After the traumatic pre-breakfast events and relearning to make scrambled eggs with Blanca, Ralphie called and told me that the news of the Balduccis going down was so good, he’d changed that evening from a cozy dinner for four to “A Big Ol’ Blowout” (Ralphie’s words). All the Rock Chicks (plus Tod and Stevie, Duke and Tex) were invited to Ralphie and Buddy’s for a “The Balducci Brothers Have Finally Been Brought Down Blowout”. We ate Ralphie’s hors d’ouevres (which were actually really good). Jet brought some chocolate, caramel brownies that were to-die-for, Indy brought a humungous bag of whole, salted cashews and the rest of the girls brought enough booze for fifteen Balducci Brothers Blowouts.
Hector and the Hot Bunch, all busy with other activities (likely cleaning up my problems, I still didn’t know what this meant and didn’t ask, not because I didn’t want to know, because I’d had a hectic day, what with sorting through my thoughts, my Mom’s stuff and helping Ralphie and Buddy with the party), managed to show their faces even if it was for a few minutes. They shifted through, eating, having a soda, toasting to one of the gazillion boisterous Balducci Brothers Have Finally Been Brought Down Toasts (the Rock Chicks started a competition for the best toast, Ally declared Shirleen the winner with her “Burn Motherfuckers Burn” toast) and then sliding out again.
Later, when we got bored with the toasts and were full up with food, it was time to consider alternate party activities and Stevie suggested a Yahtzee marathon (too many people). Ralphie suggested a Veronica Mars marathon (not active enough). Ally suggested travelling up to Fort Collins to see Stella’s gig (we were drinking too much, it was too far away and the gig had already started). Then Jet suggested we go to Smithie’s, a strip club.
Everyone agreed to Smithie’s.
In my sheltered life, I’d never had cause to think of strip clubs or strippers much less consider the possibility I’d ever go to a club and see a stripper. Since Daisy had stripped there in a past life, Jet had worked there as a cocktail waitress when her thing was going on with Eddie and the bad guys and Jet’s sister was currently the top dancer for Smithie and, Jet told me (with pride), she was the finest stripper in the Rocky Mountain Region, I thought it best not to pass judgment.
Though, I wasn’t certain sure about hanging out at a strip club.
*
At Indy’s request, I phoned Jack at the offices to ask him to put a callout for rides to the club as we’d already been drinking heavily and apparently the Hot Bunch didn’t only act as protectors and bad business cleaner-uppers, they were also on call to be designated drivers when the Rock Chicks were tying one on.
This, by the way, was my fourth call to Jack that day.
This was how the last call went:
Me: “Jack?”
Jack (loud and angry): “Would you quit fuckin’ callin’? I was just clipped. It took six measly stitches to close it up. For the last time, I’m fuckin’ fine!”
Me (snappy and impatient): “Well! Don’t blame me for worrying! No one has ever been shot keeping me safe before!”
Jack (after an angry sigh): “I’m beginnin’ to wish I hadn’t put on the vest.”
Me (full of attitude): “Jack, you’re just going to have to deal. It’s like they do when someone saves someone’s life and for the rest of that someone’s life, the other someone looks out for them.”
Jack (now angry and confused): “What?”
Me (just confused): “I don’t know. I think it’s Asian. Maybe the samurai?”
Jack (muttering): “Jesus. Chavez owes me big for this.”
Me (deciding to move on): “Anyway, we need designated drivers. We’re going to Smithie’s.”
Jack: “I’m on it.”
Disconnect (without a good-bye).
Well!
*
Hector, Matt and Bobby showed up, everyone squeezed into SUVs (tightly) and we rolled out to the strip club. Hector took Ralphie, Buddy, Daisy, Ally and I in his Bronco. The men escorted us in, right past the long line outside that was standing at the velvet rope (without the doorman even looking twice at us) and through the doors. We’d barely cleared the doors when a big, on the good side of middle aged black man approached and, just like Tex, he cleared a path through the club and shoved some men away from tables at the front, left side of the stage. We followed in his wake.
“VIPs, fuckin’ move,” he shouted at the men at the tables and they scurried immediately.
Wow, the Rock Chicks were something!
Jumping the velvet rope and front row seats at a strip club!
How bizarre (and cool) was that?
Then he turned to me and opened his mouth but before he said a word, Jet was there.
“No, Smithie, she doesn’t dance.”
Smithie turned wide eyes to Jet. “What? You think I’m crazy? Askin’ Seth Townsend’s daughter to strip for me? He’d have my balls for dinner, battered and fried.”
Oh my.
Me?
Stripping?
Oh.
My.
Jet looked like she was going to mouth off so I intervened.
“I’m Sadie,” I told him unnecessarily and put my hand out.
My small hand was engulfed in his big one and he squeezed.
“I’m Smithie and I know who you are. Heard about you. Thought all the talk was bullshit but you actually do look like a fuckin’ fairy princess.”
I smiled at him and leaned in. “That’s nice but I know it’s not really true.”
He’d leaned in to listen but leaned back, brows drawn and said, “Bitch, look in a mirror. You’re right out of a fuckin’ movie.”