The party was in full swing.
Tanner Sterling was about to get married, in about two weeks, in fact, and it was the night of his stag party.
One might suppose the traditional date for such a celebration usually was the eve of the wedding, but Bryce, the brother of the groom and best man, wanted something more salacious and with strippers and hookers.
Kate, as it was to be expected, would not appreciate this kind of display, so Tanner held a compromise: Bryce would have the party he desired, as long as they held another poker and smoking night on the actual eve of the wedding, in order to keep the bride from finding out.
Bryce was certainly fine with it as long as he could have an excuse to come to the dirtiest strip club he could find, and so went the groom and his closest friends to Roxbury.
Halfway through the night, and most of the men were irreparably bored. Yes, they were red-blooded men, and they had their sins and preferences when it came to women, but the spectacle of Bryce's was every bit as degenerate as they expected, and it was frankly disgusting.
Their dinner was sushi served out of the body of a stripper. One look at Bryce's generous body shape and one is not surprised he enjoys nyotaimori, but it was not that far-fetched to expect him to have the sense of not exposing others to it.
Grant Emerson, who joined the party on account of being the closest thing Tanner had to an actual friend, tuned out from the whole… thing, just after one of the workers of the club opened a beer bottle with her intimates. He would be playing on his cell phone, if he was allowed to bring it into the venue.
He was not about to complain. His less than stellar social standing with the rest of the group, who considered him to be some kind of spy on the Emerson v. Sterling power dispute, he was mostly ignored, aside from one or other assumption of his sexuality uttered by Bryce.
The young lawyer, then, was sitting on the bar, alone, twiddling his thumbs and playing table football with the discarded bottle caps when she came into the stage.
Not unlike the other performers, she was wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie, but hers seemed of superior quality, made of dark purple silk and finely embroidered. Her hair was a flaming red, while her face, partially hidden with a black, Venetian-style mask.
What struck him in particular was her eyes. She was beautiful, it is undeniable that he took notice her of unblemished skin and shapely stomach, but again all of the girls so far were beautiful. Her… she had a spark on her eye; it was not the dead, mechanical look of the other sex workers.
Was she a remarkable actor or did she genuinely enjoy her work? Does she find it artistic, perhaps?
Be as it may, it was the first presentation of the night Grant has actually paid any attention to, and it have been quite a few so far. It was nothing particularly different from her performance, she did not do anything other than it was expected, and yet, it was much more interesting for some reason, and it was something all the men in the room seemed to concur.
As soon as she was off the stage, with her performance finished, Grant taps on the shoulder of a waitress.
Nervous and not really knowing what to say, the man stutters a little on his phrase, when he asks, "Excuse me? Who was this girl who just left the stage?"
"Amethyst?" She asks, with that unnerving baby voice usual on those establishments. "Would you like to have her for a lap dance?"
"A lap dance?" His voice breaks and he clears his throat to have it back on its normal pitch. "What does that… entail?"
"Well, we'd take you to a private room and she'll dance for you." She responded, not really knowing what he could have misunderstood, but still maintaining the act.
Grant supressed the impulse of scratching his neck. "Okay, then."
"Follow me!" She perkily said, and led him to a non-descript door.
Inside the room, it was much what one would expect of these kind of places: tacky décor in hues of red, draperies tapped into walls, a table on the far side of the room equipped with an ice bucket, cheap champagne and some grapes, and a comfortable-looking chair.
He sits down at the chair and waits patiently for his companion to appear. Not long later, she emerges from a secret door on the opposite side of the room, wearing about the same outfit from her show, covered with a short, see-through negligée.
"Oh, good, it's you." She says, as soon as she lays her eyes on Grant. "I was afraid it would be your chubby friend."
He cannot help but to smile slightly at her exclamation. Bryce was a repugnant man, indeed.
"No. It's me. Grant." The man responds, rather awkwardly. "What's your name?"
She half-smiled at him. "You can call me Amethyst."
