Chapter 53
Tami had a particular feeling about strippers, a feeling that ran fairly deep. Eric didn't know if it was a hangover from the religious fervor of her one-time fundamentalist mother, a private feminist impulse of her own, a romantic notion, or what – but she'd drawn a serious line in the sand a week before he was supposed to have his own bachelor party during his senior year of college. She'd told him, point blank, that she would feel as if he'd "somehow, in some way, to some degree" cheated on her if he had strippers at his party.
"How in the hell is that anything like cheating?" Eric had asked.
"I didn't say it was. I said it would feel that way to me."
"That's not logical," he'd told her.
"I didn't claim it was logical. Hey, I'm just telling you how I feel, Eric. You're free to do whatever you want with that information."
What he'd done with that information was tell his groomsmen (two football buddies and his first semester roommate) that he didn't really want a bachelor party, that he just wanted to go out for a few beers at the corner pub. "I'm too busy for anything wild," he'd told them, "I've got to get to work early in the morning." In a way, it was true. To save money for the coming baby, he was working two part-time jobs. He was still finishing college while also searching for a good post-graduation teaching and coaching job. He was exhausted.
After an hour of drinking at Eric's non-party bachelor's party, all three of his groomsmen had wanted to go to a strip club. Instead of telling them he didn't want to offend Tami, he feigned sickness and told them to "party on" without him. He was still too much a boy and too terrified of ridicule back then. He couldn't possibly admit that he valued Tami's approval more than he did the approval of his friends.
He was no longer afraid to admit how much his wife's good opinion meant to him, but he didn't like to seem rude or prudish either. How to extricate himself gracefully from this current situation? It had simply been sprung upon him. He couldn't just make a mad dash for the door. And who had hired this woman? Surely not the priest?
Eric was about to stand up when Father Mike shot out from around Dale's chair. "Shhh!" he yelled, waving at Jimmy and John. "She's just the waitress."
"Ooops," John said, "my mistake. Sorry, ma'am."
Jimmy made no apology and merely laughed.
Now that Father Mikey had made the correction, it was fairly obvious. The woman was pretty, and well endowed, but she wasn't precisely dressed the part, and now that Eric thought about it, he'd seen other women dressed in the same tight black skirt and white blouse ensemble when they'd first entered the lounge.
Father Mikey stepped up to the waitress. "My sincere apologies. Those two are already slightly inebriated."
"Are you the one who's in charge?" she asked, shooting a peeved look at Jimmy, who was still chuckling.
Father Mikey nodded.
"I'm going to be your waitress for the evening," she said. "Do you gentlemen need anything else right now?"
"I could use a lap dance," Jimmy answered.
"Do shut up, James," Father Mikey said. He half bowed to the waitress. He was tall, maybe 6'3", and she looked to be about 5'6". "Some waters and another bottle of the Buffalo Trace. Maybe a tray of something to nibble on…perhaps…"
"Sausages?" she suggested.
Jimmy burst out laughing. Father Mikey held a warning finger up to him. "Jimmy, if you make any innuendos about sausages, I am going to come over there, and we are going to settle this as Christ Jesus intended - with our fists." He leaned again toward the waitress and in a low voice said, "Once again, my sincere apologies for my friend."
She smiled, apparently appeased by his apologies. "Men get pretty drunk in a bourbon lounge. It's not as if I haven't experienced worse."
"Well you deserve better."
She glanced down at his ring finger, wrote something on her check pad, and tore it off and handed it to him before leaving the room.
"Why is she giving you the bill already?" Jimmy said. "We've barely got this party started."
"She didn't give me the bill," Father Mikey replied, turning the check toward him to show him. "She gave me her phone number."
Dale guffawed.
"Would you give me that?" Jimmy asked.
"Most certainly not," Mikey answered.
"Why not? It's not like you're going to use it."
Mikey crumpled up the check and slid it into his black pants pocket. "Nor are you."
"When is the stripper coming?" Jimmy asked.
"There isn't going to be any stripper," Dale told him.
