by AC Netzel
Chapter 9
“A combined bachelor and bachelorette party is lame,” Allie complains to Ben, Vince, and me in the cab.
“This was our compromise. Neither Ben nor I want anything. I’m not interested in watching some baby-oiled muscle man jiggle his G-string encapsulated man-junk in my face. And Ben’s not interested in ogling half-naked strippers and lap dances. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s what you told me,” Ben answers sarcastically from the front seat of the taxi, never looking back. Vince cracks a huge grin and nods.
“Don’t be an ass. You agreed with me.”
“I agreed with a caveat. I still expect stripping and a lap dance by the end of the night. From you. That was our deal.”
“Julia’s giving you a lap dance?” She turns to me, placing her hand over her heart. “My best friend, the sex kitten. Momma’s so proud. Want to borrow my pole?” she asks.
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Yes,” Ben says, talking over me.
“Allie does things on that pole that defy gravity. As soon as she touches it, I’m hard as a rock. When she wraps her sexy little body around it and flicks her hair back—fucking incredible. You’re so fucking amazing, baby,” Vince says. “She could give you a few tips.”
The taxi driver slips out a chuckle then tries to cover it up with a cough.
“Come on, Jules. It could be fun and beneficial. See what I did there? Ben-eficial.”
“No. Thanks,” I tell her. Ben hasn’t turned around once during this entire exchange. I tap him on his shoulder. “Stop grinning.”
“You can’t see me. And I’m not grinning.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not grinning anymore.”
“Where are Ben’s college friends? His two groomsmen?” Allie asks.
“They couldn’t make it tonight. We’re going to some Sports bar with them next weekend.”
“A Sports bar? Gross.”
“It’s better than the wall climbing place they originally wanted to drag me to.”
“Exercise? You? Jeez, Ben, getting cold feet and trying to get Julia to change her mind?” she jokes.
“Not a chance,” he replies.
The cab stops in front of the restaurant. This was another compromise I made to get Allie and my sisters off my back. They chose where we ate.
“Come on, move it! Your sisters, their husbands, Marcello and Peter have been here for fifteen minutes already. They’ve got a head start drinking.” Allie grabs my hand and pulls me out of the taxi.
I look up at the sign and laugh. I was hoping for either the Korean BBQ or the new Brazilian place I read about in NYC magazine.
They had other plans.
“ChaCha’s?” I ask in disbelief.
She beams wide, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. We’re going to have a blast!”
ChaCha’s is a supper club. A drag show supper club. They pride themselves on their tongue-in-cheek references to all things vagina. Hence the name. They don’t serve cocktails. “Cock” is too masculine. They serve Crotchtails—because it’s gender neutral.
I’ve never been here, but I’ve always been curious about it. It has a reputation for showcasing some of the best Drag Queens in New York and an impressive dinner menu. There’s usually a trade-off in these kinds of places, crappy food or mediocre show, but not here.
Ben joins me on the sidewalk, wrapping an arm around my waist. He pulls me close to him, brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “Elizabeth is going to have a coronary.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, I forgot they were coming.”
A few days ago, in a weak moment of post sex-phoria and a nagging need to have a friendlier relationship with Ben’s family, I suggested he invite his sister and Stuart to our bachelor/ bachelorette party. I thought it’d be a good way to mingle without outside influences—like Cam-eel whispering negative shit in her ear. He was thrilled I proposed it and thanked me for offering an olive branch with another round of orgasms.
Once the sex haze vanished, regret and dread spread across me when I realized what I offered. But he looked so damn happy. And the orgasms were incredible. It was too late. I couldn’t withdraw it.
He laughs then kisses the top of my head. “She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.”
“Detach your lips from my friends head and move it!” Allie says to Ben, grabbing Vince’s hand and marching to the front door. “Vince knows the manager. We’re getting the VIP treatment.”
That makes sense. Vince’s firm markets clubs in the city. He probably knows hundreds of people in the business. It’s all about networking.
