I nod, listening. Andy continues, “So apparently, in this day and age, it’s not okay to be racist, but it is okay to be sexist. It’s not okay to degrade blacks or Hispanics, but it’s perfectly acceptable to degrade women. Yeah, we’ve come a long way, baby.”
Bile could be coming from Andy’s mouth, she’s so angry. But I must be missing something. “Okay, so the guy’s an ignorant ball player. What’s that got to do with you?”
Andy’s lips purse as she stares out the window. She takes another sip of champagne. “Every woman I talked with thought Shaquille O’Neal’s actions were disgusting. And yet not one man I talked with did. They all cited ‘tradition.’ Men traditionally insult their opponents by calling them women. It’s appalling, it’s disgusting, but hey, they’ve been doing it for years, so how can we girls get so upset?”
Andy downs the rest of her champagne. “And now I’m faced with the next insulting, degrading tradition: the bachelor party. Where future grooms routinely watch women strip for them, dance for them, and maybe even have sex with them, because these poor guys have, quote, ‘only got a few more nights of freedom.’”
Shutting up isn’t too hard now—because I honestly don’t know what to say. She has a valid point. I have heard of some pretty crazy bachelor parties, and it is weird that no woman ever puts her foot down to say, “Oh, hell no!”
But I also wonder why Andy’s marrying a man she doesn’t trust.
Twenty-Four
If such a thing as a bachelor party still exists in your lifetime, and your fiancé is such a dolt that he insists on having one, let him. But have your bachelorette party the same weekend.
That afternoon, Dawn, Kate, Andy, and I trudged our way through the pyramids of Egypt, the streets of New York, and Le Boulevard de Paris. And we even got to play with a lion cub at the MGM Grand!
I had a good time, but there was one trend that worried me. Andy had the “wandering eye,” so to speak, and seemed to be flirting with an awful lot of guys.
I mean, on the one hand, everyone flirts, particularly at a bachelorette weekend. There’s no harm in it. But, on the other hand, something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my sister wasn’t acting like herself.
Late that afternoon, we dressed up in our sexiest togs (and, in my case, my awesome Jimmy Choo sparkle shoes) and headed down to Red Square, a bar in Mandalay Bay with a Russian theme, known for having over one hundred different kinds of vodka, not to mention a bar made of ice.
Yes—real ice—they have a freezer within the bar that keeps the ice block frozen, so you can set your drink on it. It’s like a skating rink for martinis. It’s my favorite place in Vegas.
As our group of ten women take up all the available chairs at the bar, the bartender, a good-looking man wearing a black turtleneck, black pants, and the nametag CHRIS, walks up to us. “Ladies, what can I get for you this evening?”
“I want a Red Square martini,” my we-all-thought-she-was-pregnant sister says to the bartender.
“What?” her friend Jody, a beautiful redhead who’d be even prettier if she didn’t talk so much, turns to look at Andy in shock. “You want a what?!”
“A Red Square martini,” Andy says innocently. “They have these blue cheese–stuffed olives in them…” Her voice trails off as she looks around. All of her friends are staring at her.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a nice glass of water?” Jody asks. “Or juice?”
“I’m not pregnant!” Andy shouts, making some of the other customers at the bar turn to stare.
Deciding to make a joke of it, Andy smiles and waves her arms up in the air with a theatrical flourish. “So, everybody drink!”
The girls all laugh in relief, and everyone gets different kinds of martinis, all made with various brands of vodka.
As the girls who are still standing huddle around those of us in chairs, we talk about the wedding, men, babies, the wedding, jobs, the male strip show we’re going to see tonight, who of the single women plans to get laid tonight, and the wedding.
“I want to get laid tonight!” Andy announces after her second martini.
“No!” Jody insists. “Hunter can’t come tonight.”
Andy is much more cheerful now, but she starts up again with her anti–bachelor party rhetoric. “How come none of you guys are saying ‘Last weekend of freedom!’ I’ll bet that’s what my future husband’s friends are saying.”
