the back of the chair and braced herself for an enthusiastic spanking. Even Miriam felt compelled to raise her fourth apple martini in reverence to her mettle.

  But it really irked Gladys when Tammy Tequila wobbled on stage for a second round with Bull the Matador to Pajama Party’s “Over And Over.” Bull moved the chair aside and laid his cape along the floor. He offered Tammy his hand, motioning for her to sit on the cape with her back facing the audience. The way she slumped onto the floor, I thought she would never get up again. First, Bull palmed her head, pumped his hips into her face and rolled back his head with feigned pleasure.

  Touch me, over and over

  Move me, over and over

  Love me, over and over

  I need more of you

  Going along with the pantomime, Tammy clamped her hands on his hips and bobbed her blond head like she was paid to. Not to be outdone by this drunken amateur, Bull ordered her to turn around to face the hollering audience. No sooner had Tammy scampered around to face us than he placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward. Then he grabbed her ankles, pulled them to his waist and pounded away. Tammy flopped around like an X-rated Raggedy Ann, the hem of her plaid micromini flapping against ribs and exposing her baby-pink thong. Tammy drummed the stage and tossed her flaxen locks to the rhythm of the song.

  Oh, touch me, over and over

  Move me, over and over

  Love me, over and over

  I need more of you

  “I fuckin’ hate her,” Gladys whined.

  “Ricky, when are you going up there?” Miriam said.

  I’ve barely got enough money to buy gas to get home after watering your sour ass all night. “I’m having a good time right here,” I said.

  “¡Ay, you know you want to! Been married long enough.”

  “After you, muñeca.” And that settled it as I knew it would. I couldn’t even imagine a happily married Miriam carrying on like Tammy Tequila behind closed doors, let alone going through the motions in front of an enthusiastic audience. Then again, I couldn’t imagine a happily married Miriam at all.

  The song ended, and pouting Tammy crawled back to her friends who had to peel her from the stage to the floor limb by limb. Bull made his way across the stage, collecting pieces of his cast-off costume as well as scattered dollar bills and taking the occasional bow as the women showered him with applause. Lisa looked at her watch, then showed it to me: a quarter to twelve. The final performance—the one she paid to land Gladys the role of leading lady—had to be next.

  Then the stage darkened and the DJ’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies, we’re almost at the end of tonight’s show…” The women in the crowd moaned in unison and the DJ chuckled. “Well, you’ll just have to come back and visit us again here at Studs real soon, won’t you?” The crowd cheered for that idea. As I applauded, I looked around the room and recognized every face that would be there next week if not the following night. Eduardo and I often talked about investing in some kind of business in our neighborhood so I began to wonder … “To close the show we have the officer and the gentleman you’ve been waiting all night to see…”

  As the DJ played the opening bars of Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong,” the Studs regulars began to chant. “General, General, General…”

  “Show him your love and he’ll show you his.…”

  “General, General, General…”

  “Ladies, put your hands together for THE GENERAL!”

  The women rocked the club with their screams as the MC Frank dressed in a white naval uniform sauntered down the stage. He moved deliberately, first mimicking the precise moves of an enlisted man, then posing in time to the ballad as it wafted over the applause and cheers.

  Who knows what tomorrow brings

  “Oh. My. God,” Gladys said. “I love this song.”

  In a world where few hearts survive?

  Maybe it was the corniness of it all. Of the anticipation over what Lisa and I had in store for Gladys. Or the tequila took the express vein right to my funny bone. I just doubled over in a fit of giggles. Lisa lightly patted me on the back of the shoulder. “You all right?” Her eyes shone with the excitement to ensue which only made me giggle even harder. I felt so wicked and delicious. “OK, Ricky, no more for you.”

  Gladys whipped around in her seat, surveying the remaining competition. To her right, the feisty Filipina waved a single bill back and forth like a candle at a vigil while the Southern belle chatted away with a girlfriend as if they were in a sewing circle instead of strip club. But then Gladys spun to her left and gasped with rage. While a woozy Tammy leaned against the stage serenading the General, her friends scraped the bottom of their pocketbooks and piled bills on the center of the table to buy her one last trip to heaven.

  Gladys whirled around to face us. “Cash! Guys, I need more cash,” she yelled as she rifled through the few bills she had in hand. “He’s not gonna give me a second look for seven dollars.” She leaped to her feet and planted herself at the edge of the stage, her face contorting for a scheme to get the General’s attention while we coughed up some dough. Suddenly, Gladys shoved her pinkies in her mouth
and whistled strong and high. All these years, and I never knew she could do that!

