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  Delilah

  Charlotte Fisher is an evil, evil woman! Remind me to never, ever let her near my hair or face again. Pure torture, I tell you. If I ever hear someone say, “It takes pain to be beautiful,” one more time, I will whack them upside the head.

  We start with my make-up first. She pulls a plastic bag out of one of the shopping bags and it was full of all different kinds of cosmetics – foundation, powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, gloss, bronzer, blush, and perfume. And lions, and tigers, and bears – oh my! No seriously, I think that was all, but who knows; I have no idea what half the stuff is for anyway. I let her have her way with my face, but I put my foot down at the bronzer. Why, you ask? Simply put, I don’t want anyone mistaking me for Snookie from The Jersey Shore. I mean, come on, we are both petite, with a little extra junk in the trunk, and have the same long brown hair, but we look nothing alike. The last thing I need is to fake bake or add too much bronzer, and some jerk to mistake me for her. No, thank you! Oh, and speaking of Italians… I eighty-sixed the perfume, too. My lotion is all I have ever worn, and I love the way it smells. And so does Nick. Not that I am going to see him tonight, but if he likes it, then hopefully it will attract another stud for the taking.

  Long story short, she did an amazing job! I didn’t even recognize myself when she was done. She lined my eyes in green. With hazel eyes, that is the best way to bring out the color. Then she smoked them out. But instead of using a black kohl, she smoked them with the purple shadow. She used mascara that must have been heaven sent, because it opened my eyes up tenfold. You could only get these kinds of results with fake lashes. “It’s all about the eyes. You should always wear your contacts,” Charlie said.

  Now she is lining my lips in a light red. I am wary because my mom always told me that only hookers wear red lipstick, but when she fills in my lips, holy shit! I would kiss myself if it were possible. The lipstick itself is a matte red, but then she slicks on a gloss that sparkles. My already juicy lips transform into Angelina Jolie’s million dollar pout. “I take it back,” she says, “usually, it’s all about the eyes, but with you, it’s all about the lips. Every man in the room is going to want to kiss these luscious puppies.”

  We take a break before starting on my hair. I go to the kitchen to grab us a couple of bottles of water, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that weird box again. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s in the box?” I ask again, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  “I think it is best to wait for the cab ride to explain what’s inside. It has something to do with Club M,” she replies evasively. Now I know I am not going to like what she has to tell me. The fact that she is going out of her way for me not to know what is in store for me tonight is grating on my nerves.

  “I think it’s time for you to spill,” I state firmly. I don’t want to sound bitchy, but I don’t like feeling lied to or betrayed, and she knows why.

  “Whatever you are thinking, stop. It’s not that bad. It’s just that Club M has some very, er, strict rules. But I think we should finish your hair, get you dressed, and then I will tell you everything once we are in the cab. I promise,” she says calmly, clearly catching on to my mood change.

  She obviously senses my concerns, and I know she is just placating me. But at the same time, I know Charlie would never do anything or take me anywhere she knows would make me uncomfortable. We head back to the bathroom and she gets started on my hair.

  Since she did such a kick ass job on my make-up, I don’t even question her when I see her heating up the flat iron. She pulls my hair out of the messy bun on top of my head and starts to comb it out. I always wear my hair up or pulled back somehow because it is very thick, naturally wavy, and quite often, very unruly. But during my hell day at the spa, I had some caramel highlights put in to “soften it around my face,” according the hairdresser. So, hopefully, however she styles it, I will have the desired effect.

  A few minutes later, she has my hair separated into little sections and clipped up in every direction. I hope she has a plan, and knows what she is doing. Little by little, she takes down each section, and flat irons it. I flinch a few times when she gets close to my ear, but she never burns me. That sucker is hot, though! Over an hour and a half later, she is done. My hair is straight as an arrow, shiny as all get out, silky smooth, and the highlights are exquisite. I need to remember to give the hairdresser a bigger tip next time I am there.

