22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
brADY
W hen I get the call from the Skeeve, I’m actually kind of glad, because I’m starting to run low on cash.
“Brady,” Steve says when I pick up the phone. Not hi , or what’s up , or even a simple hey. Nope. Just my name.
“Yeah, hi, man. What’s going on?”
“Listen, I got a request for you this weekend.”
“A request? What do you mean?”
“Apparently, some chick saw you dance and specifically requested that you perform at her party. It’s on Saturday night. You free?”
“Sure. What’s the costume?” I ask. The thing is, his words don’t really register; the idea that someone specifically requested me.
I’m still new; there’s no reason for this to happen.
But I’m so head over heels for Gretchen that my brain’s been acting funny lately.
Like, normal things I might question just totally go unnoticed on my radar .
They say being in love will fuck up your head. I don’t know if I’m willing to admit it to myself yet, much less out loud, but if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
“Bride wants you to be a cop,” the Skeeve says.
I nod to myself. “’Kay. Is it a solo gig?”
“Nope. Five of you – but she wants you front and center. The specific request is that you are not to dance with anyone besides her.”
Weird. “Can people request that?”
“For enough money, these girls can request anything,” he says.
I don’t like it. I should say no. But I think of Gretchen, and how, depending on how much I’ll make for this gig, I’ll be able to float through the rest of the summer and take her out on a few more really special dates. “Is there any kind of bonus? Or incentive?”
“Funny you should ask. Bridal party’s paying extra for their demands. So, if you say yes, you get your normal rate plus a $500 bonus. Plus tips, of course.”
In other words, it’s a thousand dollars no matter what. For an hour of my life. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Great. I’ll throw in the thong again since you’re doing me a solid. I need you to meet with the guys – it’s Max, Tommy, Dex, and Billy – before the end of the week. Touch base with Max. He’s got the info. I’ll make sure he picks up the costume for you, too.”
“Sounds good. Will do. Thanks, Steve. Appreciate the hook up.”
I explain the situation to Gretchen, who thinks it’s odd and immediately wonders if the girl in question is Miranda.
I hadn ’t considered it, but once she mentions it, I figure she’s probably right.
She did mention being engaged, after all.
Still, it’s just an hour, and for that kind of money, I can fake it.
Gretchen says she understands, but I can feel the strain in her voice.
“Babe,” I tell her that night in my apartment. “What do you have to be worried about? Do you have any idea how crazy I am about you?”
She sighs. “I know. I’m crazy about you too. I just – I feel jealous. I know it’s petty, and that you were with her like forever ago, but I still don’t like the idea of you dancing with her.”
“I don’t like it either. How about this. If you want me to call it off, I will. It’s not worth it to me to make you upset.”
She ponders this, taking a bite of the loaded nachos I made us for movie night. “Thank you, Brady. I guess it’ll be fine.”
“It’s all for the money. You know I have zero interest in seeing her.”
“I know. It’s just, I feel like the last week’s been a lot, between Cherry going back out on bedrest and the three of us running these parties alone. Too many mishaps. And now, to have to worry about you on top of it…” Her voice trails off.
The mishaps she’s referring to include one night of vomiting clientele, another night where the maid of honor didn’t bring enough cash to cover the balance on the party (a fact which Gretchen didn’t find out until after the party ended), a third night where the bridal party surprised the bride with the trip to Cosmo and brought the bride’s mother and grandmother, who were both appalled and took down the enti re vibe, and a fourth night where two members of the bridal party got in a fist fight, and Indigo took a shot to the lip trying to break it up.
So, yes. Her concerns are fair. I reposition myself on the couch so that I’m facing her, and take her free hand in mine.
“I know. It’s been a shit storm lately,” I say.
“Summer will be over soon, and then we can all go back to our regularly scheduled programming.”
“What will that even look like for us?”
“I’m not sure, exactly,” I admit. “But it starts with the two of us, happily together, you in your last year of grad school, me working at a good job. We’ll be able to put this whole business of working at Cosmo behind us and move on to bigger and better things.”
