Now or Never: A Last Chance Romance (Part 1) (9 page)

The pink neon sign outside of Private Eyes no longer seems garish to me.  Tonight, it’s downright welcoming.  Still, I’m nervous as I approach the front door.

It’s the same bouncer, and I half hope there is some flicker of recognition when he sees me.  Why, I don’t know.  I guess it would make me feel less alone.

But he just gives a perfunctory check of my ID and waves me inside.

I’m greeted by the same musty smell, the pounding music, and a half-full room.  And I realize that it was exactly two weeks ago tonight that Justin brought me here. 
Stop thinking about him!

I take a seat in the middle of the runway, close to where I sat the first time around.

A cocktail waitress appears the second my ass hits the chair.  I tell her thanks, but nothing for me.

“There’s a two drink minimum,” she says, annoyed.

“Oh, okay.  Um, I’ll have a vodka.  On the rocks.”

A woman is gyrating on stage to AC/DC’s “Back in Black.” A cluster of men around the broadest part of the stage are showering her with singles.  The man next to me tosses a few bills onto the runway part of the stage, nowhere near her.  That seems like a safe thing to do, so I follow his lead.  Then I wonder if that is enough of a tip, so I toss out a few fives.

As if following the scent of cash, the dancer turns in our direction.  She is blond, busty, and heavily tattooed.  Her face is not pretty.  I think about what I did with Kat, and the thought of doing something like that with
this
woman makes me recoil.  The dancer stands in front of the person sitting next to me, bending down, flashing her breasts at him.  I look away, and catch the eye of a man watching me.

It’s the guy I noticed last time, the one who had his hand down the back of his girlfriend’s pants.  The one who winked.

He doesn’t wink this time, and I don’t look away.  Instead, I let myself really look at him.  That’s what I’m here for, right?

He has fair hair that might or not be threaded with some gray.  It’s difficult to tell in the dim lighting.  He has a broad nose but a strong jaw to even it out, so his face is balanced.  Decent-looking, but not quite handsome.  He’s clean-shaven, wearing a short-sleeved black t-shirt and dark jeans.  From what I can see, his build is wiry but strong.

His companion has dark olive skin, and long brown hair streaked with brassy highlights.  I think it’s the same woman from last week, but I can’t be certain.  I’m guessing there’s about a ten year age gap between them, she being the younger of the two.  From the way she is hooting at the dancers and throwing money around, she does not seem to be a stranger to strip clubs.

When she leans forward, I see her black thong underwear peeking out of her low-rise jeans, an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.  I’ve heard Max and his friends refer to as a “whale tail.”

The man’s hand skims the lace edge of her panties, and he holds my gaze.  His hand moves lower, and disappears deep into her waistband.  The woman is busy throwing money at the dancer, who has now moved downstage.

The waitress arrives with my drink.  I pay for the drink and tip her, and realize it will be a miracle if I make it out of here spending anything less than two hundred dollars.  I’m throwing money away, and it’s probably irresponsible.  But then again, it’s a small price to pay for experience.  And I would have spent a lot more than two hundred dollars over the years if I’d run around shopping and dating and having a life.

Feeling a renewed sense of justification for the outing, I take a sip of my drink.  I don’t want to take a cab home.  But then again, I paid for the drink.  Why waste it? I take a sip.  I forgot to ask for Ketel One, and whatever the bartender poured into this glass is certainly not top shelf.

I wave the waitress back over.  Since there’s a two-drink minimum, I might as well order a decent drink.  I ask for the same thing, just with Ketel One this time.

The man next to me gets up and leaves.  As soon as the seat is vacated, the man with the whale-tail girlfriend nudges her to move down to fill the spot.  He’s not looking at me, but I feel his awareness of my every move.  And I’m aware of his — the way his hand is rubbing her thigh, the way he slips her cash to toss onstage.  The way he whispers something to her, and touches her breast.

“Here you go.  One Ketel on the rocks,” the waitress says.  I eagerly take hold of the drink, and gulp it.  The burn is cold and smooth.

           
The song ends, and in the pause between dancers, the guy whispers something to his girlfriend.  She looks at me, then quickly back at the stage so fast it’s almost like I imagined it.  But I didn’t.  Then he winks at me again.

*** ***

An hour after I arrive the club is packed.  I don’t even dare get up to use the bathroom, because I’d lose my seat.

The energy in the room has shifted.  There’s something lawless and predatory in the air.  Dancers continue to rotate on and off of the stage, but the main show seems to be the strippers who wander the floor, enticing men into lap dances.  I have not yet seen Kat, and frankly, I’m a bit relieved.  Not sure what the etiquette would be there.  Would she be insulted if I didn’t go for a round two?

One thing is for sure, the cocktail waitress hates me.  I haven’t gone past my two-drink minimum, and she’s stopped bothering to check in with me.  So I’m surprised when she appears by my side with a fresh vodka.

“I didn’t order that,” I tell her.  With all the cash I’m spending on the dancers, the last thing I want is to be roped into another ten dollar drink.

