Strip Me Bare

by Marissa Carmel

  I stand outside the front doors of Culture: Las Vegas Strip, missing Lorenzo. It’s different here, there’s no velvet rope or bouncer checking IDs. There’s a box office with a bright sign overhead that reads Jack the Stripper in screaming pink neon.

  “Did you ever think you’d see his name in lights?” Emily nudges me.

  “Never. This is bizarre,” I tell her with an entertained smile. A month after Ryan and I moved to Vegas, Emily and Alex followed. I don’t know how she did it, but she talked him into it. Alex works for his family’s shipping company and he can conduct business from anywhere really, so the move was no big deal. Except for the fact they left their family and friends to come and hang out with a professional stripper and his lawyer girlfriend - oops I mean fiancée.

  “Alana, what is that on your hand?”

  “Huh? What?” I play dumb.

  Emily grabs my wrist, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Well what do you think it is?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Alana!” Emily’s voice pitches as she yanks me into hug, “You’re getting married!”

  “Squeal louder Emily, I don’t think my father heard you in New Jersey.”

  “Oh my God, your father.”

  “He’s blessed off on my relationship. Everything will be fine. Ryan and I will just elope to avoid the spectacle.”

  The honorable Judge Remington’s daughter marrying a male stripper? The humiliation. I wish I’d had a camera to capture my father’s expression when I told him Ryan and I were moving to Las Vegas, and why. What a conversation that was. But I made a pact with myself. No more lying or sneaking around. This is my life and I’m going to live it my way, with the person I want, doing what I love. And for now, he seems to be okay with that.

  I’m not going to sit here and pretend that my father and I have this wonderful new relationship now, we don’t. But it’s definitely different from the way it was before. We communicate more, mostly through texts and emails, since that seems to be the way he feels most comfortable talking to me. Which is fine. It’s interaction. And over the last few months I’ve learned a lot about my father. That underneath that stringent, stoic exterior is a man who’s generous and eccentric and complex.

  He said my mother was the only person who ever loved him. But I don’t think that’s true. My father has plenty of people who love him. I think she was the only one who understood him. And I really want to understand him too.

  “Elope?” Emily puts her hands on her hips. “That might be fun. We do live in the perfect city for it,” she says with a cocky smile.

  “I hear the Little White Wedding Chapel is nice,” I say as I grab her hand and pull her to the door.

  “And I know the perfect place for your bachelorette party,” she laughs loudly.

  Um, I don’t think so.

  I take a deep breath as I pass through the corridor, remembering the last time I went to a male revue and the metamorphosis that transpired. Hopefully tonight won’t be so life altering, just some good fun.

  We get inside and I’m amazed at how different this Culture is compared to New York’s. There’s no one hanging from the ceiling or dancing on elevated stripper poles. There is however, a huge stage and a host of hot, half-naked men walking around.

  Emily and I make our way down a few levels; there are three large staircases, one in the middle and one on each side of the semicircular room, and find a spot with a close enough view. The club is packed to capacity and the tables and chairs in front of the stage are already filled with eager and excited women. We order a drink at the bar with the music pumping and people mingling all around us.

  “Are you nervous?” Emily asks.

  “Yes, this is a big deal.”

  “I know, look at this place, Culture in New York is nothing like this.”

  “Seriously.” I take a sip of my drink, engrossed by the environment. Then everything goes dark for a split second. A spotlight comes on, illuminating a shirtless guy with loose jeans and an exaggerated fauxhawk standing on stage. He introduces himself as Sammy, then juices the crowd with some dirty jokes. He’s actually pretty funny. Next, he addresses the women on the floor about the Do’s and Don’ts of the show, since they’re the ones who are going to get hands on. There are way too may Dos than Don’ts for my liking.

  A few moments later the whistling of Moves Like Jagger streams through the speakers and the stage is overtaken by six guys in leather pants and matching vests. Strobe lights flash as they move in a choreographed fashion infecting everyone in the room; ladies scream and dance as they embrace the men who can most definitely Move Like Jagger.

