Aphrodite: A Huck's Place Story

Lit nudges me. "So you think Lynn's over at --"

Cyndi Lauper's chipmunk voice explodes into the room. I come home in the morning light... I shake my head. "Are we going to hear this every time two or more women come in, now?"

The first girl, the leader, the girl with the tanned legs, goes back to the bar and pours for the other girls, sloshing a little over the side when she finally gets to hers, laughing deliriously.

Lit leans over closer. "So, like I said, do you think Lynn's over at Aces? We can always go there."

"Fuck Lynn." I grab my beer and push myself off the stool. "Let's bowl."

Lit glances at the bowling game, one of those antiques where you talc down the surface and slide a metal puck under the pins. It's only a few feet from where the girls are sitting. "Hey, what the hell? You have your freedom, right?"

"Damn right," I say, not quite convinced, but trying anyway.

The girl I call their leader, I discover, is Barb, and she's been drinking since she got out of work. She watches us play a couple of games of Flash; then she and one of her friends -- I think she says her name is Carly -- join us, leaving the other two girls, dour-faced, talking quietly at the bar.

Barb leans forward while I'm setting up what I hope will be a perfect shot, one that will impress the shit out of her, and I can't help noticing that one of the buttons on her blouse has come undone and one of her nipples is visible, dark brown behind a lacy blue bra. She notices my glance, feigns shock, but does nothing else.

Lit and Carly have moved over to the jukebox, scrutinizing the selections as intensely as one would check out a new car before buying it. Barb nudges my arm and says, in a voice just above a whisper, "Mary over there just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her. We're out trying to cheer her up."

I make my shot -- an impressive as hell big-point strike -- and glance at Mary, who

I assume is the older-looking, slightly pockmarked blond with tears making little rivulets in her cheeks. Chris gently pushes me away and makes his shot -- a strike worth 500 points -- without hesitation.

"I guess I know how she feels," I respond. "I just broke up with someone too."

Barb touches my arm. "I'm sorry," she says, her emotions a little exaggerated due to her drunkenness. "I'm sorry. Were you together a long time?" She brushes past me and leans over to make her shot. I watch the back of her skirt as it creeps up her bare legs. She has kicked off her sandals and is gripping the wooden floor with her toes. She slides the puck and three pins flip up.

"A few years, off and on." I turn to the jukebox and call for Lit to take his turn. His left arm is around Carly's waist and he is saying something directly into her ear. A loud, scratching noise bursts from the jukebox and we are suddenly in the middle of Bob Seger's line about how he was a little soft and could have used a few pounds.

Barb backs up against me and stays there. "He's going to be a little disappointed. She's been engaged to this guy named John forever."

I flirt with the idea of telling her not to underestimate Lit, teddy-bear softness and all, but, instead, ask, "What about you?"

"I have a boyfriend," she brushes against me intentionally and reaches for her beer, "on and off." She focuses on Mary for a moment and asks her how she's doing, to which Mary responds, in a choked, scratchy voice, "Fuck you."

Barb shrugs, brushes her hair back, and takes her place next to me. "She's not very happy."

"I noticed."

Lit and Carly come back and the game starts up again. Lit is crushing us, striking on every shot. I heave myself up on a stool to watch the action. Barb steps backward without a word and nestles herself between my open legs. The pressure of her butt against my groin springs me to action.

"This feels good," she says. I discreetly slip my hand up her skirt and rub her smooth butt through her panties; she reaches behind and strokes my cock through my jeans. Suddenly I'm feeling a little better about things.

Next to me, Mary is repeating to her friend the same story she's been telling all night. "...and I walk in and the fuckin' asshole is right there with her in our fuckin' bed...."

I put my free arm around Barb's waist and pull her a little closer to me. She continues her fondling. Chris, sitting on the stool to my right, smiles and shakes his head. Lit and Carly hunch over the game and take turns shoving each other out of the way and laughing. Mary looks at us, long and hard, and says something that involves the word "fuck" several times.

When Barb steps forward to take her turn, I shove off the stool and step past the jukebox to the washroom. One washroom has the word "Kings" etched into the door; the other, appropriately enough, says "Queens."