“I know,” she says, “they did.”

She points to the couple next to me.  The guy nods and raises his glass, and the woman smiles.

“Oh.  Great.  Thanks,” I say, accepting the drink and handing her yet another tip.  The man pushes his chair back and at first I think he’s leaving.  But he steps behind his girlfriend and stands next to me.

“John,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Claire,” I say, giving my best firm handshake.

“You a school teacher?” he asks.

“What?  No.  I’m not a teacher.”

“You look like one.”

I have no idea how to respond.  I don’t think it’s a compliment.  Is it?

“Well, thanks for the drink.”

“We noticed you slowing down.  Can’t be doing that here.  Miss out on half the fun if you’re too sober,” he says with a smile.  His teeth aren’t great.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a big drinker.”

“If you ain’t here for the drinkin’ then you should at least see a better show.  Wanna head upstairs with me and Deirdre?”

I look towards the back of the room.  Is he talking about lap dances?

“Please come! It’s more fun with a group,” Deidre pipes in from her seat.  Her already dark eyebrows are penciled in even darker.  The rest of her face is make-up free, except for matte red lipstick.  She is young, with flawless skin, so she can get away with it.  She has slightly darker pigmentation under her eyes — the dreaded “circles” that so many women fight with concealer.  But it’s usually best not to put too much make-up over them because the results tend to be ashy and more glaring than if you’d simply left them alone.  So, props to Deidre for skillful make-up choices.

Sitting by the edge of the stage is getting tedious, and certainly not bringing me any closer to my objective of the evening.  So I smile at Deidre and say, “Sure.  Why not?”

“Take your drink,” he says to me, then makes the ‘after you’ hand gesture.  I follow Deidre, who seems to know where she’s going.  And John is close behind me.

I expect him to steer us to the right, toward the chairs and tables where I sat with Justin for the lap dances.  But instead she leads us straight back to a narrow spiral staircase.  Standing at the base of the stairs is a big black dude wearing dark glasses and a security earpiece.  A velvet rope closes off the base of the stairs.

I gulp my vodka.

“Hey, my man.  How’s it looking up there? Got room for three?” John says.

The security guy says something into his headpiece.  After a minute, he unlatches the velvet rope for us to pass through.

John takes the lead, and we trail after him up the stairs.

The second floor is darker than downstairs.  The music isn’t as loud, and it’s also not metal, but more electronic house music.  We’re greeted at the top of the stairs by a woman dressed in only a g-string.  Her breasts are remarkably large and perky for her thin frame, with extremely large, dark nipples.  I try not to stare.

“Hi, doll.  Go to the third room down.  Make yourself comfortable.  I’ll send someone in for you.”

“Is Joli here?” John asks.

“I think so,” she says cheerily.

“Send her over.”

John holds Deidre’s hand, and I walk alongside of her.  I feel excited.  I’m not sure what the show is like up here, but the fact that I’m with this couple makes me think I have a shot at the type of voyeurism included on the list.  I can’t believe how easy this is.  I really don’t need Justin.  Even though I’m not speaking to him anymore, I’m tempted to find a way to let him know this little news update.

The room isn’t a room, but more of a large, curtained off area.  Inside there’s a round table covered in suede and a circular couch.  A bottle of Crystal is chilling in a bucket in the center of the table.  I sit on the couch, next to Deidre.

“Not bad, right?” says John.  He pulls the curtain behind the couch, revealing a window where we can look down and see the dancers on the stage.  Then he closes it.

“Yeah, this is great.  Do you two come up here a lot?” I ask.

They look at each other and smile.  “This is the only reason to come here,” John says.  “It’s the real show.  The real party.”

“Oh.  Great.  Well, thanks for bringing me along.”

The front curtain moves with a swoosh, and in walks a woman with long red hair and milky white skin.  She’s naked except for a g-string and barely makes it inside the room when John starts touching her breasts.

I watch from my perch on the couch, feeling uncomfortable.

“Ready to get the party started, sweetheart?” John says to the redhead.

“Definitely,” she says, cheerful as can be.

John uncorks the champagne, and pours all of us a glass.  We toast.  To what, I have no idea.  I drink mine quickly.

“You ready for more?” he says.  I nod, holding out my empty glass.

Instead, he pours the champagne on Joli’s breasts.  “Lick it off,” he says, laughing.  She is laughing too.  They are all looking at me.

“You know, um, thanks, but I’m really more of an observer, you know what I mean?”

“You like to watch.  I get it,” John says.  “That works.  Okay, sit back, school teacher.  We’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“Is she really a teacher?” Joli asks, wide-eyed.

“I don’t fucking know,” John says.  “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”

She smiles, and shimmies out of her g-string.  Her pubic area is as bald as a child’s.  I’ve read about the extreme waxing craze, but I’d never seen it in real life.

“That goes for you too, babe,” he says to Deidre, who immediately pulls off her tight, spandexy top and wriggles out of her skin-tight black jeans.  Her body rivals any of the women on the stage.  And she doesn’t stop with her clothes, off comes her bra and thong.  She’s not as bare in that region – there’s a narrow strip of dark hair, and John brushes it with his fingers as soon as she’s naked.

