“Bristol, yeah, but we need to talk about—”
“I could totally do that, Jim,” Bristol cuts over my comment, gesturing with her glass toward the strippers onstage.
“Do what?” I demand, deciding not to pursue the Sarah conversation right now.
“Yeah, do what?” Jimmi asks.
“That upside-down move she’s doing and make my ass clap,” Bristol says, taking a sip of the new drink the bartender just gave her.
“Me, too.” Jimmi sips on hers. “It isn’t as hard as it looks. The one girl in the red . . . what was her name, Bristol?”
“Champagne,” Bristol says. “I’m pretty sure she said her name was Champagne. It was something . . . festive.”
“I think you’re right.” Jimmi tilts her head, her eyes never leaving Champagne as she hangs upside down on the pole, legs straight in the air. “Though they are rather athletic and well-trained, you must admit. I think one day stripping will be an Olympic sport.”
“If strippers were men,” Bristol says with an inordinate amount of conviction. “It already would be.”
“There are male strippers,” I remind her.
Bristol’s withering glance makes me want to guard my testicles. “Don’t you have a performance to get ready for?” She looks past my shoulder. “Where’s your girlfriend? I almost didn’t recognize you without her in your lap.”
“Is she clingy?” Jimmi whisper-shouts as if I’m not standing right there listening. “I hate clingy girls.”
“Clingy like ivy.” Bristol stares into her drink, her mouth sullen. “Like a particularly aggressive strain of rabid ivy.”
“Don’t talk about her that way,” I say. “She doesn’t deserve that, Bristol, and you of all people should know that.”
“Oh, me of all people?” Bristol leans across Jimmi until her nose almost touches mine. “Why me of all people?”
“You know why,” I grit out.
“Why?” Jimmi interjects, round eyes ping ponging between Bristol and me.
“I didn’t make you fuck her,” Bristol snaps. “No one twisted your dick to sleep with her or any of the hundreds of other girls you’ve been with over the years.”
“Hundreds?” I shake my head. “Not hundreds, but at least none of them had a stick up their ass.”
“Oh, I bet there was a stick up somebody’s ass
at some point along the way.” Bristol signals for another drink. “Maybe even yours.”
“Musicians do like to experiment,” Jimmi agrees. “Believe me. I know.”
“Nothing has ever been up my ass,” I say harshly. “And, Bristol, I think you should slow down on the drinks.”
“You’re not my father.” She laughs bitterly. “Or maybe you are. You probably are. Yeah, you’re my father.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I demand.
I don’t get to the bottom of her glare because Sarah comes over to get me.
“Hey, you ready?” she asks. “Qwest is already backstage. You guys go on soon.”
“Ooooh! I get to see you and Qwest perform live.” Jimmi claps her hands. “I’ve heard you’re fire together onstage.”
“Oh, three-alarm fire,” Bristol says sarcastically. “We had to add a hose to Qwest’s rider.”
“You’re becoming a bitch, Bris,” I snap.