Strip Me Bare (4 page)

He doesn’t move immediately, he just lingers
over me a few moments more as if reluctant to let me go. My stomach
is in knots.

He pushes off the wall and steps back, never
taking his eyes off mine. Then he grabs my hand and walks me back
to Culture. I feel like I’m in some bizarre alternate reality,
feeling Ryan’s skin against mine; his eagerness to touch me, his
forthright attitude, his up-front mannerisms, it’s almost as if no
time has passed between us at all.

The line is even longer at the main entrance
now, and when Ryan and I get to the black velvet ropes women start
screaming. At first I thought something bad must have happened,
then I realize they’re screaming at a half naked Ryan. It feels
like we’re standing in front of a construction site. Ryan just does
a little wave then turns his back on them. He gives me an
uncomfortable grin and I just stare.

“Shit, my purse is inside.” I realize, about
to throw a hissy fit.

“No problem,” Ryan whistles to someone behind
him. “Hey Lorenzo! You got a smoke for my girl?”

His girl?
Say what.

A moment later a big, roly-poly Hispanic guy
with a goatee and black hat walks over from the main entrance. He
looks like he can regulate some shit.

“Sure, bro,” he pulls a pack of Parliament
lights from his pocket. He grabs one from the pack and goes to hand
it to me, but Ryan snatches it up first. Then he takes Lorenzo’s
lighter and burns the cigarette, taking a long pull then hands it
to me. His blue eyes shining as he looks at me.

“Thanks,” I grab the cigarette and quickly do
the same. The nicotine is like oxygen to my lungs.

“So, your girl, huh?” Lorenzo asks as he
lights up too.

“Ah, no, old acquaintance,” I interject
before Ryan can answer, pinning him with a cold stare.

“This is Alana,” Ryan tells Lorenzo as he
takes the cigarette smoothly from my hand.

“Alana?” Lorenzo looks at me surprised. “I’ve
heard so much about you,” he slides his shifty eyes over to Ryan
and then back to me.

“You have?” I answer astonished, taking the
cigarette back from Ryan. I pull hard, blowing out a thick stream
of smoke from my mouth.

He nods, then puts a hand up to his ear, like
he’s listening to something. “Yo, bro, they’re looking for you
inside. Someone’s requesting you,” his voice rumbles.

I turn white.

“I gotta get back,” Lorenzo says clasping
Ryan’s hand. “It was nice to finally meet you, Alana.”

“Yeah, same here,” I mutter. “Thanks for the
smoke.”

Lorenzo nods, “Anytime for Ryan’s girl.”

“I’m not Ryan’s girl,” I retort.

“Whatever you say,” he responds with a smile
and then he walks away.

“How does he know about me?” I ask Ryan as
soon as Lorenzo is out of ear shot.

Ryan rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“The first night, I, uh, danced, I got piss drunk afterwards and
sort of,” he glances away then back at me, “sort of unloaded on
Lorenzo about you. About us.”

My jaw drops.

“And when was that? The first time you
danced?”

Ryan shrugs, “About a year ago.”

“And what exactly did you
tell
Lorenzo?”

I can’t wait to hear this.

Ryan opens his mouth to talk when Lorenzo’s
deep voice interrupts him, “Bro, they want you inside, like
yesterday.”

“Shit,” Ryan glares at Lorenzo.

“I thought they’d be fine without you for a
little while?” I say passive aggressively.

“Throwing dumpsters,” Ryan shakes his head
amused. He tightens the tiny towel around his waist, “Tomorrow,
promise you’ll meet me tomorrow? I’ll explain everything,” he puts
his hand on my hip and draws me close to him. “Please,” he whispers
earnestly.

I think my knees are about to give out, five
years, I haven’t heard a peep from him in five years, and yet he
still feels as right now as he did then.

I close my eyes and concede, “I’ll meet you.”
I put my hand on his shoulder, his skin soft under my touch.

“Good,” he turns his head and plants a soft
kiss right on the corner of my mouth causing my whole body to
flare.

“Is your number still the same?” he asks as
he pulls away from me.

“Ah, yes,” I answer a little light
headed.

“Okay, I’ll text you with a time and place,”
he says taking my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

He lets go and I suddenly feel like I’ve lost
him all over again.

“Look, Alana, you can throw all the dumpsters
you want,” he gets in my face, “but hear me, now that I’ve got you
back, I’m not letting go of you again.” His eyes flash, and they
are deadly serious.

“Why did you let me go the first time?” I
whisper desperately.

“Tomorrow,” he demands, but he doesn’t turn
to leave. It’s as if he’s warring with himself.

“Can you send Emily out?” I ask.

He nods, those dark blue eyes heedful.

We both stand there staring at each other.
Neither of us wanting to be the first to turn away.

Suddenly the door swings open, “Ryan,” a
deep, velvety voice calls, it’s the Dominator. “Yo, there are
ladies downstairs waiting for you, man.”

My stomach turns.

“Go,” I tell him and turn around. I can’t
look back; I can’t bear to see him go through that entryway. I try
not to picture him grinding on all those women. Try not to picture
him humping Emily up and down the stage.

I tell myself I shouldn’t be jealous.

He’s not mine.

Not anymore.

“Alana!” Emily calls my name just before I
climb into the limo. “Are you okay?”