  Next is the big dress reveal, and I am most nervous about this, and we all know why; I haven’t worn anything sexy, revealing, or even fitted, since I was a teen. And if I know Charlie, she is not going to let me go anywhere near this club wearing anything less than sexy and fabulous.

  “Why don’t we start with the lingerie,” Charlie suggests, sensing my anxiousness over the dress situation.

  “Lingerie? What’s wrong with the underwear I have on?” I ask argumentatively, knowing full well that I am not going to win.

  “Because it is just that – underwear. That’s the stuff you wear on a first date to guarantee yourself that you won’t sleep with the man. We are trying to get you laid, not remind the guy of his eighty year old grandmother.”

  Charlie grabs a small pink and white striped bag and I roll my eyes, knowing fair and well what store she shopped at. “Girl, you know that there is no way in God’s green earth that these knockers are going to fit into anything you have hiding in that little bag,” I say, grabbing my boobs with both hands, shaking them at her.

  She lets out a chuckle. “Oh, ye of little faith. Just trust your bestie, okay?”

  I let out a loud sigh and nod my head, pretending to be exasperated. I thrust out my right hand to receive the lacy goodies and send Charlie a half smile. “Fine, gimme them. I will go put them on in the bathroom. But if I look like a cow with her udders hanging all loosey goosey, my cotton delights are coming right back on.”

  “Deal, Elsie.” Charlie shakes her head at me and continues to laugh. She hands me the most gorgeous red and black lace panty and bra set, and I bite my tongue as I head to my bathroom to change, praying that they fit.

  I walk out of the bathroom twirling around like a toddler trying on her first tutu. Not only does it all fit perfectly, but it really is absolutely stunning. “I have to hand it to you, Charlie. You nailed it! My girls are snug as a bug and you managed to make my shrimpy legs look so long and lean. Kudos, my friend,” I say, giving Charlie all the credit she deserves. “Maybe you missed your calling as a personal shopper,” I throw out with a wink.

  “Thank you, but don’t thank me completely, yet. There is still this little teensy matter of the dress,” she announces cautiously. She scrunches her face, squeezes her eyes tight, and then peeks at me through one open eye. I can’t help but laugh at her.

  “I’m that much of a hard sell, huh?”

  “Um, yeah! You do remember what’s in that closet of yours, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Cause you won’t let me forget. Bring it on, sister!” I am eager to see what she picked out for the main course. I think I am ready, but nothing could have prepared me for what she unzipped from the wardrobe bag. I had to steady myself before I was able to step toward it.

  Remember that scene in Pulp Fiction when Samuel L. Jackson opens the briefcase in the restaurant and all we see are bright lights shining out? Of course, we all just assumed it was filled with bars of gold. Anyway, that’s exactly how I feel staring at the dress. Like the clouds parted, and the sun is shining through for the first time in years. And the gospel choir in the background is rejoicing.

  It is the most spectacular, sexy, provocative, yet timeless, red lace dress I have ever seen! It has a tan silk slip underneath to blend in with my skin. Then the bodice is a red lace overlay, which by mere definition is sexy, but it is not hooker-ish in the least. It has a plunging neckline, but with my chest, it is going to be perfect, and looks as though it will hit just above my knee. I can’t wait to put it on.

  As I am already standing here in my underwear, I don’t bother going to the bathroom again. In silence, I just slip it on in front of Charlie, and it fits as if it was tailor made for me. I look up at Charlie, both of us with tears in our eyes.

  “Stop crying or you are going to ruin your make-up,” she yells at me, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

  “I just…it’s just…the dress is so beautiful, Charlie. I can’t believe you picked this out for me. Do you really think I can pull it off?” I ask, feeling sexy and self conscious at the same time.”

  “Shut up,” is all she says. Because, really, what more is there to say? The proud mama-hen expression on her face says it all.