I blink a few times to adjust my eyes to hot pink overload as we enter the building. Walls, picture frames, tablecloths. No pink stone was left unturned. Multicolored Christmas lights frame the bar which is situated to the side of the room. There’s a small stage in the front. Eight chandeliers are hanging from the ceiling, four on each side of the bar above the long lines of tables. Between each chandelier is a cluster of small disco balls.
Purple spotlights are aiming at the suspended mirrored balls, making for a gaudy splash of moving color. There’s a whole lot of flamboyance going on in this establishment.
It’s awesome.
Mixes of people from all walks of life are sitting at tables and the bar. Business suits to cross dressers. Bachelorette parties to parties of one.
A lean, tall Queen greets us at the hostess desk. An outrageous blue wig, wispy like cotton candy and piled high sits atop her head. Her lipstick is red, lashes long, thick and fake, and her cobalt blue sequined dress hugs an hourglass figure.
“Vincent, darling.” She leans in and air kisses his cheeks. “I have a table reserved at the front of the room. Some of your party has already arrived.”
“Thanks, Morganza,” Vince says. “Tell Ellie I owe her.”
“Tell her yourself. She’s the MC tonight.”
“Will do.”
She escorts us to our table where Marcello, Peter, my two sisters, and their husbands are already sitting. On the table are six empty shot glasses.
“Look who finally made it,” Marcello whines as he stands from his chair and kisses my cheek.
“You had shots already?” I ask my sisters as I make the rounds, giving quick kisses to everyone.
“The kids are sleeping at Mom’s. We reserved rooms in the city for the night. I’m getting drunk and laid without keeping an eye on the bedroom door for a change,” Sophie says.
“I didn’t pack pajamas,” Isabelle adds.
“You didn’t?” her husband Bruce asks, wiggling his brows.
“You better bring your A-game tonight, big boy,” she tells him. “Screw the muffled moans so Emma can’t hear us. I plan on screaming.”
“Oh, I’ll have you screaming. I’ll have you screaming good and loud.”
I hold up a hand. “Please don’t share the details. I’ve already heard more than I need to know about my sister’s sex life.”
“Did you use the cock ring yet?” Sophie asks, teasing about my Wishing Well haul.
I blush. All sorts of toys came out that week.
She laughs. “Thought so.”
“Ben?” Elizabeth’s confused voice comes from out of nowhere, abruptly ending our conversation. Once again, embracing another decade, she’s dressed in a conservative 50’s tailored tweed dress, a strand of pearls, and inch-high Cuban heels.
I wonder if her sexual fantasy is Stuart throwing on a black leather jacket and role-playing The Fonz.
Ayyyyyy.
Ben turns around and smiles at his sister. They give each other a stiff, polite hug because that’s the way that family rolls.
“This isn’t a Mexican restaurant,” she says, glancing around the room.
Wonder what gave it away?
“Why did you think it was?” he asks.
“The name. ChaChas.”
He chuckles. “No. Very different.”
“It looks fun. I absolute
ly adore the décor,” Stuart adds, looking dapper in a blue and green tartan suit. “It’s positively campy. This is art.”
“It’s garish,” she grumbles in disgust. “Did you see the way the hostess dressed?”
“I thought she looked lovely,” Stuart tells her.
“I don’t understand this place.”
“Don’t overthink. Just enjoy it,” Ben tells her.
“Relax, Elizabeth. We don’t get out often. Let’s have a pleasant evening,” Stuart adds.
“Fine,” she huffs.
While Ben introduces Elizabeth and Stuart to my brothers-in-law, Peter, and Marcello, I take a quick peek at Stuart and laugh to myself.
Stuart is finally in his element, salivating at the surroundings like a kid in a candy store. I hope Ben’s sister doesn’t go full ‘Elizabitch’ on us and suck all the fun out of our night.
We take our seats at our table for twelve which is pushed up against the edge of the stage. We’re directly in the performer’s line of fire. We’re doomed.
I’m sandwiched between Ben, who’s next to the stage, and Allie, with Vince next to her. Marcello and Peter are across from Allie and Vince. Elizabeth and Stuart are across from us, with Stuart next to the stage. The performers are going to eat him alive.
