by Suzanne Park
“Okay, you go first, Candace. What’s going on with you?” I asked with my mouth stuffed full of fried calamari. It was rude, but I had worked through lunch and had enough food in front of me to feed two Melodys.
She squealed and threw her arms up in excitement. “Ahhh! We got a marriage courthouse date! If you can come, we’re getting hitched this week, at 11 A.M. on Friday; I know, it’s a workday. If you can’t make it, don’t worry about it.”
I checked my calendar. “I have that day off because my parents are arriving that morning. I planned to meet them at Sea-Tac and take them straight to brunch. But they can get a taxi or Liftr, it’s not a big deal.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s so last minute on my part. If their plane comes in late, maybe you can come. Other than the wedding news, the baby seems healthy. He or she is the size of a small head of cauliflower now.” I tried to picture what that looked like. I stabbed a fried zucchini stick with my fork and held it up to see how big that baby would be in zucchini stick units. About six, maybe seven.
Jane blurted out, “My wedding planning is going great!” Okay, I guess it was Jane’s turn. “We put a deposit on a gorgeous hotel near Alki Beach, secured a caterer, and because Sean’s friend knows the son of the conductor of the Seattle Philharmonic, they’ll be playing at our wedding, too. And your bridesmaid dresses came in. They are gorgeous!” She scrolled for photos on her phone. “Here, take a look.”
Candace and I peered over Jane’s shoulder to see the couture gowns. I pinched the screen and made the picture bigger, to make sure I had the full visual experience before commenting.
Candace beat me to it. “They look like . . . Grecian togas.”
She nailed it. They looked like motherfucking TOGAS. Like ancient Grecian garb, but what a dude would wear, not a lady. Sure, the designer added some small adornments to make it look slightly more contemporary, like using airy fabric and a feminine sea-green color, which was the hue of Crest toothpaste. A color that I never wore because pastel colors like that looked terrible on me. Any cool palette against my skin made me looked jaundiced.
Jane shrugged. “Togas are Roman, not Grecian.”
She missed the point entirely. Roman, or Grecian, whatever. Togas were hideous.
I asked, “Can we ask the designer to scale back on some of the fabric? It looks like it would be heavy and hot. I definitely couldn’t dance in that.” This might be a good way to get out of dancing with Asher at the wedding. Maybe I found an out!
Jane smirked. “Oh, that’s the beauty of the dress! The over-the-shoulder fabric can be let out in the back. It forms a long flowy train. And that train is also removable. That’s why I love Yun-Hee Lee’s designs. She always has clever, versatile pieces!”
Damn it, this meant I’d need to find another way to propose a best-man-plus-maid-of-honor dance boycott. She showed us pictures of the unraveled toga. Without the over-the-shoulder fabric, the dress looked a million times better than the full-on toga dress. The color was still problematic, but honestly, the fact that Jane settled on dresses that she liked made me want to high-five everyone in the restaurant.
“Do you want us to wear Grecian sandals, too?” I joked. There was no way in hell Jane would want us to wear flat, manly sandals to her wedding.
“No fucking way,” she answered. “Here are pics of the shoes that’ll go with the dress. Yun-Hee also designed them.” Again, I pinched the photo to enlarge it. She picked peep toe heels. Six inches high.
I wasn’t a heel person. My go-to fancy shoes were geriatric, comfy pumps, which weren’t great for adding height. There was no shame in that shoe game. I couldn’t walk in real heels, and I’d surely fall on my face when walking down the aisle, shattering my elbows from a fraught attempt to protect my makeup and hair. And then an ambulance would haul me away and I would have to get emergency surgery in an ugly fucking toga. Nobody wanted that.
Candace said, “Jane, these shoes are beautiful . . . but by the time the wedding comes around I’ll be as big as a horse. I won’t be able to wear heels at all.” Thank god Candace got knocked up.
Jane made a face. “Fine, we can ask the salesperson for flat shoes. I want you two to match.”
Just when I was ready to celebrate this shoe triumph, Candace said, “Mel, it’s your turn. What’s going on with you these days?” She sipped her nonalcoholic mint lemonade as I let out a heavy sigh.