"What? Why not? Come on!" Jimmy cried. "You're about to close the door on your freedom! Is it because Mikey's a priest now?"
"No," Dale said, "it's because I respect my fiancé's wishes on the matter."
Jimmy set down his empty bourbon glass. "I hope she's great in the sack if you aren't even allowed to look at other women."
"Jimmy," Dale said, "don't make me send Mikey over there to settle this like Christ Jesus intended."
Jimmy laughed. "You would send Mikey. You were the best shot at the academy but you were always mediocre in the mat room."
"Them's fighting words!" Dale announced as he stood up and slammed his bourbon on the coffee table. He walked toward Jimmy, his fists raised in a boxers' stance, as Jimmy walked toward him in the same fashion.
Eric felt a jolt of defensive adrenaline and was preparing to stand himself, not knowing where this was going to lead, when both Dale and Jimmy reached each other, laughed, and embraced.
"I love you, man," Jimmy said, slapping Dale's back.
"I love you too, Jimmy. No group would be complete without its resident asshole."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Father Mikey said. "All this hugging is unbecoming." Jimmy and Dale pulled apart. Father Mike reached into his pocket – the one he had not put the waitresses' number into, and pulled out a deck of cards. "How about some poker?"
"Sure," Dale said. "But not with your deck."
"I never used a cheater's deck," Father Mikey insisted. "And I just bought this one today at the adult toy store."
"Now we're talking!" Jimmy stepped forward and snatched the deck from Father Mikey's hand. "How naked are the women on these cards?" He opened the deck and pulled out a few. He fanned them out in his hand and snorted. "Damn you, Mikey," he said, and tossed them on the coffee table.
Eric looked down at the scattered cards. They had the same icons as any normal deck, but every card was imprinted with a Bible verse.
[FNL]
"I fold," Eric said. He was done smoking cigars. More than two and he knew he would be nauseous. He was still sipping bourbon, however. They'd retreated to the conference table at the back of the private room to play poker. Who had conferences in a cigar and bourbon lounge, he wondered? Lawyers?
Father Mikey raised the pot.
Jimmy was the last one in. "What do you have?" Jimmy asked the priest. "Besides the waitress's number, I mean?" He studied Mikey over his cards. "I'm calling."
"Four verses from the Book of Kings," Mikey said, and laid out his Kings on the table.
"You know it's really sickening, Mikey," Jimmy said, "That you're cheating with a Biblical deck. Doesn't that somehow double the sin?"
"Y'all never would believe that I'm just that good, would you? You know, I played professionally. For a year."
"Before you found Jesus?" Jimmy asked.
"Jesus found me."
The waitress came in and set down a bourbon in front of Father Mikey. "You'll like this one," she told him. "Taste it and see if you'd like to order a bottle for the room."
"I'm not sure how many more bottles we can take." He nodded to John, who was asleep at the end of the table, his face on the surface. "I'm the driver, so I'm not drinking, but I'll taste." He took a sip and rolled the bourbon on his tongue. "That is good."
The waitress put a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward to point at the glass. "See how perfect the color is? That's a clue."
"You should know he's a Catholic priest, sweetheart," Jimmy said. "Since he's not telling you."
The waitress took her hand away and said, "Is that true?"
Father Mikey nodded.
"But there's one single man here," Jimmy assured her.
She looked around the table, scanning for rings, and her eyes settled on Eric, who was currently leaned back in his chair with his hands, not visible, on the arms. She smiled at him. "I'm surprised the second cutest guy in the room is single. Usually the good ones are taken."
Eric was pleased by the compliment, although he wondered why he was second to Mikey. He was younger than Mikey. He didn't have any silver gray strands in his black hair, and he was almost as tall as the priest. "Sorry, not me," Eric said. He jerked a thumb toward Jimmy, who wiggled an eyebrow at her.
"No way in hell," she said, and the room burst out laughing.
The waitress plucked up the priest's half drunk glass of bourbon. She smiled at him. "Mind if I drink the rest of this if you're not going to?"
"Be my guest, if you're permitted to do so at work."