Marcello, Allie, and alcohol surround Elizabeth. This is a potentially lethal combination.
My sisters and their husbands are at the end of the table in no man’s land. We’ll be lucky if we have two seconds of conversation. I doubt they care. All they’re concerned about is ticking off tonight’s bucket list. No kids. Check. Booze. Check. Loud sex. Later.
“Lizzy, you need a crotchtail to loosen up,” Allie says. She waves her hand to get the attention of the voluptuous raven haired Queen in a leopard print, skintight bodysuit at the table next to ours. “What are we drinking?” she yells down to Sophie.
“Red Headed Sluts.”
“Yummy,” Allie says, just as our server arrives at the table.
“Thank you. I am quite yummy.” She winks to Allie. “Welcome to ChaChas, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Satin Chiffon. I’ll be servicing, I mean, serving you tonight.” She turns her attention to Stuart. “Darlin’, I adore bald men. Look at that shiny cue ball. Gorgeous. Single, love?” she asks suggestively.
Stuart’s face turns bright red. He adjusts his bow tie as he clears his throat.
“No,” Elizabeth snaps. “He’s a married man.”
“Shame.” She turns her attention to Allie. “What’s your pleasure, girlfriend?”
“This guy going down on me.” She points to Vince with her thumb. “But right now I’ll take a dozen Red Headed Sluts and a dozen beer chasers, whatever’s on tap.”
“I like the way you think, you filthy little minx. I guess your drink order is for the table?”
Allie nods.
“Does anyone want a different Crotchtail?” Satin Chiffon asks.
“Martini. Dry. Three olives. No cocktail onions. No lemon twists. Do not overfill the glass. I don’t want to spill it on my dress. And only good gin,” Elizabeth tells her.
“Bossy much? I bet you crack a mean whip, Mistress.”
Elizabeth nods with a satisfied smile, the BDSM reference going way over her head. Unfortunately, now I can’t get the visual of her in a leather dominatrix outfit out of my brain. And it’s making me cringe.
Stuart raises a finger and reads off the specialty drink menu. “A Crotchmopolitan for me, please.”
“Anything for you.” She winks and blows him a kiss. “Is that your Mistress’ collar around your neck, lover?”
“It’s… It’s a bow tie, of course,” he stutters, blushing again. Whoosh, another suggestive remark flies overhead.
“That it folks?” Satin asks the rest of the table.
Everyone nods and she leaves.
“Ben, did you see that? That woman was making a pass at Stuart,” Elizabeth asks.
He laughs. “Drag Queens flirt. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
“That was a drag queen?”
“You’re in a drag club. Why does this surprise you?”
“That was not a man.”
“It was.”
“She was wearing a body suit. I would see…”
“His package?” Marcello asks, inserting himself into their conversation.
“Umm, yes.”
“Cock and rocks taped and tucked.”
“That’s impossible,” she scoffs. “That was a woman. She had cleavage.”
“Contour, tape, and chicken cutlets, darling. It’s all an illusion.”
“Cutlets? Like raw chicken?”
“Gel inserts,” he explains.
“You’re wrong.”
“Yes, I’m wrong,” he deadpans. “I’m just a gay man who lives and works in the Village. What would I know about Queens?” Overdramatically, he rolls his eyes.
Marcello stares at me from across the table, arching a sly brow. I shrug and hold back a laugh.
After a few minutes, Satin returns with another server and two trays of drinks. I watch with amusement as Elizabeth narrows her eyes and zeroes in on her crotch.
Could she be any more obvious?
“Your Crotchmopolitan.” Satin places Stuart’s drink on the table in front of him. She stares at Elizabeth who’s scrutinizing Satin’s lower region in the most unsubtle way. “Oh, it’s there, Mistress. And let me tell you, it’s big, meaty, and spectacular.” She winks, placing Elizabeth’s martini down on the table.
“I, Um, I,” Elizabeth stutters.
“I’m just messing with you.” Satin laughs and hands out the remaining shot glasses. “I’ll be back for your dinner orders in a few.”