“Where do I start?” I told them about my parents unexpectedly coming to town, the ongoing troll warfare, and the GameCon Northwest conference. I expected them to be bored when I rattled off my life events, but they leaned in, wide-eyed and nodding along.
“And there’s this guy at work—”
They leaned closer. Jane asked, “Ooooh, are you hooking up with someone at the office?”
My entire body flushed with heat. “Oh god, no, he’s the CEO’s nephew. And he’s an intern.”
“Huh, I never figured you as the robbing-the-cradle type, but I’m impressed. What is he, like twenty?” Jane asked.
“He’s an MBA intern, and I was just going to say that his parents are crazy, too, so it’s nice that someone else has to deal with that, not just me. He’s the guy Asher was calling my ‘boy toy’ at your engagement dinner, but we’re just friends. Can we change the subject, please?” I took a sip of my ice water to cool down my flushed face. “Maybe we can talk about the fact that I’m still getting death threats at work on a minute-by-minute basis?”
“Still? Do you need an employment lawyer, by the way?” Jane asked. “Based on everything I’ve read about other women victimized in the tech or gaming fields, they got pushed out or fired from their positions. They blamed the women, not the pervasive sexist culture around them.”
Candace frowned. “Melody didn’t do anything to cause this, other than being a woman, and being Asian. It’s so unfair. She needs a bodyguard, not a lawyer. How bad are the harassing comments now?”
“Bad. They’d almost be comically bad, with all the over-the-top shit that people write, hiding behind fake social media accounts and bogus usernames—if it weren’t happening to a real person, it’d almost seem like a parody of trolling.”
Candace put her hand on my arm. “Mel, why don’t you quit? You say you’re fine, but I know you. In some cases, maybe even this case, quitting is different than giving up. You need to take care of yourself, there’s no shame in that.”
I’d thought about finding a new job and hoping all the trolling craziness would go away. But I was doing great at work now and managing all the timelines and juggling things well as they came up. I’d earned the respect of people just by sticking with what I started. And in the past few months I’d met so many female gamers who played games like mine, who aced any shooter game that came their way. More women were gaming than ever before, in casual games, but also in role-playing games and first-person shooters, too. This growing group of women needed more game variety to hold their interest. They needed more games like mine. Well, not exactly like mine (because how may games with male strippers fighting for survival could the market realistically bear?).
“I want to stay, to show all those assholes I can do it, holding it all together when the entire world thinks I’ll fall apart. I want to make a difference.”
Candace held up her lemonade. “Okay then. To making a difference!”
We clinked glasses, and I gulped down the rest of my vodka soda and scooted my chair back. “Who wants to come with me to go recruit some strippers? Ian actually gave me petty cash to go to some strip clubs to ‘scout talent,’ no joke.”
Candace and Jane stood up in a hurry, almost knocking down their seats.
“We volunteer! Jane, the baby, and me!” Candace giggled and locked her arm in mine. Jane looked up the best strip clubs in the area on her phone and was ready to roll. I loved that Candace and Jane stood by my side as I fought my uphill battles. And yeah, I understood the irony of going to a strip club to fight for my dream.
JANE CALLE
D A car, and we pulled up to the Stallions Club in a gleaming white Cadillac. A bouncer/valet/footman came to our passenger door and opened it for us. Under his black shirt and black pants, you could tell this guy had major muscles. I mean, he had deep indentations where the in-between muscle parts were. This guy was a stripper, too, right? He had to be.
“Welcome to the Stallions. My name is Carlos.” He rolled his R a long time, which made his name sound both sexy and comical. A weird combo, but I liked it.
Jane and I tugged Candace out of the back seat. Now that she was further along in her pregnancy, little things like pulling herself out of a bucket seat were no longer trivial.
“Thanks for the assistance!” Candace smoothed out the back of her skirt. We all entered the venue exuding a direct representation of our personalities. Jane walked in like she owned the fucking place. I looked around guiltily, like a teenager who sneaked out of the bedroom window to go see a strip show with a fake ID, and Candace, well, she just giggled at everything. The cheesy dance music, the steamy hot hosts, and S&M-themed decor caused her to erupt into hyperventilating giggles. Was enough oxygen getting to the baby?