  I slide into a pair of four-inch tan heals. The pointed toe is squishing my big toe, but I suck it up in the name of fashion, remembering, “It takes pain to be beautiful,” and all that other bullshit society feeds us. Three long, grueling hours later, we are finally in a cab, heading to Club Masquerade.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what is in that weird box you have been hiding from me? And why is it going with us to the club?” I ask, shrugging like the anticipation is not killing me.

  “Okay, okay. I guess I can’t put this off any longer. But promise me that you will keep an open mind and not freak out.” She groans.

  I shake my head and take a deep breath. I know she is up to something that I am not going to like, but I am already here, dressed and made up like her own personal Barbie. What more can there be? “Fine. Just get on with it already,” I mutter, exasperated by her added drama.

  Charlie opens the box, which is shaped like a hatbox, and for the second time today, I am speechless. I am not exactly sure what I’m looking at, but it looks like the most exquisite, intricately detailed, beaded masquerade mask. And there are two of them. I tentatively move my right hand forward to touch one, and Charlie snaps the box closed, like what Richard Gere did to Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, when she tried to touch the ruby necklace. I start to laugh the same way, too. Then she reopens the box so I can get a second look, and this time I pull one out of the box. Just like my dress, lips, nails, and toes, it is a beautiful harlot red. Okay, maybe not harlot…candy apple… yeah, that is a better description. It is candy apple red, adorned with gold and red beads, sequins, and stones. It looks as though it will cover my eyes and nose, and ties in the back with a red silk ribbon.

  “This is gorgeous, Charlie, but I don’t understand. What do we need masks for?”

  She took a deep breath and started to explain everything – the masks, the no talking, the messaging system, the sex - all of the rules at Club M. And I sit in stunned silence for the rest of the cab ride there.

  ♫♩♫♩♫♩♫

  Delilah once more…

  After checking in with Monica, I head over to the bar while Charlie gets a table for us. As I near the bar, I notice a guy in tight faded jeans, his back to me. Shit, that is a mighty fine ass; it may even rival Nick’s, and I have spent plenty of time ogling his to know. I signal to the bartender that I’m ready to order. Since I am not permitted to speak, I point to the menu which drinks we want - an Appletini for Charlie and a house red for me. I usually don’t drink, just maybe a cold beer with pizza or the occasional breakfast mimosa, and I am a little anxious to begin with, so I don’t want to set myself up for any disasters. As I stand there waiting for our drinks, I can’t seem to tear my eyes off this guy’s ass. What has gotten into me?

  The bartender seems to be the only person permitted to speak, probably because he is not concerned with anonymity, and he tells me my total. The two drinks come to fourteen dollars, so I slide a twenty across the bar to him and wink with a smile, as if telling him “thank you” and “keep the change.” There are a few people in life you just don’t want to piss off, and a bartender is one of them. Who are the others? Well, let’s see… just off the top of my head…your server. Never piss off someone who has access to your food, if you know what I mean. Your hairdresser. Not only can you walk out looking like Edward Scissorhands got a hold of you, but you don’t want to screw with someone that has a sharp object that close to your head, neck, and throat. And a more recent revelation, don’t ever, under any circumstance, piss off the woman just about to rip all the hair out of your vajayjay. Dripping hot wax – enough said!

  I head back to Charlie disappointed I never got a really good look at Mr. Fine Ass. I can feel his eyes on me as I am walking away, but once again, I am too chicken shit to turn around. As I approach Charlie, I see that she is checking out some dude by the staircase. I sit down next to her, hand her the Appletini, and send a text.

  LaLa #128: OMG! Did u see that guy’s ass?

  Charlie #228: Who? Where?

  LaLa #128: Over there. By the bar. Mr. Fine Ass!

  Charlie #228: Oh, Yeah. That is a scrumptious looking ass. Did you get his #?

  LaLa #128: Nah, I chickened out, as usual. Who were u looking at?

  Charlie #228: When? Who?