"Is it your real name?" He follows-up.
"No." It was the response. "Are you ready?"
He nods; he would not get any more prepared. She smirked at him one last time and turned the music on, something electronic he did not recognize.
Amethyst lets the negligee slip from her shoulders, exposing the entirety of her slim body once again, what, Grant was ashamed to say, he was only too glad to see once more.
She starts to dance to the beat, displaying all the flexibility and taut muscles she has developed at her line of work. The young man cannot help but to slack his jaw ever so slightly in appreciation, a gesture that has not passed unnoticed by the performer.
The woman steps closer and runs her hands through his arms, noticing, silently, that they were lean, yet felt strong. She rests them on his wrists and lower her body on a vertical position, simulating oral sex, yet holding his gaze the entire time.
She has almond eyes, Grant takes notice, the colour of amber.
Afterwards, she raises to her feet, takes two steps back and displays her physique one more time. Then, she closes the distance between them once more, spreads her legs wide, one on each side of him, and lowers her midsection so that her butt touched only so slightly the tent on his trousers.
With it, something broke inside of him, he felt short of breath and started panicking.
"No! Stop." Grant almost shouts. "Stop, please."
She steps away and turns off the music. "Is something wrong?"
"No… No, it's just that…" He sighs. "I'm sorry. I… can't."
Something seemed to dawn on her. "Oh, so you're one of those!"
"I'm not gay!" He counters, rather annoyed for it to be the default assumption everybody makes.
Surprisingly for him, the stripper laughs. "No, not gay. Those who come here for experience's sakes don't usually get that hard."
She points at the tight spot on his pants and he feels his cheeks grow warm.
"I mean a talker." She says, while walking to the table and popping a grape into her mouth. "Not everybody who come here wants to be grind into completion. Most are just people who want a sympathetic ear and some loving advice. They just want to talk, hence a talker. Champagne?"
He shook his head. "No, thank you. I should just leave."
"Why? I am paid by the hour and there is no refund. Besides, wouldn't you like to blow some of tubby's money? I gather you don't like each other very much." She says, while balancing a grape, her champagne flute and picking up her negligee.
Grant looks at Amethyst, who smiles softly and inviting at him, and considers it would be a good way to pass the time, especially since he would probably return to playing button football at the bar.
"I guess having someone to talk to wouldn't be the worse thing." He conceded.
She beams at him. "Great! Do you mind if I take out this mask? It is a little hard to breathe with it."
"Be my guest." The black man motioned for her to do it.
She reaches for the back of her head, where it tied into her face, and dextrously loosened the knot and removed the black piece of adornment. If she was pretty with the mask on, Amethyst was absolutely stunning with it off.
"Why do you wear it?" He asks before he can stops himself. "The mask, I mean?"
"Some men like the mystery." She responded, rather dismissively. "And I guess I like it, too. At least I can pretend that no-one will recognize me, that I can live a separate life from this place."
A small silence befell them while Amethyst dresses herself.
"So, Grant," She says, as soon as she is recomposed. "What brings you to our fine establishment? I hope you don't mind me saying but you really do not seem like the type of guy we get around here."
He snorts at her statement, humoured. "I've never been to a strip club before, honestly. It's my friend's stag party."
Her eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Oh, so the fat guy found someone who cares for him?"
"No, no, that's Bryce. He's the groom's brother." He rectifies. "The one getting married is Tanner, the blond guy."
"Oh, right! I remember him." The red-haired smiles. "I like weddings. The flowers, the dresses, the music. The food. They're all a lot of fun."
"Do you hope to get married someday? I mean, do you have a boyfriend?" He asks, rather shyly.
She chuckles. "No, I'm single. And I don't have a kid, either. I know my stereotypes. You?"
"I'm afraid I don't have the same luck. I'm too much of a stereotypical, workaholic lawyer to ever find someone to put up with me." The lean man responds, with a healthy dose of self-depreciating humour.
"A lawyer, eh?" She smirks at the man. "Glamorous."