I examine the multiple meanings of okay;
passable - acceptable or tolerable but not exceptional, allowable -
acceptable to somebody or permissible, physically well - in good
health or condition. I’m a bit of a dictionary geek.

I look her dead in the eyes, “No.”

“Shit,” she pulls me into a hug. Emily knows
all about Ryan and me. She’s about the only one who knows. She was
there the night we met, she heard all about our relationship issues
and she’s the one I leaned on when he left me in the dust.

Emily hands me my purse, “You probably need a
cigarette.”

“I probably need a shrink,” I pull one out of
the pack and light it.

I remember Emily trying to convince me that
Ryan was just a jerk, that he played me for one thing, and I fell
right into his trap. But I just never believed that. I may have
been young and inexperienced when it came to guys and
relationships, but character is something I could always read, even
then. And read it well.

My father says being able to read a liar
makes for the greatest of lawyers, and being able to lie makes you
untouchable. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to the law. Not that I
take pride in being a good liar, but being able to read people has
proven beneficial, in academics and in life.

“I swear to God, Alana, I didn’t know it was
him until I ripped off his mask, and then when I saw his face all I
could think about was you.”

“Did he know who you were?”

“He had no idea, the last time he saw me my
hair was bleach blonde and shorter than his. And you can barely see
anything under those lights. When he recognized me, he asked if I
wanted him to stop. I just told him to finish quick.”

“He came after me,” I say astonished.

“I saw. As soon as you ran out of that room,
he was right behind you. One of the other strippers, er, guys
grabbed him by the arm and shoved shoes and a towel in his hand.
Then I told Hugo that I wanted him as our private dancer the rest
of the night.”

“You requested him?” I suddenly feel worlds
better.

“Ah, yeah, there was no way I was letting
another woman touch him in front of you,” she says making this
kneading dough gesture with her hands.

“You’re seriously the best, Em.” I hug
her.

“Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve been
covering your ass forever.”

“And I love you so much for-”

“So what did he say?” she interrupts me, not
caring at all about the gratitude. “Did he pull the whole ‘it
wasn’t you it was me thing?’ Or ‘I didn’t think it was going to
work out so I thought it was best to just cut my losses’ asshole,
man, excuse thing?”

“Ah no, actually, he told me,” I bubble with
laughter because it’s just so unbelievable. “He called me his girl,
and said now that he got me back he wasn’t letting go of me
again.”

Emily’s mouth falls open, “No shit, well
where the hell has he been for the last five years?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“That raises a red flag.”

“No,” I clarify exhaling smoke, “he says he
wants to talk about it tomorrow. He wants to have coffee.”

“Coffee?” Emily responds the same way I did.
“Well I wouldn’t hold my breath for that phone call,” she says
pessimistically.

I laugh, “I told him the exact same
thing.”

My purse suddenly rings. I take out my phone
and look at the screen. It’s flashing with an unknown number and a
text message:

Dean & DeLuca Broadway and Prince. Noon.
Xx

Holy shit.
I look up at Emily stunned,
“I think it’s safe for me to hold my breath.” I turn the phone and
show her the message.

She looks down at it with an unsure
expression, “So much for not dwelling on your past.”

Fuck.

I sit quietly at the
dining room table poking at my oatmeal. I have no appetite. I just
keep glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, 9:23 AM. I
need to catch the 10:36 train if I want to make it into the city by
noon. I know the path’s schedule by heart.

I’m sitting diagonally across from my father,
who’s quietly reading the newspaper like he does every Sunday
morning. We barely speak and when he does address me it’s formal,
like I’m a business acquaintance.

The honorable Merrick J. Remington, that’s
how the public knows him, and that’s exactly how he wants it, like
he’s constantly sitting on the bench. A persona to uphold. And I am
a direct reflection of him; his beautiful, perfect, obedient
daughter. That’s who I am because that’s who he’s molded me to be;
on the outside.

I glance at him in all his stateliness, his
thick salt and pepper hair combed back meticulously, his posture
perfect, his defined chin pointed down. I don’t look anything like
him. I’m tall and lean, with long, pale blonde hair just like my
mother’s. The only trait we share is the color of our eyes; a light
chestnut brown with black specs around the pupils.

Judge Remington shakes out his newspaper,
then folds it and throws it down onto the table, “What are your
plans today Alana?”

I look up at him, “I’m going into the city to
meet Jill.”

She’s the perfect alibi since she lives
there.

“Ummm hmmm,” he tinkers with his watch.
“Good. Be careful,” he says the words but there’s no interest or
care, just obligation. “Have you decided if you want campus housing
or an apartment yet?”

He’s talking about law school, Columbia.

I’ll never forget the day I told him I was
applying; it was like being branded with a hot poker. His eyes lit
up, and not because I was following in his collegiate footsteps,
but because he keenly caught on to the quiet excitement in my voice
and the enthusiasm on my face. He knew it was something I really
wanted, which meant it was something to hold over my head. I knew
it too, but I didn’t care. Because being a lawyer is all I’ve ever
wanted to do. So if I have to play good little rich girl to get
what I want, I will.

But trust me when I say, I don’t plan to star
in this role forever.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I say, looking
down.

“Well, you have until Wednesday. I’ve set up
an appointment with a realtor. 9 AM sharp.” He clears his throat,
“On the West Side.”