  It served as a battle cry because other women swarmed toward the stage and waved their bills for the General’s attention. “Shit,” said Miriam as she fumbled through her purse. She opened her wallet to the empty billfold and then yanked out a credit card. “Maybe I can just swipe this down his ass, you think?” she slurred.

  But the General was a man of his word. He fixed his eyes on Gladys and headed toward her. She gazed up at him as if the heavens opened, God had smiled down upon her, and God looked exactly like a young Richard Gere. Then Gladys looked in horror at the singles crammed into her upraised fist. She spun around to face us.

  “Money!” she demanded. “Give me money, I need more money. Quick, before Booby Spears over there takes him from me.”

  Lisa and I fell over in laughter while Miriam tried to hand Gladys her credit card. The noise in the room soared into a collective howl. When Gladys turned around, she found the General right in front of her, hunkering down and offering her his hand.

  “He picked me!”

  “Go, girl, go!” Miriam yelled. “And remember. Make him earn it.”

  I leaned over to Lisa and whispered, “Our plan’s working. Three drinks ago it would’ve been ‘Make his ass pay.’ And we both know what that would’ve meant.” Lisa and I shook hands, congratulating ourselves.

  Gladys slipped her hand into the General’s and he pulled her onto the stage. Not only did Tammy Tequila sulk, she shoved her bill into her bra and sank back in her seat. One of her friends—the cash’s true owner—extended her hand in silent but adamant request for the return of her money. Tammy pouted and slapped the bill into her hand. Her guest shoved the money into her jacket pocket, motioned for two other women, and they left right then.

  As the General led Gladys to her throne in the center of the stage, Miriam clapped heartily and cheered, and for the first time that night, it felt like old times. At that moment we had managed to come together and reveled in each other’s company. We took joy in Gladys’s pleasure no less than had it been our own.

  The General removed his white cap and gently placed it on Gladys’s head. She adjusted the fit and ran her fingers across the gold braid as if she had no intention of returning it. Then the General sashayed behind her and peeled off his white gloves, sliding them off one finger at a time. Gladys bounced her knees and watched his every move like a little girl watching her birthday cake being carried to the table.

  “General, General, General…”

  Heeding the call of his fans, the General opened his jacket, caressing every button as Gladys’s eyes followed his hands. He popped the last button, and the lapels of the jacket fell away revealing his tanned, bulging pecs. Then he took Gladys’s hands and placed them on his chest.

  Lisa stood up. “You guys have any more singles?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I got another idea.” I found a few bills tucked inside a zippered pocket in my pocketbook and handed her one. “Watch this,” said Lisa. Then she climbed onto the stage.

  Miriam gasped. “What’s Lisa doing?”

  “I don’t know.” But I knew it was going to be good.

  Lisa scuttled across the stage and wedged the single into Gladys’s cleavage, and the crowd roared its approval. Except for Tammy Tequila who was too busy fumbling into her jacket and trying to tear her mesmerized guests away from the onstage action. The General caressed Gladys’s cheek as he grazed his lips above her temple, down her neck, and across her chest. He cupped his palms under her breasts, and like a windup doll, Gladys threw her arms in the air and arched her back. The General buried his face into her bosom, while the crowd thundered and Gladys pumped her fists. Then the General emerged from his foray into her cleavage with the single between his teeth.

  As if to raise the stakes, the DJ switched to Usher’s “Yeah.” The General flexed his muscular arms over his head as he popped his hips to the syncopation. Everyone in the crowd rose to her feet to sing and clap along with the music.

  She’s saying come get me, come get me. Yeah.

  Inspired by Lisa’s move, I grabbed a dollar bill and rushed across the stage. With the audience cheering me on, I tucked it into the front of Gladys’s waistband. “I’m gonna get you, bitch!” she laughed. I blew her a kiss and climbed off the stage.

  When I got back to the table, Lisa greeted me with a high five. But Miriam shook her head and grabbed her purse. “You guys are wusses,” she said. Brandishing a ten-dollar bill from I don’t know where, Miriam stormed the stage.

  “And y’all call me competitive,” I said. As Miriam drew near, the General spotted the bill in her hand. He approached her, extending his hand to request she dance with him. I jumped to my feet to throw a fit. “Uh uh, Franky! You promised!”

  Lisa yanked at my arm and pulled me back into my seat. “C’mon, Ricky. At least, it’s Miriam.”

  “I don’t care. Now that he’s finally paying Gladys attention, she wants to jump in her spotlight? You gave him fifty dollars to dance for Gladys and Gladys only.”