  “Where’s Ryan?” Emily asks, noticing the same thing I am. I see Divan and Logan - who Emily can’t look at without blushing - but no Ryan.

  “I don’t know,” I shrug, just as a burst of pyrotechnics grabs my attention. The entire stage halts as someone plunges from the ceiling on a line like a teardrop. Then the music explodes with Christina’s voice and Ryan starts ripping it up. My mouth falls open. Talk about an entrance. I look on stunned, he’s just so freakin’ awesome. It’s as if I’m watching a bigger, better, amplified version of Jack the Stripper. The audience is on its feet as he twists and turns and straight-up owns the stage. I stare out with all these emotions running through me as Ryan hypnotizes the room; I’m happy and impressed and a little embarrassed, but above all I can’t believe how far we’ve come. I roll my engagement ring between my middle and pinky fingers, remembering the summer Ryan and I met; a free-spirited boy and an emotionally unavailable girl. Who could ever have imagined that those two people would end up here?

  A princess not in love with a white knight or charming prince, but a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. A guy with swarms of women falling at his feet, but who only has eyes for her.

  It’s the perfect fairytale ending.

  It’s my perfect fairytale ending.

  Love and Laughter and Happily Ever After

  Six years later

  I stare at my name on the door.

  Alana Pierce, Junior Partner.

  It still makes me smile, the Pierce part and the partner part.

  I look at my watch; I have to hustle or I’m going to be late. I scurry out of Remington, Anderson, Smith and Steele, waving hastily at the receptionists behind the desk. I press the star key for the lobby and am whooshed down to the first floor.

  I nod to Stanley, my driver, as I hop into the black town car waiting for me on the street.

  “Traffic should be light into Jersey Mrs. Pierce, it’s still early,” Stanley says, business as usual.

  Yes, Jersey.

  “That was the plan,” I smile at him as I pull out my iPad and look over some work; I have an hour to kill.

  Stanley pulls the car up out front, nodding politely as he opens the door for me. “See you Monday.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I respond graciously.

  I hurry up the walkway, stick the key in the lock and turn the knob, opening the door to the sounds of splashing and giggling and one very naked baby running along the upstairs hallway.

  I walk up the staircase in my heels and black pant suit and am met by a big grin and high-pitched shriek, “Mommy!”

  “Hi baby,” I pick up my daughter and swing her in the air as I walk into the bathroom. Ryan is sitting on the toilet seat, towel-drying our son. Savannah Ray and Sean Merrick John were born two years ago on a warm August night, Savannah at 11:58 PM, Sean at 12:03 AM.

  Not only did Ryan and I get pregnant the first time we tried, his super-sperm fertilized two of my eggs, which resulted in two little people with pale blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes; twins with different birthdays.

  “Hi.” I lean down and give him a quick peck on the lips.

  “Hey beautiful,” he responds as Sean squirms in his arms.

  Ryan and I spent three years in Las Vegas. We planned to elope, but my father, of all people, insisted otherwise. To our surprise, he gave us a beautiful wedding, but the b
iggest shock came when he found out I was pregnant and gifted us my childhood home. I still get teary-eyed when I think about it. He was adamant that the house was too big for just him and it was time for a family to fill it up again. He said my mother would have wanted it that way.

  There was no refusing after that.

  We decide to move home six months into my pregnancy. It was time; Ryan was getting tired of the grueling schedule and physical demands, and I was really starting to miss New York. The law firm I was working at was great, but I felt like I’d peaked. My days started to become monotonous and I was ready for a change.

  I can still see Ryan kneeling down and kissing my stomach by the window in our bedroom before he left for his last show; his platinum wedding band contrasting against my black shirt while the lights of Vegas sparkled in the background. As sexy and alluring as Ryan was then, it’s nothing compared to the way I see him now. He has definitely kept his promise. He’s the father he never had and the husband his mother was cheated out of. But there will always be a piece of him that’s missing.