They look at me.  What, do they think my clothes are coming off?  Had I not made it clear I’m just an observer?

“I’m going to keep my clothes on, if that’s…okay.”

“You’re not going to play with yourself while you watch?” he asks.

What?

“No, thanks.  I’m good like this.”

“It’d be more fun if you do,” he says.  The two other women seem to nod their agreement.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.  “Let’s just see how things go.”

This seems acceptable to him.

John’s hand moves between Deidre’s legs, and she spreads them.  He pets her for a few seconds, and then fingers her.  She sits back, looking at Joli stroking her own breasts.

I can’t believe she is putting herself on display like this.  It’s shocking and incredibly titillating.  I’m absolutely frozen, riveted.

After a few minutes, Deidre makes small moaning noises.  Joli kneels in front of her.  John moves his hand away, and Joli starts licking Deidre’s pussy.  I want to look away, but I can’t.  It’s a train wreck burned in my mind forever.

While this is going on, John takes off his pants and underwear.  His cock is large, fully erect, and he’s stroking it.

Oh my god.

He climbs onto the couch, kneeling next to Deidre.  He pulls her head to him, putting his cock in her mouth while Joli is busy working between her legs.

I am so uncomfortable.  Nothing about this is arousing.  It’s more of a spectacle, something I’m watching with great detachment, like an odd foreign film that makes no narrative sense.  And, like when watching a confusing movie in a theater, I’m tempted to walk out.  But I don’t want to call attention to myself.

John pumps his cock harder and faster in Deidre’s mouth.

“Stop eating her pussy,” he tells Joli, who moves obediently to the side.  After a few more pumps, with what seems like effort, John pulls out of Deidre’s mouth.

Joli moves to the other side of Deidre on the couch, and lays on her back.  Her head is an inch from my lap.  She spreads her legs, and Deidre bends over, her face disappearing between them.  John looks at me.  I don’t mean to make eye contact, but it happens and I quickly look away.  That’s when I see that his cock, engorged and wet from Deidre’s mouth, is in his hand.  He moves close to Deidre’s rear.  He puts both hands on her hips, and while she’s still on Joli, he enters her from behind.  I still feel him looking at me, and  I meet his eyes.  My heart is pounding.  His face starts to contort with pleasure, and I feel like I’m watching something so excruciatingly personal, I can barely stand it.  But it’s fascinating.  He thrusts with increasing urgency.  Joli is moaning from whatever Deidre is doing to her.  But I’m focused on John, on the veins standing out in his neck, the flush in his cheeks, the way his eyes are squeezed shut.

Joli arches her back, and her head moves against my legs.  The contact shocks me, making me feel connected to this chain of raw and brutish sexuality.

John moans, low, guttural, the sound of an animal in pain.  It’s not pain, but the purest exhibition of sexual pleasure I have ever witnessed.  And I feel a resolve not to stop my quest for the experiences on the list until I feel a man deep inside me, until I’m able to give someone this kind of pleasure, and feel it in return.

*** ***

The three of them slowly dress, finishing off the bottle of champagne.  I slip out of the room.

Nothing would be more awkward than having to talk to any of them after that spectacle, so I am relieved to make my way downstairs alone.  The first floor looks incredibly benign and innocent compared to the debauchery I just witnessed.

Two people wait in front of me to get their belongings from the coat check.  As I wait, I try to convince myself that I’m fine to drive home.  But I know that’s not true.  I’m going to have to find a cab, and enlist Patti tomorrow for another afternoon car run.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Someone taps me on the shoulder.  It’s the security guy.  Did I leave something upstairs?  I feel around in my bag for my phone.

“Yes?” I say.

“You need to settle upstairs before you leave.”

I look at him, confused.  “What do you mean?”

“You need to pay.”

“For the drinks?”  That bottle of champagne was probably a hundred dollars.  But split a few ways, not that bad.

“For the room,” he says.  His hand is on my arm, and he is leading me not so gently back into the club.  Panic sets in.  What is he talking about?

“I’m sorry, I’m confused.  A couple invited me into the room with them.  I’m sure they took care of it.”

The man shakes his head.  “They paid for half.  And they were very clear on the fact that you were paying for your half.”

“My half of what?  I didn’t even do anything.  I just sat there.”

“That’s all anyone does in the champagne room — sit there.  Did you sit there and drink champagne?”

He has got to be kidding.  “Where are they?  I need to speak to him.”

I knew that guy John was sleazy.  I just had no idea he was a con artist.

“This don’t got anything to do with them.  So just pay your tab, and you’ll be on your way.”

I can’t believe this.  We’re back at the base of the stairs.  The man looks at me, but it’s difficult to read his expression with the dark glasses.  But I can tell he is not pleased.

“Okay.  Fine.  How much is my half?” I dig my wallet out of my bag.  I have about five twenties left.

“Two grand.”