Setting: Three women, a late summer evening. Cool breezes drift through the windows, conversation is friendly – we’re excited to see each other again. We eat, we sip some wine. But this doesn’t quite quench our thirst.
“Would you like to try a Pink Stripper?” I ask. They giggle.
I pour the frothy drinks into tall glasses. “Cheers,” we say, our glasses clinking together.
“How is it?” I ask.
“Not quite as tart as I expected,” says L.
“Delicious,” says T. On the next round she tries a Black Feather. “Too bad I left my black feathers at home,” she says. “Ooh, but I have red ones.” She leaves the room and returns with a lush, feathery boa. She sashays around the room, working the boa, and her hips.
She drapes it around her neck. “It doesn’t quite hang right when I’m wearing this shirt”….
L smiles and winks at me. “Now this is what I call a girls’ night out.”
I turn on the music. Sultry jazz. The room is getting warm.
T says, “I know this song.” She starts to sing, “Oh Honey, Oh honey, please don’t! Oh honey! Please! Don’t! Stop!”
“Com’on, let’s dance,” she says.
We start to shimmy around the living room, a little self-consciously at first, but the music is liberating.
I pour another round.
“Oh no, I splashed some on my shirt,” says L….
The music picks up rhythm. “Oh this is great,” T says as she sways her hips. “I need more than a boa for this. I’ll be right back.”
She drapes her boa over my neck and quickly slips out of the room. When she comes back she is jingling and shining in a little top made of coins linked together with fine chainmail.
“I knew you’d look good in that,” says L admiringly.
“I brought one for you too,” says T. “Here, let me help you.”
“You’re overdressed,” says L, looking at me.
T unties her coin-bikini top and teasingly shakes it. “Try it on,” she says.
As the hostess, I feel obliged to indulge my guests. Obviously, this party is taking a certain turn.
The Montreal Burlesque show has nothing on us.