“Show?” I ask, as we step into a dark hallway thronging with women in tiny dresses. “Is there live music, or something?”
He gives me a droll look and presses me through the cloakroom. “Trust me. This will cheer you right up.”
I want to ask more questions, but I know Benny isn’t giving anything up. So I just pay a quid, hand my coat over, then let him usher me into the main club.
At first, I don’t really understand what I’m seeing. For the most part,Teaselooks like a normal club; a large dark room with an illuminated bar running down one wall, and a dance floor made up of panels of coloured lights. The walls are practically vibrating with Rihanna’s ‘Bitch Better Have My Money’, and bright lasers cut through the crowd.
Unlike a usual club, though, most of the dance floor is covered with seating. All around the room, groups of chairs are arranged around small round tables covered in white tablecloths. Girls sit in little groups, taking selfies, talking excitedly, and sharing fishbowls of radioactive-looking glowing drinks. All of the tables face the front of the room, where a massive stage has been erected. Projected onto the back wall are the words MAGIC NIGHTS: THE MOST HANDS-ON SHOW IN LONDON.
“Hands-on…?” A champagne bottle pops a few feet away, and I turn to see a nearby table of girls cheering as a shirtless waiter in a bow tie fills their glasses. Dread drips through me. “Shit. Benny, is this astrip show?”
“You liked Magic Mike, didn’t you?” He takes my hand and leads me to the bar.
“Y-yeah, but—”
“Relax. I’ve seen some videos online, it’s not sleazy or anything. It’s a proper show. You want some Magic Dollars?”
He points at a bright yellow ATM. A woman with a pinkBride to Besash and an inflatable penis on her head is pushing coins into a slot, and it’s dispensing stacks of brightly coloured fake cash, like full-sized monopoly money.
She notices me looking. “You can throw them at the guys,” she explains, shouting over the music. “Make it rain, stick ‘em down their boxers—” She giggles. “Itreallyincreases your chances of them picking you for a private dance.”
“Oh,” I say weakly. “Good.”
Benny snorts, muscling to the front of the bar queue. I tug on his sleeve. “Is the person you wanna hook up with astripper?” I hiss.
“Not exactly,” he hedges.
Before I can press him, a handsome bartend spots us and grins, coming to take our order. Like the waiter, he’s naked from the waist up, although he’s apparently decided against the bow tie. “Benny!” He shouts over the music. “You came!”
“Hey, Antonio,” Benny says, shaking his curls out of his face. “We’ll have a pitcher of something that will make us wish we were dead tomorrow, please.”
Antonio laughs, tipping his head back. His white teeth gleam under the blue lights. He’s supremely hot; sculpted and tanned, with dark wavy hair and sparkly eyes. Go Benny.
“Yeah?” He asks, reaching for a bottle. “You like cherry, babe?”
Benny sputters, turns red, and reaches for his wallet. “I… uh. How much?”
I elbow him in the side. “You got the tickets. I’ll pay.”
Antonio suddenly registers my existence. His smile dims slightly. “Ah. Who did you bring?”
“I’m his super-platonic friend,” I say. “In fact, we’re biological siblings. I’m happily married to my childhood sweetheart. We’ve got three kids, and a baby on the way.” I pat my stomach. “I love going to strip clubs with my platonic best friend brother, who I would never, under any circumstances, date.”
Benny stamps on my foot. Antonio’s smile gets wider. “Okay. You can stop now.”
“Thanks. I’m not actually pregnant, please give me alcohol.” I’m going to need it if I have to sit here and watch a bunch of oiled-up men gyrating to ‘Candy Shop’. Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of strippers intheory.I just don’t think I’ll be able to sit in a room with real life men tossing their goods around, and not burst out laughing. It sounds so cheesy.
“Coming right up.” Antonio grabs a massive plastic fishbowl and starts pouring shots and soda into it. I watch, mildly concerned, as amaretto, flavoured vodka, bourbon, and sours all get sloshed into the drink. He tops the bowl off with a handful of maraschino cherries and slides it across the counter to me.
“On the house,” he gives me a little wink, then goes back to staring at Benny’s tattooed collarbone. “You, uh, staying for the full show?” He asks casually.
Benny stutters. “I, ah—I don’t know?”
I frown up at him. He’s frozen to the spot, his dark cheeks flushed. I’ve never seen him like this. Benny is usually the smoothest, most confident person I know. He can barely leave the house without getting some girl or guy’s phone number.
“Well,” Antonio shoots him a smile. “I get off before it ends. Eleven. Maybe you’ll catch me before you leave.”
“Maybe,” Benny forces out. “I, uh, yeah. I’ll probably leave before the end. Not that I don’t like watching men get naked! But, yeah, if I get bored, or, um—yeah. I’ll see you then, probably. Yeah.”