"Well, I get off in an hour anyway." She trailed her fingertips over his shoulder as she made her way out of the room.
Jimmy shook his head.
"What are you going to do after you retire?" Mark asked Dale as Father Mikey collected his chips from the center of the table. "Or are you staying on with the DEA now that you're a big man on campus?"
"I don't really like being a supervisor," Dale said. "Too much paperwork. I'm definitely banging out as soon as I hit 25. Damien and I are going into business together."
"He's going to invest in my range, and we're going to expand it," Damien said. "Keep part of it for recreational use, and part for training law enforcement. Dale's going to use all his contacts to try to get training contracts with various police forces and law enforcement agencies in the area, and he'll be the head instructor."
As Father Mikey dealt the next hand, Jimmy asked, "You looking to hire more instructors? I could use some post-retirement cash."
"You'd leave the gorgeous women of Los Angeles to move to Texas to work with me and Damien?" Dale asked.
"I don't know," Jimmy said, "Texas girls may not strut around in bikinis, but they aren't stuck up like L.A. girls. They'll bring a man a glass of ice tea, with a sweet southern smile. I could get used to that." He looked at Dale. "But what I really need is a non-American woman. Mark got himself a cute Chinese girl – "
"- She's Vietnamese," Mark interrupted him.
"- and now Dale's got himself an Egyptian. I bet she's submissive, huh?"
Dale chuckled. "Only in the bedroom, Jimmy," he said as he pulled his new cards to himself.
"She's not going to stay home and wait on you?" Jimmy asked.
"She has Ph.D. in linguistics. She's going to work as a translator for an international law firm while she looks for an associate professorship."
"You always did go for the brainy ones," Mark said. "Even when you moved to New York. Janet was a lawyer, right?"
Dale nodded.
"Why did you ever cut her loose?" Jimmy asked. "She was smokin' hot, and that was a sweet deal."
"She cut me loose," Dale said. "But it was just as well. The sex was wild, but it was also routine in a way. I could schedule it. Saturday. 11 PM. Sex with Janet. We never saw each other during the week. She didn't even want to talk on the phone. Too busy."
"God I would love an arrangement like that," Jimmy said. "Guaranteed sex every Saturday? No obligation but to take her to the theater or a cocktail party once a week?"
Eric would not like an arrangement like that. Sex only once a week? No one to cheer you on when you coached, to cuddle and watch football with you on the couch, to wake up next to in the morning, to complain about your day to over the dinner table, to laugh with on the back porch over a bottle of wine? Now that Eric thought about it, he'd never lived alone. He'd left his parent's house, had a roommate that first year of college, and then he and Tami had moved in together. She'd flooded his life with warmth. He thought it would be awfully lonely, to come home to an empty apartment. Good thing he would never have to do that.
"Do you still have Janet's number?" Jimmy asked. "Did you two stay friends?"
"We were never really friends to begin with," Dale said. "And I don't think you're her type. She needs a man who knows what fork to use."
"I clean up real nice," Jimmy said. "I need a woman that will let me talk dirty to her, though. The last one I dated didn't like it. Does your new woman like it? Cleo?"
"Only when I do it in French," Dale said, and drew a card.
"How about your wife, Mark? She like it?"
"No," Mark said. "In fact, any talking at all during sex turns her off."
"How about yours, Eric?" Jimmy asked.
What Tami liked varied based upon her mood. There were times she wanted to make slow, tender love and be complimented with sweet words, times she wanted intense silence, times she wanted to horse around and laugh and joke while they did it, and times she wanted a quick, dirty screw. Even then, though, when she did want him to talk dirty, he had to avoid certain words. He'd learned what every one of those words was over time, and it had been over three years since he'd misspoken and turned her off. "She likes what she likes," he said, and folded his hand.
"This is the tamest bachelor's party I have ever been to in my life," Jimmy said, throwing his hand into the center of the table. "Let's play I never and do shots."
"What the hell is I never?" Damien asked.
"I'm game," Mark said. "I'm getting tired of bourbon, though. What else does this place have?"