~o0o~
A table full of appetizers, two martinis, three Crotchmopolitans, a couple of beers, and too many shots later, our table is seriously buzzed.
Satin and another server named Velvet Velour return to our table with our dinner orders and glasses of water. We need more food and something nonalcoholic or tonight’s going to get ugly fast.
“Excuse me,” Allie stands.
“Bathroom break?” I ask.
“Nope, going to the bar.”
“Why? Satin can bring you a drink.”
“Don’t feel like waiting,” she says casually as she navigates around the table and trays and walks up to the bar across the room. Hopping on a barstool, she sits next to some tatted muscle man and waves to the bartender. I smile when I peek over at Vince who hasn’t taken his eyes off her. For as unconventional as they are, he really does love her.
My smile fades when I look back at the bar. Allie is giggling with the tattoo guy, flipping her hair back with one hand. I know this move. I’ve seen her perform it hundreds of times. I can’t believe she’d do this—openly flirt with a total stranger, right in front of her boyfriend. Why would she be so disrespectful?
I peek at Vince. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowing, coldly staring at her and the guy. I’ve never seen him look so pissed off. Tension is radiating off him. Oh Allie, what the hell are you thinking?
That’s just great. They’re going to end up in a fight and ruin everyone’s night. I look back at her. She has one hand resting on the guy’s shoulder, leaning toward him, whispering in his ear. He nods and laughs with her. I peek back at Vince, who looks like he’s about two seconds away from ripping that guy in half.
The bartender sets Allie’s drink on the bar, she points to our group, letting him know to add it to our tab. She whispers something else in the guy’s ear and strolls back to our table, drink in hand.
“Your salmon teriyaki,” Satin says, placing my dish in front of me.
“Oh, ah… thanks,” I say, half listening, my attention directed on Allie as she walks with a huge grin and drink back to the table.
She inhales deeply. “Everything smells fantastic,” she says as she takes her seat.
I stare at her, dumbfounded and utterly let down.
“Cheers,” she says,
lifting her glass and downing a sip. She turns to Vince, “Miss me, baby?”
His jaw clenches as he grabs a knife and fork, and slices his steak in silence.
Oblivious, Allie stares down at her plate of wild mushroom risotto. “Looks delish,” she says, grabbing her fork and digging in.
I move my rice pilaf from one side of my plate to the other, taking an occasional bite of my salmon.
“Something wrong with your dinner?” Ben whispers. “You’ve barely touched it.”
“No, it’s pretty good,” I whisper back.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” I assure him.
“Mmm. Mmm. Mmm,” Allie groans as she slides a forkful of risotto in her mouth. “So, so good.”
I turn my head and glare at her as my disappointment grows. She’s completely clueless to anything going on around her. Vince hasn’t uttered a word, which is so unlike him. I can usually count on hearing ‘baby’ a hundred times in an hour. I can’t help but feel for the guy. She publicly humiliated him. It makes me sad and angry at the same time.
“How’s your dinner, Mistress?” Marcello teases Elizabeth.
“I’m enjoying it very much,” she answers. “Are you and Peter in a relationship?” Apparently, two martinis are liquid bold to Elizabeth.
He turns to Peter, amused. “Are we?” He bats his lashes.
Peter laughs. “We showered together this morning. I think that means we’re at least going steady.”
“So that’s a yes,” Marcello says.
“This may sound sheltered, but you’re the first gay men I’ve been out with socially.”
No they’re not.
“Don’t worry, Mistress. We’re not contagious.” He winks then raises his hand, getting Satin’s attention and gestures for another round of drinks.
~o0o~
Once another round is served, I make a beeline to the bathrooms.
“I’ll join you.” Allie stands from her seat and walks with me. “You’re quiet tonight. Are you and Ben fighting?”
“No.”
“Then what gives?”
“Nothing gives,” I answer flatly.
“You know you can’t lie to me.”
“We’ll talk about it another time.”
“Talk about it now.”
“You want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk.” Unable to stop it, my anger bubbles up. “I saw you.”