In the kings' room I wash my face with cold water and gaze into the mirror. My hairline has just begun to creep up past my forehead and, if I look hard enough, I can see several strands of gray.

Getting old, I say silently to the figure in the mirror, but you're getting through this. She's gone just a few hours and you're back on your feet again. I wonder how I left the house -- reasonably clean, if I remember right. Decent enough to bring someone home. I'm sure Barb can deal with it.

I'm already playing the rest of the evening in my mind -- Barb and I making our way through the house, dropping clothes all the way like in a movie; the two of us in mine and Lynn's bed, Barb on her knees with me stroking deep into her from behind --

I snap out of it, throw a little more water on my face, dry it off with a paper towel, and step out.

When I get out of the washroom, the bar seems a little quieter. I look toward the end of the "U", by the games. The girls are gone. Chris and Lit are back where we were sitting before. I am stunned.

"What the fuck?" I say, when I take my seat next to Chris.

"That girl Mary started to get sick so they had to rush her out of here," Lit says. "She was pretty ungrateful, too. She kept calling Carly and Barb bitches and piss-poor friends and a whole bunch of other shit. I'm surprised you didn't hear it." He gestures to Chuck to bring me a beer.

"I guess I was in too deep a conversation with myself to hear anything else."

Lit looks at me quizzically, then goes on. "I got that Carly's phone number. Maybe you can call her and get Barb's number."

"Nah." I try to sound like I don't care. "She's got a boyfriend. It wouldn't have gone anywhere."

"Right."

I start to sip the beer that has been placed before me. "It's just that -- you know those dreams where you're about to get it on with some beautiful woman and then she just evaporates before your eyes?"

I can see Lit kind of rolling his eyes at Chris. I used to talk like this a lot when I was younger.

I set down the mug. "Well, anyway, that's what it feels like now. Like they were a dream and have just vanished into the night."

Lit takes a deep drag on his cigarette. "I guess. Whatever."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Lit's jukebox selections to play out. While Springsteen sings about being on fire, I think about Barb. And Lynn. And Janie.

Lit puts his mug down with a little emphasis, tugs out another cigarette, and hunches over toward Chris and me. "I've got an idea," he says, and I can pretty much predict what he's going to say next. I am not wrong. "I've got an idea. Let's go look at some tits." He leans even further forward and hisses out: "Afff-rro-dee-tees!"

"You know you're mispronouncing it, right?"

Lit says it again defiantly, loud enough for the bar to hear: "Afff-ro-dee-tees!"

I turn to Chris, who shrugs noncommittally. I mull over the idea for a minute, then pick up my beer. "What the hell. Why not? Let's finish up and get out of here."

# # # # #

"I haven't been out here in close to a year," Lit says, as he makes the left turn onto the long, dark road that plunges into the thick woods. We've all piled into his car, leaving ours in Hucks' parking lot. He has pulled a half-case of beer from his trunk; Chris hands out cans from the back seat.

Aphrodite's is a strip joint about fifteen or twenty miles away from Huck's, an island of gaudy lights resting on the top of a hill overlooking the Des Plaines River. I've only been there a few times, honestly, but there was a period in which Lit was practically on a first name basis with the girls and the bouncers, earning frequent flyer miles all over the place.

I remember one time a bunch of us came up here at Janie's request, because she wanted to see what it was about the place that got guys'rocks off. She ended up getting so wasted on kamikazes that she pulled off her sweater and it was all we could do to keep her from jumping up on the stage and dancing in her bra and panties.

"I miss Janie," I think out loud, grimacing at the taste of the beer. Lit is a warm-beer guy, but not me.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Chris says from the rear. "Heard from her?"

"Not in a while. Last I heard, she was running a restaurant in L.A. making a shitload of money.

Lit pops open his beer and it sprays all over his dashboard. "Shit." He brings the can to his lips and sucks down as much of the foam as possible. "Dan, you messed up. You could have gone with her. She wanted you to."

I look out at the passing trees, dark and colorless in the night. I really don't want to think about it. Bad choice. I had my first teaching job and didn't want to leave and I really thought she would only be gone for a few months. Not that I thought she would fail when she got the job offer; I just didn't see her staying gone.

