There’s a foreign feeling that falls over you in the middle of a lapdance when you’re surrounded by six of your closest friends. Being John’s bachelor party, he found this out the hard way. There’s something about stripper skin that reminds you of a weathered couch, and there’s something about their smell that makes you feel as though their perfume is making up for something that somehow smells much worse. When you factor in that the cart girl that you drunkenly invited (and two of her friends) are also onlookers in addition to the stripper’s bouncer, there’s an awkwardness that fills the room that can only get solved by an influx of hard liquor and poolside cigarettes.
Even when the guys were driving the golf carts down the driveway, they felt tense. Cart girls look much different when they’re not in the country club polo and knee-length khaki shorts, and when they show up at the same time as the surprise stripper, there’s no simple way to get around the fact that at least a few of the guys are trying to make things interesting.
John sat on the sectional couch with wide eyes while Destiny, which had to have been her fake name, sat on his lap while Todd and Spencer poured upsidedown margaritas in his mouth while his head tilted back. Concerned about the influx of people into his house (and the possibility that a phone call regarding the golf course flare gun incident was imminent), Trip did some preemptive cleaning to ensure the house wasn’t a complete wreck the next morning when they needed to take off on the planned deep sea fishing excursion.
But when that much testosterone in one room with three single women, a stripper, and a full bar, emotions run hot, drinks begin to flow, and things fade to black.
“So, uh, Chelsea,” Todd said with flem in his throat while sitting up in the bed trying to figure out which cup on his bedside table was filled with water and which was filled with dip spit.
Spencer smiled from the twin bed next to him and remarked, “Chelsayyyyyy.”
“Did you do it in here while I was asleep?” Todd asked, not actually wanting to know the answer.
“Yep,” Spencer snapped back. “If you think about it, you and I kind of had a threesome last night since we were all in the same room.”
Todd chugged the remainder of his water glass before grumbling, “I fucking hate you.”
He leaned over to make sure not to spill the dip cup on his phone which was still plugged into the wall. Spencer simply sat in his own filth while Todd checked his phone for two reasons: the first, to see what time it was, and the second, to see if he had any missed calls or text. He was surprised on two fronts: it was 11 a.m. which meant he’d completely missed the fishing charter, and his phone was without any form of contact from the outside world except a text from Ben that read, “So I guess I’m the only person deep sea fishing? Fuck me.”
In the same style that Kramer opened Jerry’s door, Trip burst through and screamed, “Time to wake up, boys! Let’s suck today’s dick!”
Needing him to quiet down due to their handle-induced headaches, both Todd and Spencer groaned, “Shut upppppppp.”
“Oh, a little tired, are we?” Trip sarcastically asked. “Maybe you two shouldn’t have stayed up so late skinny dipping with those local chicks.”
A wave of anxiety fell over Todd’s face while Spencer began to simply scream, “Chyeaaaaaah.” Trip’s laugh bellowed through their room before he clarified, “I’m just fucking with you, Todd, that was only Spencer.” Todd jokingly wiped is brow before Trip further explained, “But still, haven’t seen you that fucked up in a while. Trouble at home? Just kidding, I don’t care – let’s hit the fuckin’ pool.”
As Trip left the room, Todd whispered over to Spencer, “The girls leave already?”
“Yeah, they had to work this morning so I gave ’em one of our golf carts to take to the clubhouse.”
When you’re hungover and in the sun all day while drinking beers to curb it, your body responds with desperation. Desperation to cling to any hydration there is left, desperation to drink more because it feels like you’re hydrating, and desperation to simply not pass out.
By now, it was 5 o’clock and Ben still had yet to return from the all-day fishing excursion. “Should we feel bad that none of us went?” Finn asked, only to get responses affirming that they were in the right to get wildly drunk the night before rather than spend an entire morning and afternoon swaying back and forth on a 20-foot fishing boat.
“We still got that rezzie tonight at the clubhouse?” John asked Todd who had coordinated the entire weekend with Trip.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “7:30, we should probably dress sharp so no one accuses us of setting off those fucking flares last night.”
And dress sharp they did. Well, if by “sharp” you imagine six (Ben was still fishing) guys all dressed in identical blue shirts and khakis with their hair wetted. With one of the golf carts still at the clubhouse, they decided to all pile into two. This way, they could drive the one that Chelsea took earlier that day back after dinner and Ben would still be able to get to the dinner should he ever return.
Upon arriving at the clubhouse’s restaurant, the hostess gave them a look that said, “Oh, these must be the guy’s here for the bachelor party.” When you’re a bachelor party in an otherwise reserved location, it’s easy to get a reputation. “Right this way,” she murmured while bringing them to a large round table in the back of the restaurant.
With one seat empty, the waitstaff was essentially having a rock-paper-scissors match over who had to take the table. The group smelled like a combination of chlorine, hair product, suntan lotion, and cheap beer. Well-knowing that their tab would essentially consist of steaks, numerous bottles of the least expensive wine, and cocktails, a waitress coyly approached the group before standing at the edge of the table and muttering a shy, “Hi,” before everyone realized who it was.
“Chelsaaaaaaaaaay,” Spencer belted out to her dismay. “Surprise, surprise.”
She was clearly more uncomfortable than the rest of the group, presumably because she didn’t have the confidence that comes along with drinking beer and taking Adderall for the better part of an afternoon.
“Yeah, yeah, what can I get you boys?” she asked in an attempt to shield herself from the awkwardness.
And so they ordered, they ate, and despite their advances, Chelsea declined a night two back at Trip’s dad’s house. She also declined giving the numbers of her friends to Spencer while assuring him that they were too spent from partying all night and working all day to come out again. “The stripper was a nice touch last night,” she added in at the end as one last attempt to stick it to them.
After arriving back at the house with all three golf carts, the lights were dimmed and Ben was passed out on the couch with a scorching sunburn and The Golf Channel playing on minimum volume. Todd returned to his room to change into his trunks for a late-night swim and grab his phone to play some music to wind down the night. But upon taking his phone off the charger, he saw just one text notification.
“Having fun? Caroline just blackout threw up at our girl’s dinner and is demanding to talk to John. Are you guys done with dinner yet?”
He hesitated before putting his phone back on the charger and flipping it upside down, only to leave the room yelling, “Let’s drink some fuckin’ beers.” .