When Jessi and I arrived at the hotel last night, the girls were ready with margaritas, tacos, and a commitment to avoid all things happily ever after and romance. Neither knew the details of what I’d walked into, and while I know they are both dying to know, they let me rant about what a jerk Trenton was and supported both Jessi’s plan to glitter bomb his dick and my plan to drink away my sorrows. That’s the joy of best friends, you support each other, no questions asked. Okay, so they have an overwhelming amount of questions. I just haven’t felt like giving all the answers.
When it came time for movies, Jen suggested we watch porn and critique technique. Jessi was on board with the suggestion, but as soon as she saw the look of horror on my face she used the best friend for life veto and porn was off the table. She knew that I walked into an in-person porno in my living room, I really didn’t need to watch more of it. Instead, we settled on a thriller that had more explosions and gunfire than I think is necessary in a movie, but who am I to question? At the halfway point of the movie, we’d turned it into a drinking game. Let’s just say, there were a lot of guns used in the movie and thus a lot of tequila shots taken.
The rest of the night was a blur. I know there was an attempt to teach Jen and Courtney the choreographed dance Jessi and I came up with as teenagers. When that was unsuccessful, we played a game of Would You Rather. I laughed so hard at everyone’s justifications as to why they’d rather give up oral sex more than cheese I almost peed my pants. As the night turned into early morning, we finally crawled under the covers for a few hours of sleep before our day of pampering.
Spa days are supposed to be relaxing, bringing the Zen or whatever to your existence. All this spa day has done is remind me that tequila and I are not friends, and my actual friends are assholes. Okay, that’s not true. They’re not assholes. Enablers who support poor life choices is more accurate. Case in point, my hangover and desire to crawl in a hole and never come out.
“Ms. Wheeler, I’m going to hold up this sheet for you to flip over onto your back.” I do as the massage therapist instructs and shimmy down a little on the table before flipping over to my back. The left-over tequila from last night sloshes around in my stomach, and for a split second, I worry it’s about to make a reappearance. Thankfully it is a false alarm.
“You’re carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders, Ms. Wheeler. After this massage, you may want to consider a soak in one of our mineral pools.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“It’ll help with the hangover too,” the therapist whispers, and we both laugh.
Another thirty minutes goes by and while I still feel like shit, my muscles aren’t nearly as tight as they were when I first entered the room. I thank her for her patience and gentleness as I exit the room and head to the main salon to meet the girls for pedicures.
As I settle into my spa chair and dip my feet into the warm water, I can feel three pairs of eyes staring at me. Glancing up, I catch Jessi’s smirk first. This cannot be good. Once I look to Jen and then Courtney, I know they’ve concocted some sort of plan.
“No.”
“No, what?” Courtney asks as she picks up her mimosa and takes a sip. How she’s drinking that is beyond me. “Hair of the dog, babe. It’s girls’ weekend, drink up.” I glance to where she’s pointing and see a glass to my right with my own mimosa.
“No to whatever it is you three have up your sleeve. Tonight, we’re going to a nice dinner, and I am not drinking.”
“We’ll see,” Jessi singsongs, and I flip her off before laying my head back, closing my eyes, and letting the technician give me a much-needed pedicure.
I’m lost to the oblivion that is a pedicure when my thoughts flash to the scene I walked in on twenty-four hours ago. I still cannot believe Trenton cheated on me. I’m sure my phone is full of missed calls and text messages from him. I’m glad Jessi took my phone from me. Of course, I’m a little worried she’s sent him texts in my place, but I’ll deal with the fallout later.
“Whit?” I hear my name, and I open one eye to see Jen standing next to my chair. Jessi and I met Jen and Courtney in college. We were all at a rush mixer freshman year and about fifteen minutes into the meet and greet at the first house, we all bailed and went bowling. Greek life wasn’t for us, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
“Yeah?”
“Jessi told us what happened,” she begins. I look to the chair Jessi was sitting in a few minutes ago and see both she and Courtney have left. “Don’t be mad at her. I saw she had your phone and the way she was cussing and flipping it off, I was a little worried, so I made her tell us what was going on. I’m so sorry. We’re here for you, whatever you need. Just ask, okay?”