  I put Savannah in her pajamas, a two-piece set with little black and pink hearts and the word Diva written across the chest. I pull her hair back and clip it away from her face as she bops and sings in her little tiny voice. We named her after our mothers; Savannah for my mom, Rayleen for Ryan’s. I pick my sweet girl up off the changing table and place her on the floor. She darts out of her pink and gray room with the butterfly mobile hanging by the window and then down the stairs, no doubt on a mission to find Ryan or Sean or both. I pick up the clothes in the bathroom and wash out the bubbles left in the tub. When I get downstairs I hear Elmo singing in the living room, and find Sean and Savannah standing on the couch shaking their bon bons with their shirts hiked up to their chins.

  “Um, Ryan?” I say as he digs in the refrigerator. “I think more than just twins run in your family.”

  He looks over and catches a glimpse at what I’m witnessing. “Oh no.” His face drops and I laugh.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll encourage ballet.”

  Ryan cocks an eyebrow, “Hip hop for Sean.”

  “Whatever you want,” I concede. “We just have to make sure he keeps his clothes on,” I joke.

  Ryan just shakes his head amused, then goes back to poking around the fridge.

  A moment later Emily teeters through the front door. She’s seven months pregnant with her third child. She’s finally found her calling, motherhood. Together, she and Alex have Alyssa and Aaron and I think they’re naming this one Amelia. I asked her if she was planning to start a reality TV show.

  “This may be my third kid, but I will never know how you carried two of these things at the same time.” She kisses me hello, and as soon as Sean and Savannah see her they make a mad dash across the living room, screaming and giggling for their aunt. Ryan walks over with two juice boxes in one hand and a light jacket in the other. He’s dressed in jeans and a black sweater with a pin-striped button up underneath; the shirt tails are hanging out and the sleeves are rolled up his forearms.

  It’s October 15th, Ryan’s birthday and although this is supposed to be a happy day, there’s always a melancholy undertone. We kiss Sean and Savannah goodbye and leave them in Emily’s capable hands. We get into our car and drive quietly to the cemetery with Ryan’s thoughts far, far away.

  We park and walk up the grassy hillside to Sean’s grave. The weather is on the cold side, but the sun is still out and the colors of the leaves are just starting to change. There’s a bouquet of flowers and a few small baseball figurines lying by his headstone. After Sean’s death Rayleen hit rock bottom. She spent years in and out of rehab and therapy trying to cope with the loss. It was only after the twins were born that she started to somewhat manage her life. She attends AA and hasn’t had a drink in nearly a year. She visits every day. Every, single, day, she comes to Sean’s grave. And now that I have children of my own I can sympathize with her grief.

  Ryan kneels down on the grass and it’s the same each year; a purge of tears. My heart splinters every time I witness it. It’s the only time he allows himself to cry for Sean. I encourage him to visit more often, but he says once a year is all he can take.

  When he’s finally finished he rises and I hug him tightly.

  Then we stand silently, hand in hand, looking over Sean’s grave. Ryan snivels, “When I was eight I got in some trouble at school.” I look up at him surprised; he usually doesn’t say much when we’re here. “For two weeks they made me eat lunch by myself and stay in at recess, which is pretty devastating when you’re eight years old,” he takes a deep breath, “but Sean snuck in the classroom every day just so I didn’t have to be alone. He broke all the rules even then.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “That’s how I try to remember him, an innocent eight year old kid who’s still my brother.”

  “Ryan he will always be your brother,” I run my hand down his arm, “and he loved you, he just didn’t know how to show it.”

  “It just makes me so angry that it had to end like this. That he’ll never know our children, or have a life of his own.”

  “Maybe not here, but where he is now, he has all of those things. He does know our children and he’s strong.”

  Ryan sucks in a weepy breath, “I hope you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right, I’m a woman,” I quip and Ryan’s mood teeters just a little, but not nearly enough.

  The drive home is just as quiet as the drive there. It’s dark now and there’s nothing but shadows in the sky.

  “Thanks,” he says, as we walk up the front steps and onto the porch.

  “For what?”

  “Being there. For always being there.”

  “There isn’t any place I’d rather be.”

