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People fall in love with Lola a little bit every day. She easily charms everyone she meets. It doesn’t make me question myself. I know who I am. I am confident in my sense of self. Still, it makes me wonder if I would be happier if I weren’t always so distant from people.
I watch Mac make the drinks, generous pourings, the right amount of ice and a splash of soda stream coke that looks thick and sugary. He slides the glasses across the bar to us, with a straw for good measure.
I think college was the last time I drank out of a plastic cup with a straw. While I feel the nostalgia, I also feel that Mac does indeed make a killer JD and coke, and I’m suitably impressed.
“I swear it’s the straw,” Lola says with a smile. I can’t help but laugh.
“Maybe it’s the company,” I say softly, and watch the way she plays with the straw with her tongue.
Then she looks up at me with a nervous smile. “Well . . . speaking of company . . .”
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The second she starts to speak, the door swings open. It takes me a few seconds to see why this dive bar might be more popular than others and why Mac might be a little friendlier than most.
The dancers of McLandon’s, Lola’s work friends, descend on the scene in a haze of perfumed air, giggles, cigarette smoke and an aura of sex that can almost be seen pulsing in the air. They are wrapped up and dressed for a change, but I can still see the glisten of oil on the flashes of bare skin. They shrug off their coats.
Lola’s girlfriends saunter through, their laughter echoing through the dimly lit space. Dressed to the nines in shimmering, revealing outfits, they are the center of attention as all eyes turn toward them. Their high-heeled shoes click against the scuffed wooden floors as they make their way to the bar.
Despite the stares of the regular patrons, the girls seem to be enjoying themselves, their laughter and playful banter filling the room. They order drinks with a wink and a smile, eliciting chuckles and flattery from Mac.
As they gather around a table in the corner, their conversation grows louder and more animated, occasionally punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. They seem to be oblivious to the stares and whispers of the other patrons--enjoying each other’s company and the carefree atmosphere of the dive bar. Their presence lends an air of glamour and mystique to an otherwise sleepy place, and for a moment, the dive bar feels like the most exciting place in the world.
“Come on,” Lola says with a smile as she stands and beckons me toward the table in the corner.
I follow her. I definitely feel plain next to these women who are full of color, glitter and shimmer, but Lola’s in her element. She is around the same age as me and I definitely don’t consider myself old. In fact, in my profession, I’m still a baby.
When I’m alone with Lola, I’m motherly toward her. I see our mommy/little girl dynamic as clear as day. Although I never before realized that was my thing, it certainly is my thing.
But here in Lola’s world, it’s obvious that Lola is the veteran, the mother hen. The other girls all look at her as she walks over. In a couple of the women, I can see a flash of something like jealousy on their pretty faces. Maybe Lola is a rarity in her field, but most of them have obvious respect, care, and love for her.
“Girls, this is Willow. Willow, these are the girls. They can introduce themselves when they want. You’ll forget their names, but that’s okay!” she says with a laugh, as she sits down and takes a big drink from her Jack Daniels and coke.
I don’t think anyone could necessarily tell they were strippers, but what does strike me is the variety in their appearances. Tall, short, dark, fair, caramel skin, hazel eyes, blonde, full chest, small chest, sweeping hips. Something for every taste.
The one thing they have in common is this easy sensuality, like sex is so natural to them that it seeps out of their every pore. I feel almost turned on by being around women like this.
The bar is buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. Lola and I keep catching each other’s eyes from across the table and our eyes hold steady as we sip our drinks.
The girls grow louder as the alcohol flows. They laugh at each other’s jokes and share stories of their past experiences. But I only have eyes for Lola, and I feel the sparks flying between us as we lean in closer and closer---the chemistry between us palpable.
As the night wears on, we linger over our drinks and continue flirting, unabated, our bodies inching closer as we bask in each other’s company. Finally, we acknowledge our need. With a knowing look, we make the decision to leave the bar together.
Our fingers intertwine as we make our way out of the bar, my heart beating wildly with anticipation. Every moment feels like an eternity as we walk home, the anticipation heightening with every step. The streets are quiet and deserted as we walk arm-in-arm through the empty city. It’s three in the morning. Our hair is messy and our faces glow from the drinks we shared at the dive bar.
As we make our way through the cool night air, our conversation becomes hushed and intimate. We share stories and secrets, whispering sweet nothings to each other--our laughter and occasional kisses punctuating the soft sounds of the night. The streetlights cast an ethereal glow on Lola’s face, highlighting the want and tenderness that flows between us. And we stop on a quiet street corner, the silence is broken by the sound of our soft kisses and whispered desires to one another.
As we reach my apartment, the air buzzes with electricity. Entering the hallway, we waste no time as we explore each other’s bodies. Our passion and chemistry are undeniable. With every touch, kiss, and caress, it’s more clear that we have found something special in each other.
9
Lola
“Idon’t know what else I can tell you, Pearl,” I say. “We haven’t really spoken about that stuff. I mean, I just don’t think Willow sees her family very much and who am I to ask questions about that, you know?” I lean in closer to the mirror to apply more lipstick, watching Pearl out of the corner of my eye, spinning in her chair as she shrugs.
“I get that, Lola, really I do, but that girl got serious money and just cos she out here hooking up with your delicious ass don’t mean she ain’t gonna remember that fact sooner or later.”
I don’t want to roll my eyes at her because I know Pearl is only looking out for me. If I’m the experienced stripper in the group, Pearl is the OG. She doesn’t strip anymore, though, as she’s closer to the wrong side of fifty. She still works hard. Keeps the ship tight, the girls happy, the liquor ordered, and the place generally well-managed. The good thing about Pearl is that she cares and doesn’t talk shit. She shoots as straight as an arrow when she needs to talk to you about having your shit together.
“I know, really I do, Pearl,” I say. “But what’s a girl gonna do? Willow’s hot, sexy, and delicious. She makes me laugh, she turns up, calls me back, and blows my mind when she fucks me. Why make a problem where there isn’t one?”
