Excerpt

Wishes And Kisses
by
Nancy Pirri

 
August 13, 2000
St. Paul, Minnesota
100° in the shade

 My twenty-first birthday had arrived, and on the hottest day of the year. Unfortunately, the only thing I had to look forward to was a drink called an Ultimate Mudslide that my best friend, Stephanie Hanson, insisted I try. As I sit beside her at Schwietz’s Bar on St. Paul’s lower east side, I, Angel (Angelina to mom and dad) Marrone, am experiencing a deep feeling of apprehension. This feeling, I’m certain, will soon be followed by a big-time case of dread.

Damn. I was certain Stephanie was setting me up for another blind date.

Sure, I want to fall in love like any normal (if there is such a thing) woman, but some of the guys Stephanie chose for me in the past were bad boys. Stephanie adores them. I’d had enough of them during my young, impetuous past. They don’t impress nor appeal to me anymore.

“Come on, Angel, loosen up!”

I scowl at my tall, blonde and beautiful friend since kindergarten, her coloring and build totally opposite of my own dark hair and eyes. We were also completely different in size; she’s tall and lanky and I’m tall, not overly plumb but a bit Amazon-ish, like Zena. I’ve even been called Zena-Warrior Princess by children in the grocery line.

At last I say, “I’m trying, but you know I don’t go for the bar scene anymore.”

I’d dated, at least once, every ball player on the Men’s Thirty and Under League during my crazy stretch of bar-hopping days between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Yes, I know the drinking age in Minnesota is twenty-one, but I’ve always been resourceful.

“So, explain what’s in this drink and why I have to try one,” I said.

“Cream, oh, yeah, cream for sure.” Stephanie grinned, then slid her tongue in a circle over her lips.

Now hear this; Stephanie was one of those women who could get anyone hot, man, or woman, after a move like that.

“Stop it!” I whispered as I looked around self-consciously. “Someone might think you’re coming on to me.”

Stephanie threw her arm around my shoulders and let loose a big belly laugh. “You worry too much. Now let me continue. Besides cream, there’s Kahlua and Irish cream, bananas and, let’s not forget the most important ingredient, and a girl’s best friend, grated chocolate.”

It sounded heavenly, even as my stomach gurgled. I’d been up since early morning, pounding the pavement (okay, I’m prone to clichés so give me a break) looking for a job, not breaking for any nourishment. I knew better than to drink on an empty stomach but at the moment I didn’t want to think about it.

Harrison Photography, where I’d been employed just six months after graduating from the Minneapolis Institute of Arts with a bachelor of fine arts degree in photography and media arts, had let me go. They called it a layoff but I knew better. I didn’t meet the standards of that snooty bitch, Pauline Harrison, the owner of the company.  T.G.I.F. is all I can say, and sleeping in Saturday morning sounds better than an orgasm at the moment. But then, I haven’t experienced one of ‘those’ in so long its tough making a comparison.

“Doesn’t sound half bad,” I said. “Order me one.”

The bartender whipped one up, placed the drink in front of me and I took a tentative sip. I let loose a colossal groan of ecstasy, immediately hooked. Then I turned to Stephanie and gave her one of my lop-sided, sheepish grins. “You’re right. It’s better than an or—uh, better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”

Stephanie gave me a smug look.  “I knew you’d like it. Once you finish we’ll head over to Bob Ross’s Bar to pick up the best present of all.”

 “Listen, best friend, I’m bushed. After this drink I’m calling it a night.”

“Oh, no, you’re not. I’ve got the biggest, bestest (that’s what she always said when she was a kid to describe something she loved) present yet. You can’t leave and you don’t turn twenty-one every day, you know!”

I sighed. “Okay.” I sipped down the rest of my drink, stood up and felt—well—pretty darn good. I’d also gained a sense of humor and giggled when Stephanie shoved me ahead of her out the door.

“How can just one drink make you tipsy?” she snapped.

“You know I don’t drink much anymore,” I said, shrugging apologetically.

“Doesn’t matter. What you’ll be getting at the next bar-stop will sober you up quick.

This was getting interesting even though I knew I was headed for a set-up. I hate set-ups; I’d had enough blind dates in my life to know no good ever came of them.

I yanked down my cropped silk top that had just one button and tied below my breasts. It stuck to me like a second skin due to the heat, but nicely showed off my 38 D cleavage. It didn’t help that Schwietz’s air-conditioning had broken down. I straightened the silver chain belt on my low-waist snug jeans that showed a lot of my midriff, which I’d worked feverishly to tone over the last few years.

A gust of muggy air hit me in the face as we left the bar and I gasped. I hate summer; hate the heat, which is why I live in Minnesota. Give me a whopping snowstorm and temperatures below freezing any day of the week.

For as long as I’ve known Stephanie she’s been a woman of understatement. I was reminded of it shortly after entering Bob Ross’s Bar. I took two steps then stopped abruptly.  “Ohmygod.” The Chippendale dancers—rather clones of them—were dancing on top of a makeshift stage. I saw the sign in back of the bar flashing neon red, ‘Ladies Night Out’.

“Come on,” Stephanie urged.

“Uh-uh,” was all I managed to utter.

“No use backing out now. I’ve got the best table in the room reserved for us.” She led the way to a round table, in the center first row, below the stage. I had no choice but to follow, then sank into a chair, my jaw hanging open.

There were five of them in various shapes and colors, and wearing only g-strings, black bowties around their necks and white cuffs on their wrists. One of the dancers strutted over, bent his knees and shook his family jewels at me. If he’d bent any lower ‘they’ would have been about eye-level. He swung his lean hips in circles, thrusting out his pelvis. Raising his tanned muscular arms he cupped the back of his dark, curly hair and did this amazing thing with his pectorals.

My mouth watered, my armpits starting sweating and I knew I had to get out of the place. I grabbed the edge of the table to stand. Stephanie planted a firm hand on my shoulder. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue when the guy winked at me then motioned to his groin with his eyes. I kept my eyes on him but shouted at Stephanie over the bump and grind music, “What does he want?”

“A tip. Got a ten or twenty on you?”

I whipped my head around and scowled at her. “If this is my birthday treat, all I can say is forget it. I’m not paying out on my birthday.”