This was my first strip club outing and I had no idea what was supposed to happen. Jane whispered something to the host, and he smiled. “Yes, please come this way to the VIP room.”
“Don’t worry, it’s on me,” Jane said coolly.
I asked, “Why do you look so at ease here?”
She laughed and tossed her hair back. “All the guys I work with go to strip clubs. Sometimes I need to go, too, because we’re entertaining clients, or someone gets promoted and the team’s congratulatory outing is at a strip joint. At first it felt icky and uncomfortable, but now I’m desensitized to all this. Think of it as a show, and these guys here are all actors.”
“Really hot, muscular, sexy actors,” Candace squeaked. Pipe down, horny preggo girl!
“Speaking of actors, remember, the goal for tonight is to hire some of these guys to be cosplayers. We’re not here to . . . engage.”
Jane said, “Right. Hire strippers to play strippers at your nerdy trade show. Got it. Let’s hurry up and go to the VIP room! They’ll have the hotter guys there who know what they are doing. They put the more inexperienced guys on the main floor.”
My purse vibrated. A new text alert from Nolan. You at work? Order dinner?
I replied immediately. Nope, long story, will explain later. I’m at a strip club. Please don’t ask.
Jane looked over my shoulder and then smacked my arm. Hard. “Who’s thaaaaat?”
I shook my head. “Just a coworker. You need to focus. I need to recruit people for the show, remember?”
Candace nodded. “And in case your coworker is maybe more than just a coworker, you don’t want to look desperate by being so available.”
“Like a hooker with no clients,” Jane added, raising her drink. Thanks, Jane.
“You both are reading too much into this,” I said, shaking my head.
The host bypassed the central area by taking us down a lengthy hallway. Dark red velvet walls lined the corridor, giving this place a sensual, almost carnal vibe. It looked a little bit too much like traveling down someone’s birth canal.
I shouted above the music, “Remember to look for friendly, approachable types.”
The VIP room looked smaller than what I had imagined. The decor was minimalistic, like a fancy IKEA modern living room, but with black couches and red walls. The music didn’t make the walls vibrate in here, but I still had to yell over it at times.
A six-foot, blond, European waiter with zero percent body fat walked in, wearing only a red thong.
“Oh wow,” Candace yelped. Oh wow, indeed.
“Where do you guys put your name tags?” I asked.
He winked at me. “I’m Marco. Don’t worry, you will not forget my name.”
Jane, Candace, and I exchanged looks and burst out into laughter. If I wasn’t such a fish out of water here, like if this was a regular dance club, I could actually see myself drinking with my girls and having a good time. But it wasn’t a regular ol’ club. How had I conceived a game centered around characters like Marco, someone I was so utterly awkward around?
Jane asked, “Mel, you’re looking for someone friendly and approachable, right?” She grabbed a black VIP menu off the side table.
“Are you ordering drinks? I need a ginger ale.” Candace yawned. She was fading quickly. We needed to move things along fast.
“Not yet.” She waved Marco over. “We want one classic cocktail, maybe an Old-Fashioned. Clean. And maybe to spice things up, one dirty, DIRTY martini.”
“Hey, you didn’t order my ginger ale!” Candace whimpered.
Jane focused on the door. “I’ll order that in a minute,” she answered distractedly as she looked down at her watch. She muttered to herself, “We’ll see if they’re as hot as Marco.”
Marco reappeared, with two strapping men right behind him. Hottie number one, dressed as a (hot!) cowboy, had an all-American, clean-cut yummy type of look to him. He had a lasso, too. Hottie number two was dressed in a modified tuxedo. He was hot in a Miami sensual summer sort of way. He oozed dirty sex. They came over and introduced themselves.
“I’m Dan.” Cowboy tipped his hat. Oooh, it suddenly got a little steamy in here.
Dirty Sex said, “My name is Paul.” He grabbed Candace’s hand and kissed it. She blushed so hard I thought her water might break right there on the floor of the VIP room.
I looked at Jane. “These guys are perfect. How did you . . .”
She waved the menu in my face. “I ordered them.”
