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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.
k& i& k& i& k& i& k&
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
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