At this, she smiles. “I like that picture.”
I lean in and kiss her. “I do, too.”
We table the Miranda issue as kissing turns into a whole lot more on Luis’ couch. We move to the bed and spend the next several hours enjoying each other, showering together, and then returning to the bed for a second round.
We do not watch the rest of the movie.
By Saturday, we’ve discussed it a few more times, but it’s basically been decided that the show must go on, regardless of who’s in the audience.
I practice with the guys on Friday – Max teaches me some steamy choreo to a mixed number that begins with Sound of Da Police by KRS-One and includes a very sexy remake of Every Breath You Take by the Police, Wait (the Whisper Song) by the Ying Yang Twins, and ends with Chains by Nick Jonas.
It’s an insane compilation of songs that actually all work together surprisingly well.
The dance takes about eight minutes total.
Also, the props are kind of cool, and include long handled flashlights, handcuffs, and a bulletproof vest.
By the time Saturday comes, I’m almost looking forward to it. Gretchen’s going to think it’s crazy hot.
Me, the boys, and Big Mike pull up to Cosmo in two cars: Mike’s F-350 and Max’s Jeep Wrangler.
I’m pumped for the night, looking forward to making some serious cash and hopefully not having to do this anymore.
Gretchen’s over it; I think at this point she’s just eagerly awaiting Arrow’s reappearance and the start of the school year.
It’s become too stressful for her, but, ever the trooper, my girl soldiers on.
And same for me. I just want to be a grown up already.
I’ve gotten a taste of what it could be like to have my own place, a serious girlfriend, and almost even a decent, steady job that I didn’t get simply by being a blood relative of Chef Braxton Hawthorne.
It’s nice behaving like an adult. I’m ready to retire these shenanigans and do it for real.
But, for tonight, I’m an officer of the law.
We do our thing, knocking loudly on the door. Surprisingly, Gretchen opens it.
“Oh, no,” she says, in a voice of fake surprise. “Officers, what can we do for you?”
“There’s been a violation here,” I reply, in an exaggerated, deep voice.
“I’m afraid we have a search warrant. Let us in, little lady.
” She smirks. I definitely sound like I’m channeling my inner wild west, which is ridiculous.
I wink at her as she steps to the side. Indigo kicks on the music as soon as the door shuts behind Big Mike.
And there she is, just as Gretchen expected.
M iranda.
The girl who, in another lifetime, actually mattered enough to hurt me and who, in this current lifetime, has become something of a nuisance.
We walk up onto the stage as the KRS-One song fills the air.
The lights cut to blackness and the girls all scream as we kick on the flashlights, waving them around as we get into a V-formation.
It’s reminiscent of the lights on a cop car, which is kind of cool – Max and Tommy, who are on either side of me, each have a red tinted light and a blue tinted light and the rest of us have regular, white lights.
Wave, wave, wave until the beat drops, the purple lights come back on, and we begin to dance.
Our moves are smooth, we weave in and out through one another into a variety of formations, then begin to strip off our outer layers as singles, fives, tens and even twenties begin to fly at us from the dance floor.
Miranda, I notice, is wearing a barely there, white mini skirt with an extremely tight white tank top that reads “Bride” in neon pink.
Several of her friends are wearing a pink version of this same outfit with white writing, each touting their position in the lineup: Maid-of-honor, Bridesmaid #1, #2, and so on.
It’s been done. They’ve each got a dick-shaped pacifier hanging from a string around their necks, which I find hilarious.
The maid-of-honor tries to tongue it down while she watches us dance, and it looks like she’s trying to suck a micro-penis.
I try not to gag and instead keep my eyes on Gretchen, who’s setting the next round of Jell-O shots out on a table in the back.
She looks beautiful, as always. Her hair has faded to a pinkish blonde, and she’s wearing a rhinestone covered bikini top with fringe across the bottom, paired with black pleather hot short s that leave most of her booty on display.
I’m upset that I’m not allowed to dance with her tonight, and I swear if any of the other guys go near her, I’ll sic Big Mike on them.