“You WHAT?” I looked over at Candace, to shoot her a look of can you believe her? but she was too busy flirting with Paul. Paul was a much better stimulant than ginger ale. Who would have expected to see a woman carrying a cauliflower-head-size baby flirt so hard with a stripper? I needed a drink. Desperately.
Jane tossed her hair back. “Well, at the fancy strip clubs we go to for work, they have these menus where you can use innuendo to request a type of stripper to come to you. Usually they’re drink menus, so you might order a tall White Russian if you want, well, a tall White Russian. One time I went to a dessert-themed strip club and they likened types of women to ice cream flavors. So fucking weird, right?”
This whole thing was weird. But I couldn’t help wondering what kind of “order” I would give for Nolan. A bourbon, neat? A Gold Rush? Maybe Whiskey Smash?
Melody, stop thinking about Nolan and smashing. Stop it.
No one in my entourage seemed to remember why we were there, including me, so I took charge and handed Paul and Dan my business card. “Gentlemen, no stripping required today. I have a well-paying job for you two, and it will be fun and worth your time, I promise. Call me tomorrow.”
Paul eyed Candace up and down and said, “Count me in.”
Dan tipped his hat in agreement, and Paul followed him out of the room. Candace giggled and bit her lip. “Where do you think they put their business cards?”
Jane sat back into the couch. “Well, you got your cosplayers, and I got some killer ideas for my bachelorette party.” She ordered the overdue ginger ale and handed Marco a hundred-dollar bill, which he rolled up and put in his thong. The lack of pockets didn’t stop Marco from collecting cash in his crotch bank. Maybe he had a hidden slot for business cards, too. As we left the club, I wondered what Marco did with spare change.
Chapter Sixteen
My friend Nick Cabot was the first person I called to help with the game trailer. He had just moved back to Seattle after working at an ad agency in London for two years and had some time to take on this freelance video project. Hooray!
Ziiiiiiip. Nick talked to me while opening boxes with an X-Acto knife. “Mel, darling, the only games you and I REALLY enjoy playing are those junky time wasters on our phones.” Ziiiiiiip. “Are you still playing Candy Casino? And that ridiculous one where you fling rubbish at the British aristoc
racy?” Nick had been my boss and mentor at my previous job, and he had started a new ad agency in the SoDo district. They had a few local clients, but their main source of revenue came from creating trailers for independent films.
“No, I’m not addicted to those anymore, thank you very much. Anyway, I really think your video experience making gorgeous film trailers will be perfect for this assignment.” His design aesthetic and promotional sensibilities would work well for this game trailer. I proceeded to tell him about Ultimate Apocalypse.
He laughed before I could finish. “I love how ridiculous the premise is. And it sounds so fun. Okay, so the goal is to create buzz around the game? Well, I know we can do that. I can do the storyboards and trailer rough cuts and edits, but can you help with writing copy? We’re a little short-staffed in that area. I also need to know what high-res game images and video assets you have available.” We spent another thirty minutes talking about budgets and the three-week turnaround. I also mentioned he would have real-life male strippers to use for green screen filming at his disposal.
“It’s a tight timeline, I’m not gonna lie. But I’m excited! I’ve never been briefed on such an absurd project in my entire life,” Nick said, laughing so hard he actually choked.
With Nick working on the game trailer, and Asher and Kat putting together the game demos, things were back on track. We had three weeks until the trade show, so there was no room for error. Somehow, we’d managed to hit every production milestone despite the addition of GameCon deliverables to our demanding schedule.
Asher came into the office later than usual, with two coffees and two bagels in hand. Was he being nice for once? Nah, turns out they were both for him. He alternated bites between the two bagels (“Oh my god, Melody, the new bagel shop near my house just opened this morning and the bagels are perfect. So chewy and soft. You should go there sometime”) and drinking the two coffees with lots of slurping bravado. The last few days I had brought in doughnuts, pastries, and muffins from the bakery around the corner, which had a LINE every morning, and fed all the producers, developers, and artists working on my project. And yet Asher couldn’t even think to get me a stupid bagel. Or add a third coffee to his greedy order. Bastard.