“Please,” Dawn deadpans, “women’s lib does not mean imitating men’s worst qualities just so we can lower ourselves and be equal to them.”
“Besides,” I say sternly, “we wouldn’t want you to do something you’d regret in the morning.”
“And yet, you’ll let me get married next weekend,” Andy jokes.
But it’s a bitter joke.
Jill, a blond friend of Andy’s, leans into us. “Oh my God, don’t look. But I think Drew Stanton is in the lobby.”
Every girl looks, although the rest of them with more interest than Kate, Dawn, and me.
Drew, dressed in a light blue button-up shirt and gray pants, but no jacket or tie, walks in with Jordan, looking incredibly hot in a tan shirt and khaki pants. I notice several heads turn to acknowledge Drew and whisper about him, but no one bothers him.
Drew walks right up to Dawn and kisses her on the cheek. “Hello, darling.”
She turns to kiss him on the lips, “Hi, sweetie.”
Jordan comes up to me, but doesn’t kiss me. “Hi,” he says awkwardly.
I respond back with a seventh grade, self-conscious, “Hi.”
“You look very nice tonight,” Jordan says, and I feel like we’re in an episode of The Brady Bunch. Tonight’s episode: Jan’s awkward date.
Drew leans into the three of us and whispers to Dawn, “So, is that deal we made still on?”
She kisses him on the cheek and says sweetly, “It is. Now get out.”
“Excellent,” Drew whispers back. “Ladies,” he announces in his grand ‘I can project to the back row’ theater voice, “finish your drinks. You have two limousines waiting outside to take you wherever you may wish to go. Compliments of yours truly. We would love to meet everyone back here for a drink—say, around one-ish?”
The girls all scream in approval and gulp up their drinks.
Kate looks over at Jordan, asking him the question she knows I want answered. “So, what are you boys up to tonight?”
“I have no idea,” Jordan says.
“No asking questions,” Drew says, putting his arm around Dawn’s waist.
She gives him a kiss on the cheek, then tells us, “The deal is, the guys can do whatever they want tonight, and we can do whatever we want tonight.” She turns to Drew and smiles. “Only one rule applies: the women you two came to see get the last dance of the evening.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Drew says with just a touch of smarm.
I like how she slipped that in—you two.
Drew raises one arm and yells, “Tallyho!” and, like a pack of dogs in a foxhunt, all the foxy ladies gulp the rest of their drinks and, with Andy leading the pack, get up to start their hunt for single men.
The five of us follow Andy’s friends out. We walk through the massive lobby, and out to the front of the hotel, where indeed, our limousines await us. The first limousine quickly fills up with Andy and six of her already drunken friends. One of Andy’s friends opens the top, stands up, and screams, “Whoooooo,” like she’s in a Girls Gone Wild video.
Kate, Dawn, and I cringe. “Let’s take the second limo,” Kate suggests.
“You read my mind,” Dawn agrees.
Jordan and Drew walk us to the limousine. Kate immediately gets in. I, on the other hand, stand there like an idiot, trying to think of something clever to say to Jordan before I leave. Something that will have him thinking about me all evening.
I can’t think of a thing.
Drew wraps his arms around Dawn’s waist playfully and gives her a big hug. “No
w, you be good for me tonight.”
Dawn smiles. “All right. But when I’m bad, I’m more fun.”
They begin to French-kiss as Jordan and I look on awkwardly. I feel like we’re the prom couple driving in the front of the car, while the other prom couple’s having sex in the back.
Jordan doesn’t even try to kiss me. Instead, we both stare at each other awkwardly while they take forever…
And ever…
Finally, Kate gets out, pounds on the top of the limousine, and screams, “People are waiting! Off you go! Chop, chop!”
They abruptly stop, and laugh.
“Okay, fine,” Drew says. He kisses Dawn once on the hand, then walks toward his limousine ahead of us. “Jordan, kiss Charlie good-bye, so we can get out of here.”