Then, once it had been made clear she was staying out there, I toyed with the idea of moving but just kept putting it off until I realized I wasn't going anywhere and ended up back with Lynn. It seems like every time something came between me and Janie, I drift back to Lynn.

I roll down the window, toss my empty can to the side of the road, and let the air blast across my face. It's cooled off a little but there are enough traces of warmth to keep things springlike. Besides, even if it's cold, I need the fresh air.

# # # # #

"Here we go," says Lit triumphantly. In the distance, to the right, bright yellow lights stand out against the darkness of the wooded two-lane road. As we get closer I can make out the white sign just before the driveway that announces: "APHRODITE'S LIVE DANCERS NIGHTLY."

He makes the sharp right turn and guns up the steep incline to the club's parking lot. He swings around to the last parking lane, which is dangerously close to a drop-off back onto the road. While Chris finishes his beer, Lit opens his wallet to count his money. Then we roll up the windows and step out of the car.

Off to the west, beyond the river that snakes below us, white flashes of lightning strobe the sky. The wind is picking up, blowing bits of paper and empty cans across the parking lot.

There are not as many people inside the club as you would think from seeing the parking lot. Two tables are filled with five or six guys at each and the bar along the front wall is filled, but most of the tables, barely visible in the red and blue light, are either empty or have one or two guys sitting at them. To our right as we come in is the stage, at this moment empty. Two guys are sitting right in front with inch-thick stacks of singles before them.

We hand the cover charge -- ten bucks a head -- to a fat man with hair so badly dyed its gray roots make him resemble a skunk. Sitting on a stool next to him is a blonde in lacy pink lingerie. She's hunched over, intently examining the heel of her shoe, seemingly oblivious to all around her.

We make our way to a table between the bar and the stage and, before we are able to sit, are approached by another blonde, the waitress, wearing too-tight blue jean shorts and a black halter that emphasizes the valley between her breasts. Lit orders a round of beers and we take our seats.

From somewhere in the darkness behind us booms the DJ's voice: "And now, on stage, it's.....Vegggggassssss!"

Vegas is a tall dark-skinned girl who looks like she might have turned eighteen maybe a month or so ago. As she steps up to the stage she stumbles slightly, pauses, shrugs, and kicks off her shoes. She is wearing what would seem to be a glittering black evening dress with a slit on the right that ends at her waist. As the opening chords of some generic disco song fill the room she turns away from us, grabs the center pole, bends over, and gyrates her ass.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Lit shouts, as the waitress brings our drinks. Chris leans back in his chair, arms folded, trying to pretend to be complacent about the show. Lit leans toward us, his voice barely distinguishable over the booming music. "Two months from now. Just before I get married. You guys gotta take me up here for my bachelor party. Got it, best man?" I nod without saying anything.

Up on stage, Vegas has undone the shoulder strap on her dress. The top half of the gown falls to her waist. Her black bra is barely discernible against the darkness of her skin.

I look around the place, my eyes having finally accustomed themselves to the darkness. Six or seven girls in various states of undress are working the club. The table two rows away from us seems to be the one with the big spenders; three girls are sitting with them. One of them, a woman with jet-black hair, junkie-white skin, and wearing a yellow kimono open down the front, has her arm around one of the guys and is whispering something in his ear. He reaches over and puts his fingertips on the inside of her thigh. I can't make out what she is saying, but it's a pretty safe bet that she's asking him to go downstairs with her.

I crane my neck just a little to check out the far end of the stage. There's a stairway there that goes down to a lower level with washrooms on one side and a larger, partitioned-off area on the other. A couple is coming up the stairs now; a short, heavyish black woman with dyed blond hair is holding the hand of an old bald man, maybe sixty-five or so, wearing rumpled gray pants, a green shirt, and a brown sport coat. His face and forehead are red from exertion, and not from the exertion of walking up the stairs.

When they get to the top of the stairs she leans over, gives him a quick kiss on the lips, takes him to the bar, deposits him at an empty stool, and goes to join the blonde at the door. She bums a cigarette from the host and lights it; I'm not quite sure where the matches came from.