Before he could answer, though, a soft click resounded through the room.
"It seems our hour is up." She smiles sadly at him. "There's probably someone else asking for me, else they wouldn't ring the bell."
Grant considered offering her twice her wage so she would spend another hour with him, but he refrained himself. It would not be proper, or even wise.
Instead, he returned her sorrowful smile and said, "I guess this is it, then. I had a good time, all things considered."
She chuckled. "I did too. Goodbye, Grant."
"Goodbye, Amethyst." He said it back.
She opens the secret door, and before she leaves through it, she turns back once more and say, "It's Jessie."
With that, she left the room and shut the door.
Grant was climbing down the stairs at Sterling Manor, thinking about nothing in particular while running small errands for Tanner's wedding the next morning. So is the life of 'assistant best man', as Bryce was absolutely useless. Sober or otherwise.
As of right now, he was in charge of fetching Kate's best friend from college, who was due to arrive at the house at any minute.
When he got to the last step of the staircase, he notices a raven-haired girl about his age, wearing simple traveling attire, admiring one of the many vases Margaret Sterling scattered around the place.
Assuming her to be whom he was waiting for, he greets her amicably, "Hello! Welcome to Sterling Manor! You're here for the rehearsal dinner, I take it?"
Without facing him, she responds, "Yes, I am a friend of Kate's… I mean, Katherine. I am Jessica."
When she turns to face him, both of their bloods freeze solid at the sight of the other.
She was the first to break the silence. "Grant. I wasn't expecting to meet you here."
"Ditto." He responds, not really knowing what to say. "You're a brunette."
"Yeah, that was a wig." She smirked, despite herself. "I thought the wedding was weeks ago."
"We decided to be unorthodox about the stag party."
"Can I talk to you for a moment?" She pleads. "In private?"
The man tumbles a little at his words but consent. "Sure. Follow me. You can leave your bags here."
He leads them to a study who sees very little action usually and shuts the door.
"The cat got out of the bag way quicker than I expected." She jokes, humourlessly. "Look, can you do me a big favour and not tell anyone about my… line of work? At least until tonight."
He nods, firmly. "Sure, but why exactly?"
"Well, I haven't talked to Kate for a while. When we graduated, I was this ace student with a job as a journalist on the line, and she was so happy for me. Hell, I was happy for me.
"But then the newspaper I worked for went bankrupt, I couldn't find anything else to do, my student loan payments were overdue and so I started taking my clothes off for cash.
"When she called me to invite me to her wedding, I didn't want to put a damp on her mood and say my life took a turn to the worse. So I lied and said I was working as a journalist in Boston. I was hoping I could wait until the reception to tell her the truth, but… well… I didn't count on me being the entertainment of her fiancé's stag party."
"I… see." He breathed out. "Well, I don't mind keeping your secret, but wouldn't somebody else recognize you?"
"Here's to hoping that mask is worth something after all." She laughs nervously.
Grant smiles sympathetically at her. "Don't worry. Even if someone recognizes you, they won't call you out. Kate doesn't know Tanner has been to a strip club, and we all would prefer it to remain so."
"Of course. Sure…" She breathes out, calming herself down. "No problem."
"Besides, I know Kate. She won't turn her back on you because of that. It doesn't even matter." The man places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Just tell her and it all will go away."
"Yeah, you're right." She beamed at him. "Thanks, Grant. You're a real nice guy."
He smiles back. "No problem. Now, why don't we pick up your bags and I take you to see the bride? I'm sure she's excited to see you."
"If you could spare the trouble. This house is too big! I'd get lost for sure."
He offered his arm and she took it.
Later, when he leaves the two girls to catch up in private, Grant considers this whole debacle might turn out to be a very good thing. It would give him plenty of opportunity to talk with Amethyst, or Jessie, or Jessica.
He admits he was getting a little bored with the whole wedding mood, but now he is looking forward to tomorrow.
It was going to be fun.