  I spoke too soon because Miriam just smirked and brushed past the General. Then she laid the ten-dollar bill across Gladys’s crotch. I thought Gladys might draw the line and grab the bill and place it someplace tamer. Instead, she showed her consent by tilting her hips and giving the General a come-hither stare that I never knew she had in her.

  Next thing I knew she was all up on me screaming yeah, yeah, yeah!

  The crowd almost blew off the roof with its stomps and hollers, and when Miriam passed the General on her way off the stage, she gave him a sharp look. Earn it.

  Miriam returned to our table. “That’s how you take care of a friend.”

  Lisa raised her drink to her. “Hear, hear.” I lifted my glass as well and we toasted her. Still ashamed that I had thought the worst of Miriam, I squeezed her hand and planted a kiss on her cheek. Then I thought back to my tame bridal shower with prudish regret.

  I especially felt guilty driving my poor sister, Mena, crazy trying to find party ideas with all my limitations, genuine and invented. First, I waited until the last minute to give her permission to throw a party for me. I vacillated over my schedule for weeks before my wedding, making Mena skittish about setting a date for fear that I would cancel at the last minute over some work-related matter or fail to show up altogether at my own party. When I finally agreed to let Mena have the party—well, she kept calling it a party; I insisted on calling it a shower—she had no time to track down old friends like Lisa, Miriam, and Gladys. My “friends” were coworkers and colleagues and for that reason I nixed the stripper. Although at that time I claimed to do it out of respect for Eduardo. Mena knew damned well ’Uardo would not care so long as I did nothing I might kill him for doing at his bachelor party. She later told me that she stopped short of asking Eduardo to give me his blessing to party on. When I asked her why, she said, “’Cause after I thought about it, I realized that I might create trouble between the two of you if I asked him to do that. I knew that if I did, he’d do it, and that just made me love him all the more. I didn’t want the poor man to think otherwise by being so gung ho about your bachelorette party so I decided to let it go.”

  In fact, when Mena suggested a girls’ night out on the town, I vetoed that as well. I knew that could be just as wild, if not more than hiring a stripper. Instead of having a roomful of women sharing one man behind closed doors, I could find myself having to interact with a string of strange men on the street. Bridal showers that took to the streets became scavenger hunts for scandals. No thanks.

  So as I watched the General give Gladys a lap dance, I wished I had let my sister hire a stripper. It would have been a much more memorable night. And maybe more girls’ nights would have followed.

  “Ricky, look!” Lisa snapped me out of my thoughts in time to watch the General grab Gladys’s legs, push them behind her head, and bury his face between them. The club trembled with
howls and applause as he shook his head like a grizzly fishing for salmon in a stream. Gladys threw back her head and ran her fingers in his hair.

  “Go, Gladys, get busy,” chanted Miriam. “Go, Gladys, get busy.”

  Lisa and I chimed in and soon the entire club did, too.

  Go, Gladys, get busy. Go, Gladys, get busy.

  And soon women from all corners of the club brought their final singles to the stage to donate them to Gladys’s cause. Oh, quite a few took the opportunity to put their hands on the General if only for a few seconds, but no one attempted to divert his attention from the star bride. They wedged their singles into Gladys’s cleavage, along her waistband, and even—don’t ask me how they kept them put—behind her ears. By the time the song ended, Gladys looked like a grinning pine tree.

  The DJ switched to Nice & Wild’s “Diamond Girl.” The General took that as his cue to launch his finale. When he emerged from Gladys’s crotch with the final batch of singles between his teeth, he grabbed her hands and planted them on his grinding hips. Gladys ran her hands down his outer thighs.

  Diamond girl, tu me haces sentir como estoy en fuego junto a ti

  Tu me captivas con tu amor, te quiero dar todo mi calor

  Ever the cheerleader, Miriam yelled, “Take it off, take it off!”

  Take it off, take it off!

  Gladys’s hands made their way back to the General’s waist. She looked up at him, and he nodded. With that permission, she yanked and tore his costume pants down to his knees. I gasped at what I saw bulging from his pristine white G-string.

  “Jesus, I think he’s…” Even after all we had witnessed together that night, I still could not bring myself to be that explicit. “… excited.”

  For the first time all night, Miriam giggled uncontrollably. “¡Ay, ay, ay!”

  “Ay, ay, ay, my ass! I’m not trying to be Polly Puritan here, but are they, like, allowed to do that?” I said. “I mean, all the other guys managed to keep themselves in check, and they all can’t be gay.”