Jordan freezes. “Um…”
You’d think he was a deer staring at a Mack truck coming at him at fifty-five miles per hour.
Very nice. Since it’s never gonna happen, I roll my eyes and get into the car.
Dawn follows, the limousine driver closes the door, and I look through the window to see Jordan still staring at me in contemplation.
“Open the window,” Kate orders me.
“No,” I insist. “This has gotten embarrassing. And I’m not that desperate.”
“Please”—Dawn smirks as she hits the button to open the window—“you are totally that desperate.”
I smack her hand off the Down button, and hit the button to close the window back up. “Yes, I am. But I don’t want him to know that.”
As the car drives off, I watch Jordan still standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching us go.
I can’t help myself. “Driver, stop!” I yell.
We stop. And, with Kate, Dawn, and Andy’s friends watching, I roll down the window. “Hey!” I yell to Jordan.
Confused, he jogs up to me. “Yeah?”
“Drew’s right. Kiss me good-bye.”
Jordan smiles sheepishly, then leans through the window to kiss me. The women in the car cheer, whoop, and applaud.
When we break away, I can’t help but feel giddy. “I’ll see you at one?”
“I’m counting the minutes,” Jordan says, giving me one more kiss, then tapping the roof of the limo twice to alert the driver to go.
And we’re off!
We spend the next hour cruising the strip, sipping champagne, and listening to the other girls’ problems with men, which included such golden oldies as, “Well, I’m dating this guy who’s still technically married…”
A man who claims he is “still technically married” is married. Get the hell away from him.
Or the famous “We’ve been dating for four years, but he says he’s still not ready for marriage. What does that mean?” (It means he doesn’t want to get married. Or not to you, anyway.)
Or the even more classic, “We had a great time, and he said he’d call me. But that was two weeks ago. Do you think I should call him?” (I won’t even dignify that with a response.)
Oh yeah, and there was that one glorious minute where the girls chatted about how gorgeous Jordan was.
Over the course of the next several hours, we did the standard bachelorette party agenda: male strip club, bridal scavenger hunt, and several clubs where Andy, wearing a cheap bridal veil, flirted with every man in the room.
That wouldn’t have been so bad. But once we got to Ghostbar, the nightclub on the top floor of the Palms Hotel, things got out of hand.
I had high hopes when I walked in: floor-to-ceiling windows with breathtaking views of Las Vegas, space-age silver furniture, a full bar. But within ten minutes of our group getting in, I saw a good-looking boy (yes, I mean, boy—he looks all of twenty-two) start dancing with Andy, and the two quickly became inseparable.
Uh-oh.
After a while, Andy’s new friend takes Andy by the hand, and they both walk up to me. “This is my sister Charlie,” Andy drunkenly slurs, nearly falling on me. “And my friends Kate and Dawn. Guys, this is my new friend John.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, holding out my left hand for him to shake.
I did this on purpose. That way, he had to break free from Andy’s hand to shake mine.
“Nice to meet you,” John says, breaking free from Andy just long enough to shake my hand, then taking her hand back. “You have a gorgeous sister.”
“Yes, I do,” I say. “She’s also an engaged sister. Did she mention that?”
“No. But the veil kind of gave it away,” John says cheerfully.
Shit. He knows she’s taken, and it’s a plus to him.
Men who chase married women, or women in a serious relationship, do so to avoid commitment. This is why, when you finally start dating someone after a long dry spell, suddenly the men come out of the woodwork.
Christina Aguilera’s “Dirrty” begins playing. “Oh, I love this song!” John says to Andy. “Dance with me!”
And he pulls her away.
A little after midnight, two of Andy’s friends had already left the club with men in tow, using the lame excuse that they were “so tired” and “needed to get back to the hotel.” I say this excuse is lame only because they were holding hands with guys they had met two hours before, and had already publicly kissed on the dance floor.