“Thanks, Jen. I wasn’t trying to keep you guys out of it, it’s just . . . well, it’s fucking embarrassing. I’m not sure how I feel right now but I do know I’m embarrassed.”
“There’s no reason for that. We love you. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. We may have to lie to Jessi if you decide to forgive Trenton. She’s made a lot of comments about dull knives and meat grinders.”
We both laugh, and I thank Jen for understanding. The nail technician finishes up my pedicure, and I join the girls in the locker room where we’ll rinse off from our spa treatments before heading back to the room. As I turn the corner, I see my three best friends waiting for me, each with a huge smile on their face and arms open for a hug. I don’t hesitate as I let them pull me in for the most awkward and stifling group hug ever. And it’s exactly what I needed.
“What are we doing here?” I ask as the driver pulls up in front of an ominous building with no windows.
“A little fun. Just roll with it, okay? Trust me.”
“Jessi, there are a lot of things I do, but trusting you is low on the list.”
“That’s insulting. I always have your best interests at heart. So take your lack of trust and get over it; we’re going to have fun tonight. Come on.”
We all exit the car and thank the driver before stepping to the double red doors that lead to the unknown. Well, unknown to me. I’m sure each of these girls know what to expect beyond the doors. The moment they open, I’m assaulted by the noise. It’s loud. The beat of music wafts from the building, and I look to Courtney who is holding a door open, motioning for me to enter.
“Come on, ladies. Good times await us.”
Jessi links her arm through mine and tugs me through the doors. As we step into the space, it’s not only loud but so dark it takes me a few blinks for my eyes to adjust so I can see. The area we’re standing in reminds me of an old school movie theatre: a woman sits behind a cash register, a bright light shining down on her platinum hair, an e-cigarette raised to her lips. A long drag later, and a puff of smoke fills the space. Apples. It smells like apples.
“Four,” Jessi says handing her credit card to the woman. I still have no idea where we are, but I do wonder briefly if it’s a cabaret or comedy show. That would make sense. I could go for a musical or, God knows, a laugh.
After the woman swipes Jessi’s card, we walk through a heavy black curtain. What is with all the dark colors? Has nobody around here heard of beige? The room isn’t as dark as the lobby. A huge stage takes most of the space to my right while a bar lines the back wall. Lights shine brightly behind the bar while the lights around the stage are dimmed, only lit enough to prevent someone from running into it. Scattered around the room are various tables and chairs. Some are tall tables while others are more casual in setting with large plush swivel chairs that remind me of one my dad used to have in his home office. I’d spin on that chair over and over until I was so dizzy I couldn’t walk straight.
Lost in my thoughts I don’t realize the girls have started walking toward the bar. Of course, they are. “Oh, let’s sit here. It’s close to the bar and the stage,” Courtney shouts over the music, and we all agree as I pull out a chair and sit in it. Yep, it spins just like my dad’s.
The girls head to the bar, never asking for my order. They don’t need to. They know I’ll tell them I don’t want a drink, we’ll argue, they’ll push, and I’ll concede. This is a dance we know well. I look around the room and quickly notice there are no men here. Everyone working is a woman and every patron is a woman. Weird. Maybe it’s ladies’ night.
“Here you go, Whitney. House special.” I accept the glass from Jessi and take a tentative sip. I’m pleasantly surprised when my taste buds are greeted with various tropical flavors. I could drink these all night.
“What is this?” I ask as I take another sip.
“I don’t know. Something with vodka and fruit. It sounded like a safe bet. By the look on your face, I think it’s a winner.”
“It’s amazing. Thanks. What is this pla—?” I begin but am cut off when the room darkens and the lights above the stage come on. The crowd goes wild as the sounds of “Pony” by Ginuwine pump from the speakers. My head whips to Jessi, looking like the cat who ate the canary, and I know I’m in for it.
“This isn’t . . . you didn’t . . .”
“I so did. Welcome to your very own Magic Mike night!”
She no sooner gets the words out of her mouth than my gaze turns to the stage as a very muscular man dressed in sweats, a white tank, and red ball cap dances across the stage.
Holy shit.
I pick up my glass, bring the straw to my lips and suck until there’s nothing left in the glass. I thrust the empty glass toward the center of the table. No words. No requests. If they’re going to take me to a male strip club, they can at least buy my drinks.