  LaLa #128: When I walked back here. U were clearly checking out that sexy black guy by the stairs

  Charlie #228: Oh, yeah, him. Just window shopping

  LaLa #128: That is a hot piece. Go walk by like u are looking around & get his #

  Charlie #228: U know I can’t do that

  LaLa #128: Come on. U ask random guys out all the time

  Charlie #228: That’s different, and u know why

  LaLa #128: Charlie, it has been almost 15 yrs. Time to heal & move past it

  Charlie #228: I’m trying, LaLa, I’m trying

  I let Charlie off the hook because I know her secret and I know it is not something she has been able to get past. I take a sip of my red wine and try to relax. This really isn’t my scene. I have never been one to approach a man, and just sitting here, I feel like a kid on the playground waiting to be picked for a team – vulnerable, self-conscious, and pretty pathetic.

  Charlie #228: What’s the matter? U have a look on your face like you just smelled a pile of shit

  LaLa #128: Just uncomfortable. I feel like a loser sitting here. No man is going to text me

  Charlie #228: What are you talking about? U look gorg in that dress & your hair is perfection. U are going to have them fighting over u

  LaLa #128: U are an idiot, but ily

  Charlie #228: ily2. Now stop fidgeting & when u do get a text, I want to see flirty LaLa. Play the role. Remember, nobody here knows who u are, so u can be anybody u want

  LaLa #128: U are right. Time for my inner vixen to come out to play

  Charlie #228: That’s my girl!

  Charlie has just given me the confidence that I needed. I straighten my back, sticking out my chest that I have spent the last ten years hiding, lift my chin, and take another sip of wine. I am beautiful, confident, and sexy, I keep repeating in my head. As I finally start to believe myself, a text comes in just in time.

  Nico #812: Red lace?

  LaLa #128: Hello? I don’t think u have the right #

  Nico #812: Are u not, in fact, wearing a red lace dress?

  LaLa #128: Yes, in fact, I am. And u are?

  Nico #812: Intrigued

  LaLa #128: I enjoy a man of many words

  Nico #812: Sexy & sassy. A deadly combination

  LaLa #128: U still have not introduced yourself. Not much for pleasantries?

  Nico #812: Pleasant is not the word to describe the things I want to do to u

  I look around, trying to figure out who this mysterious man is that keeps messaging me. Every man I see either is engaged in conversation on his device, or is already coupled up. So no help there. Charlie looks at me funny and my device vibrates.

  Charlie #228: Who are u talking to?

  LaLa #128: I have no idea. Some guy is texting me but hasn’t said who he is

  Charlie #228: Did u ask?

  LaLa #128: Uh, duh! Of, course I did. He is being evasive & a little crude

  Charlie #228: Ooooh. I like crude. What did he say?

  LaLa #128: That he wants to do unpleasant things to me?

  Charlie #228: Yowza! Say yes! Say yes!

  LaLa #128: What? I have no idea who this guy is!

  Charlie #228: Live a little! U deserve it after what Dickerson did to u. Go for 1 night of hot, sweaty sex with a stranger! At least u know it’s safe here.

  I take a deep breath, knowing that Charlie is right. I do deserve it, and I definitely need it! These past few weeks working so closely to Nick has me wound tight. It would be nice to let my freak flag fly for one night. And it is a total stranger that I will never have to see again. Hmm…

  Nico #812: Have I offended u?

  LaLa #128: No, why do u ask?

  Nico #812: Because u disappeared on me

  LaLa #128: Nope, still here & still don’t know who u are

  Nico #812: And I am still here, still turned on by that sexy red lace dress. Any more red lace I can’t see?

  LaLa #128: What’s with this obsession with red lace?

  Nico #812: Why did u wear it?

  I start to catch on to this game he is playing. He is not going to tell me who he is until he sees that I am interested, and I am, interested. I am enjoying the flirtation that we have going on, so I decide to kick it up a notch.