FIRST NIGHT OUT WITH THE GIRLS

                                                                                                    

                                                                  MAIDEN VOYAGE

     It was the holidays. It had been a good year for business and the agency parties were in full swing. I was out with the girls after being on ice for two years during my marital separation.  We were three professional print models. Two were Caucasian. One was a willowy blonde with long hair, the other, had chin length tousled brown hair with a dazzling smile. I was the indeterminate ethnic looking one. We were all slim, single, and determined to play. According to the attention we were recieving, a lesser version of Charlie’s Angels had hit the streets.

     We began making the rounds of the parties, lots of bussing, food, alcohol, chit chat, introductions, and on to the next. My cohorts were old hands at this, in the business for most of their lives. I was at most, 2-3 years into it, and had never done this. It was back to watch and learn again, with new mentors, except I did have life experience under my belt. The floundering was not as severe.

    
     Out from under the fluorescent office style parties of the agencies, we finally got to a movie casting party, at a downtown club…very hip. We moved through it, feeling a nice buzz, acknowledging the congregation of incredibly attractive unknowns. Mischief, having had no outlet for two years, muscled its way out. I had been eyeing a dwarf dressed as an elf, (creative casting), busily handing out sprigs of mistletoe, and absconded with three.

“Up for some fun? Pick out the three hottest men here and with this", (I said while doling out sprigs of mistletoe). "Work that holiday cheer.”

Everyone was game. We started scanning.

“Did you see the one…”

“Shoulders?”

“Absolutely.”, said I with a growling coo I did not know I had.

     Off we threaded through the crowd with ‘Shoulders” in our crosshairs. We each held the mistletoe over his very surprised head as we took turns laying on lip locks. He was very grateful. He thanked us all as we spun away looking for our next mouth. Ahhhh, there he was, languidly propped against the wall, hips slightly thrust, hair carefully mussed, with an “I’m next”, expression. My blonde friend went first. The wait was a bit longer this time. My other friend was too busy engaged in a conversation, so I went next. It was totally worth the wait… but no prisoners, so we gracefully sought out our last.

    This man was dark, definitely mixed, green eyes but mocha skin. Guessing, he was about 6’3” with a dangerously full mouth. I took the first round with this one. It was kind of hard to stop. It had been a long 2 years. This was the closest I had gotten to making out. It was our Blonde’s turn, so I bowed out with a sigh.

     Time to go. A couple of guys followed us out asking for names, agencies, and where next, but we were off to our last destination…a private club.

     I had heard about, but never actually seen a place like this. Walking up the stairs, I realized it was in the same townhouse where a fabulous restaurant used to be. It was where I had dined with my family, and developed my passion for truffles. It took two of us to pull open the heavy doors, only to be confronted with a heavy velvet curtain. A bouncer stopped us, as we stepped inside.

“Do you have an invitation?”

Our Blonde looked at him with an almost bored expression,  and dropped a couple of names.

     There was an onrush of cloying perfume, as we were close to trampled by a chubby, stillettoed, faux blonde with a studded sweater, and much too much bling. A very strange accent emerged that sounded somewhat eastern European, feigning Parisian. She welcomed us into the inner sanctum and ushered us to a low table surrounded by dark velvet tuffets.

    An overwhelming smell of booze, men drenched in cologne, and breath mints filled the room. A man weaved over to the table. Weaved is not strong enough, he was serpentine as if  evading gunfire. He dribbled out,  (as suavely as possible), that he would take care of our bill. He swung around leaving one foot with us, as he did an about face. I watched, as he did a slow slide to the floor.

     By the time I looked back, all the tuffets were occupied. It was a toadstool empire filled with very unattractive men, ready to pounce on  fresh meat. Between a dozen of them, we may have gotten one full head of silver hair.

     I finally paused to peruse the room. Off to a right was the bar. It was full. Seven or eight men leaning, with one foot up on the rail, lined up on the diagonal, parallel parked. There was a dance floor in the center packed with stiffly moving older men, and more nimbly rhythmic younger women. There were so many Mutt and Jeff combinations. The women were the Jeffs. The bass was vibrating to a taped loop of Barry White and contemporaries.

     My friend with the shorter hair was in a tete a tete with the club’s namesake, while my other friend and I made our way through the May-December couples to dance. I was happy just to be dancing, until the aggressive patrons starting cutting in. I looked helplessly at my friend as she was swept away by an AARP version of Studio 54.

     Enough of being polite, I thanked my partner and returned to our table. Our hostess with the unique accent began to ask. Iz dere anyvun choo vud likeh to meat. Anyvun yur typeh? These seemed to be very odd questions. Greeting is one thing, but making introductions? I politely said no, and left for the restrooms downstairs.

     An unctuous young man, arm draped with towels, seemed to be handing a key over to a portly man accompanied by a lovely young woman. I thought I saw him slip the attendant some cash which was quickly pocketed as the couple went through a door together. The young man with the oily grin, seemed to be far less interested in me, as I only needed him to open the door, and provide a towel.  The individual restroom was the size of a walk-in closet, amenities Bergdorf Goodman style, but also an inordinate amount of counter space, a lounge chair, and a small table. Now I understood the double header, and the exchange of what was probably quite a large tip.

     I climbed the stairs to join my friends and anxious to tell them of my discovery as we collected our things to leave. Beside me, on the next tuffet, was a distinguished looking man with slicked back hair. He turned to me and said,

“Where are you going? I just got here. “

“Sorry.”

“When will I see you again?”

“You haven’t seen me yet.”

“But I came tonight just for you.”

He was very persistent so I finally said, “Business card?”

He passed one to me, as I walked out thinking, he just came for me? Apparently Countess Dracurella had dropped a dime.

To be continued, my first post divorce date………………………………………………….

***Did I forget to mention that I told my ex-husband about this place? He told me he had been a regular since it opened. He knew about the bathrooms.
How did I go through married life so deaf, dumb, and blind?