I mean, come on, is there a man on earth who’s really inviting you to his hotel to “just talk”? I mean, even if that’s all that happens, it sure as hell wasn’t his idea.
Anyway, the other girls are clearly making their nocturnal plans, so it’s time to call it a night. I make my way to the dance floor, where a very smashed Andy is falling all over John and telling him how gorgeous he is.
I peel her off of him ever so gently. “Come on, Cinderella. It’s after midnight. We have to go, or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
Andy falls onto my shoulder in a drunken stupor. “Oh, I’m having such a great time. Let’s stay a little longer.”
“No,” I say firmly. “Drew’s meeting us at one, remember? We need to leave. Now.”
“Oh.” Andy’s fuzzy little brain takes a second to process this information. Even wasted out of her mind, she knows who’s paying for this weekend of bacchanalia, and that he’s my boss to boot. She turns to John with sadness in her eyes. “She’s right. I’m really sorry. We’re meeting friends at Mandalay Bay. I gotta go.”
Andy tears herself away from John, takes off her veil, and begrudgingly follows me off the dance floor.
John follows her. He’s cheerful, upbeat, and not giving up so easily. “Wait,” he says, taking her hand. “Let me come with you.”
Andy looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes begging me to let him come with us.
I shake my head no.
“I don’t want you to leave your friends,” Andy tells John.
“Don’t be silly. I’ll bring a few of them along. My friend Bob’s getting along really well with your friend Deborah.”
I turn to follow John’s line of sight, and see Bob making out with Deborah.
Yeah—I’d say they’re getting along.
“Okay!” Andy says brightly, her face lighting up. “We’ll be at Red Square. Do you know where that is?”
“I do,” John says, and he’s glowing. He looks totally in love, and thrilled to be included in the rest of the night’s festivities.
How is it that men are so good at looking totally in love, when really they just want to get laid?
Anyway, I round up what is left of the girls, and we all head back to Red Square in the limousines.
John manages to snag a ride back with us, and was at least gracious enough to talk to Dawn, Kate, and me during the twenty-minute ride back.
“So,” John says to Dawn, “I’ve been meaning to ask you all night—are you an actress?”
Dawn squints her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”
“’Cuz you totally look like this babe on that show Water Babies. You know, Mike’s girlfriend. The one who dies.”
Man, did he ever mak
e points with Dawn. She’ll never admit it, but Dawn loves being recognized. “That was me,” Dawn says, verbally warming up to him. “But that was over two years ago. How did you ever remember that?”
“Well, you’re very…” John clears his throat. “Well, you’re a very…attractive woman.”
Dawn smiles at him. “Where are you from again, John?”
“New Orleans. I’m just here for the weekend for my buddy Dan’s bachelor party.”
I cock my head. “Didn’t we meet Dan?” I ask.
“Um…yeah,” John says, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “He went back to Mandalay Bay with your friend Jill.”
“Goddamn it!” Andy yells suddenly, startling everyone in the limo.
John’s voice softens, and he rubs her leg. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”
I know exactly what’s wrong. She’s pissed off that a bachelor is cheating on his future wife at this very moment. And with her friend, no less.
“It’s just that…” Andy begins angrily, but then changes her tack, her voice softening. “You know what? Nothing.” Andy leans her head on John’s chest, and he gently strokes her hair.
It’s a good thing she had three chaperones there, or that wouldn’t have been all he was stroking.
Ten minutes later, we’re back at Red Square. There are no chairs available at the bar, but there’s a table with a small couch and three chairs on the other side of the room.
We head to that side, and John snags the couch, immediately pulling Andy next to him. We take the chairs, and everyone waits for Andy’s other friends to show up.
Which they don’t. And neither do John’s friends.
Now, obviously, this is a covert action. No one’s supposed to come back to see Andy and John, because that would keep them from getting together. John’s friends are supposed to pretend they got lost getting back to the bar, and just went back to their hotel rooms.
A Total Waste of Makeup Page 23