  “You know, you really are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He skims his thumb across my cheek.

  “I think that’s only partly true.”

  “Okay, I’ll rephrase,” he smiles, “Up until two years ago you were the best thing that ever happened to me, now you have competition.”

  “It's competition I can live with,” I grin.

  I unlock the door and let Ryan walk in first and as he enters, he’s showered with voices yelling surprise. He freezes suddenly, taking in all the faces around him, all the faces of the people who love him. Emily is holding a birthday cake with sparkler candles on top, as Sean and Savannah hop giddily at her feet. Everyone who is important to us is here, Rayleen, my father, my uncle John and Aunt Caroline. Alex, Alyssa and Aaron, Divan and Logan (who Emily still can’t look at without blushing).

  Ryan looks down at me and beams; it’s a much better expression than earlier today.

  “I love you,” he whispers as he embraces me jubilantly.

  “Happy birthday,” I respond when his lips part from mine.

  “Only since I met you,” he says, just before he’s bombarded by hugs and kisses and handshakes. I watch as Ryan is encircled in our foyer, a feeling of great joy overtaking me. Our future has been fused. And it’s a beautiful, boundless prospect of what can ultimately be.

  If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a metropolis to publish a book. There have been so many wonderful people who have contributed to Strip Me Bare I am beyond blessed and truly grateful. To my tremendous editor Matthew Taylor, every time we work together I learn more and more. You helped me center my voice and for that I am forever indebted to you. My talented cover designer Amber Rendon @ Novel Idea Design (http://novelideadesign.com). Thank you for working so diligently with me to bring my vision to life. I don't know what else to say that hasn't already been said, but I love, love, love the cover. To Lady Amber and her squad of fantastic bloggers (http://ambersupernaturalandya.blogspot.com/) you are a God sent to the indie author!! Thank you for coordinating all my cover reveals and book blitzes. You are always the professional and I adore working with you! To Amanda and Damaris and their team of outstanding bloggers @ Good Choice Reading (http://www.goodchoice
reading.com/) thank you for working with me and setting up such amazing review tours. To my beta readers, Kit Rav (http://suburbaneclectic.com/), Christina Comely and Lavinia Urban (author of Erin the Fire Goddess series (http://laviniaurban.blogspot.com/) your feedback was invaluable, and I truly believe your comments and opinions brought the book to the next level. Thank you! My proofreader Amy Chris (https://weetweetsbookshelfblog.com) who combed through 70,000 words looking for every spelling error and punctuation mistake she could find! To Ann Snizek, my formatter and new friend (https://snowflowersafterdark.blogspot.com/). To Jamie Haenick Lieberman and Jessica Ragno Sprague, my legal counsel. Thank you for answering all my mundane law questions. My bestie, Nicole Occhino for giving me the rundown on the NJ Criminal Justice system. Jessica Verney for letting me use her Facebook group to solicit research sources! To the TV show Suits for inspiring me to make Alana a lawyer and Julie Baum Eipert and Jennifer Baum for dragging me to a male revue. Who knew I'd find inspiration. Last, but never least, to my family who supports me every day and gives me the time I need to pursue my passion. Babe, you are my living, breathing, happily ever after. I <3 you.

  Thank you for purchasing Strip Me Bare! I hope you enjoyed reading Alana and Ryan's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now that you know how it ends, find out how it all began. Be on the lookout for Stripped From You coming soon!

  TBR http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18484521-stripped-from-you

  Muse- Madness

  Run- Leona Lewis

  I Know You Want Me- Pitbull

  Troublemaker- Olly Murs feat. Flo Rida

  What You Wanted- OneRepublic

  (I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight (Club Remix) - Cutting Crew

  *Counting Stars- OneRepublic

  Marissa Carmel has loved writing ever since a young age. She has a duel degree in History and Political Science, but took as many creative writing classes in college as she could. She spent most of her twenties bartending, which is where she met her husband and a multitude of interesting people. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging out with her family, experimenting in her kitchen or doing yoga on the living room floor.