“I’m not complaining, she’s obviously nuts and I dodged a huge bullet,” I correct him.
“Wait—you didn’t know she was psycho after the high speed chase?” Simon adds smugly. He’s usually pretty smug but that’s because he’s right about most things.
“Hey, the leather fuckboots had him hypnotized.” Devin comes to my defense. Unfortunately Devin is usually wrong about everything, but it works out since he’s a comedian and he’s always able to find inspiration from his fucked up hijinks.
“Well you’re still talking about her a week later, so I don’t know who’s crazier,” Simon comments, finishing the last of his beer.
“I’m just saying it’s weird. You tell me if something like that happened to you, it wouldn’t bother you?” I say defensively.
“Look, I think it was the beach thing. Girls always have this idea it’ll be romantic and magical but really, the sand gets in your junk and your hair, and it’s scratchy and wet. No wonder it dried her up like the Sahara desert,” Devin adds, signaling for another beer.
“I didn’t say she was dry, she was just sort of closed up…” I correct him.
“Who wants a girl with a broken pussy?” Devin blurts out loud and the table next to us laughs. I always tells him that he only got his hot as hell girlfriend because he’s laughed her out of her common sense. He does sets all the time around the city, and usually is pretty funny. When his jokes aren’t directed toward me.
“It wasn’t broken,” I tell him defensively, standing up.
“Calm down,” Simon says, ushering another mug of beer to me.
“Awww come on, Ian. Don’t be like that…” they call after me through laughter, and I flick them off.
“Fucking jerks,” I mumble under my breath, but I sort of feel like karma’s kicked me in the ass for all the times I called them pussies for being hung up on a girl. Especially Devin; he’s been planning on proposing to his girlfriend Shauna for the past three months and I always give him a hard time, wondering why a dude would want to get married when he isn’t even twenty-six and seems to be on the brink of a breakout career.
I should be out having fun. Now Alana I can have fun with…she wouldn’t want me to call her a million times a day and respond to her texts within five minutes…but I’d never admit it out loud.
“Guess what?” I turn to see Simon with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You’ve grown a pair of balls?” He waves me off but throws his arm around my neck.
“We got put on the list for Code Black!” he says, barely containing his excitement.
“What is that, some type of paintball place?”
“Dude it’s one of the most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the city!” He seems annoyed that I’m not sharing his enthusiasm. I can’t believe I picked last year to stop smoking.
“What is that, where you smoke cigars and watch strippers?” I ask, unenthused.
“Not just any strippers, the hottest of the hot. I’m not talking nines and just being naked. They’re supposed to cater to our every whim.”
“And how much is this going to cost us?” I ask. His smile grows wider.
“That’s the beauty, we’re comped, my uncle’s marrying his second wife. Two of the groomsmen aren’t arriving until tomorrow so we get to take their place.”
“So free liquor and half-naked women?” I ask, starting to become more interested.
“Not just any women…I’m talking about the best Chicago has to offer. These girls will knock Annie Wilkes right out of your mind,” he promises.
“Okay sure, why the hell not?”
“Oh, but you’re going to need a suit…” he tells me before pulling me back through the bar.
“A suit for an overrated strip club?” I ask, baffled.
"Trust me, it’ll be worth it."
Code Black is located on the Gold Coast, one of the richest parts of the city. On the outside it looks like a really large warehouse aside from the spread of foreign cars lining buildings. We pull up to the valet and step out. There’s two large dudes, both at least 6’5”, but these guys aren’t your run-of-the-mill bouncers like at the clubs we usually go to. They look more like Russian mafia than overweight moonlighting cops.
“Good evening gentleman, how can we help you?” A tall slender man with a strong accent asks before we even cross the threshold. I glance over at Simon.
“We’re here with the Taylor party. You should have us down. Simon Darlton and guest,” he says authoritatively.
“Congressman Taylor’s party. Of course. Follow me, gentleman.” He leads us past the black glass doors that close automatically behind us once we enter. He goes behind a long black desk. The room is different shades of grey with black accents, but it’s just another barrier to where the actual club is. From here it looks like the check-in of an upscale hotel.
“Your invitations and IDs.” He turns towards us and pulls out black cards as I slide my ID over to him after Simon does.
“I trust your uncle has explained our code of conduct here?” he asks with a wide smile, but his words are stern.
“Yes. Of course,” Simon tells him. The dude’s gaze lands on me. I don’t know about any rules, Simon didn’t tell me shit, but I figure it’s the same rules as any strip club.
“Your phones, gentleman.” I look over at Simon, who takes his out and hands it over easily. I hesitate.
“What happens inside Code Black stays in Code Black. If you need to make a call your hostess would be happy to supply you with one of ours,” he says, reading my expression. This shit actually is starting to seem weird and when I open my mouth to tell him, Simon he gives me a glare about not messing this up. I push air out of my lungs and hand him my cellphone.
“You are in the Platinum Black area and all charges have been comped. Gentlemen, welcome to Code Black. I trust you will enjoy. Your hostess, Eve, will take you from here.”
As soon as he finishes his spiel a redheaded woman appears from the door behind him and Simon subtly nudges me.
“Good evening gentleman, welcome to Code Black. It is my pleasure to welcome you in.” Her voice is like liquid sex. She’s tall, her body statuesque, and only covered with a black bra and panties with stockings up to her knees. She’s perfect and I can’t find a flaw on her. It’s like she just stepped out of a teenage boy’s wet dream into a grown man’s fantasy.
We follow behind her and the door closes behind us just like the first one did—and it’s like we’re in a different world. “If this is a host I can’t image what the actual strippers look like,” Simon says in a hushed whisper, watching the host’s ass jiggle.
“Entertainers. They are here to entertain you gentleman,” she says, tossing us a flirtatious but reprimanding grin.
The place is huge. We’re walking on what looks like the second of three floors. On the first there are tables and booths that are all filled, surrounding four large stages, each with beautiful women dancing on them.
“What are your tastes this evening, gentleman?” she asks, and I tell her Tequila as she leads us to a private booth with something too large to call a table.