"Oh, yeah!" Lit shouts. Vegas is swinging around the pole now, wearing only short black panties -- panties, for some reason, not a g-string -- that barely cover her ass. She has snow-cone tits that jut out of her chest like little funnels. Lit pops out of his seat and steps up to the stage with a five in his hand. Vegas breaks her routine long enough to move over to him and let him put the bill in her garter, high up on her left leg. She leans over, whispers something, and licks his ear.

He is smiling broadly as he rejoins us. "Best idea I had tonight. Feeling better?"

I gesture to the waitress for more drinks. "I guess."

Lit nods toward the stage. "That's my girl. Right there. Vegas. Man!" Vegas has her back to the audience again. The panties are at her feet; she steps out of them and turns to face us in one quick move. Her pubic hair is a landing strip barely discernable in the shadows between her thighs.

"You guys want some company?"

Two girls are standing at our table. One is a tall light-skinned black woman with dark hair cascading down her back and wearing a yellow teddy; the other is a shortish white girl with frizzy brown hair that gives her a "wild woman" look. She is wearing a tiny red bikini with little red balls hanging from the top. Before either of us can answer, Lit pulls out the empty chairs at our sides and they sit down.

The waitress magically appears at my elbow. "You guys want to buy Star and Angelina a drink? Some champagne?"

Lit nods; the waitress leaves. The blonde who was at the door is on stage now; Vegas squats on the edge of the stage, gathering her clothes. She glances toward us and Lit waves. She holds up her forefinger and disappears behind the stage.

"So, how much is the champagne?" I ask the black girl.

"Sixty bucks. Thanks a lot. We were hoping some nice guys would come in." She leans forward and smiles. On her right breast is the tattooed word DIVA. "I'm Star. This

is Angelina." Lit takes their hands, turns them over, and kisses their palms in an exaggerated manner.

"You wanted Vegas over here, right?" Angelina asks Lit.

"Yeah. I think she's coming."

"I hope so," she answers, laughing as if she is funny as hell.

The waitress brings out a bottle of champagne big enough to fill maybe four glasses. Chris and I both reach for our wallets but Lit waves us away and hands her four neatly folded twenties.

"What brings you out here?" Star asks, as Lit fills the glasses. "Celebrating?"

Lit points to me over the fake plastic champagne glasses. "Our buddy here just broke up with his girlfriend. We're celebrating his singlehood."

I just sip the champagne, which tastes suspiciously like ginger ale.

Star moves her chair over to me so that our legs touch. There is a bruise on her inner thigh. Her sandals are so tight they leave dark imprints on her feet. "Maybe I can make you feel better."

I put down the glass and go back to my beer. "Maybe." It wouldn't be the worst idea I ever had. She's sexy and exotic-looking, and the thought of her naked on one of those sofas downstairs, straddling me, working only for my pleasure with no aggravation afterwards does quite a bit more than just intrigue me.

By the time Lit has emptied the contents of the bottle Vegas has joined us. Instead of the faux evening dress she has put on a long gray sweater that stops about three inches below here waist. When she sits down I see that she has elected not to put the panties back on.

"You looked great up there," Lit says, handing her the last glass.

"Thanks." She brings her right hand under the table to Lit's lap. Lit shifts in his seat and moves a little closer to her.

"You guys wanna party downstairs?" Angelina gets right to the point.

I laugh. "All three of us?"

Chris just shakes his head. "I'm just here for the show."

The blonde on the stage, who the DJ has announced is "Diiiaaaaammoonnnd!"

is naked now, and three guys who look like identical overweight triplets are elbowing each other to get to the stage, singles in hand.

Star puts her hand on my leg, her fingertips caressing my inner thigh, a fraction of an inch from my crotch, causing just the reaction she wants. I shift a little to keep it from looking too obvious. "How about you, baby?" she asks.

I look her up and down and consider it more. She has a nice sweet-looking face with dark brown eyes, lips just the right size and look for oral delights, perfectly formed breasts, and fingers that are right now feeling pretty damn good. "I don't know. How much?"

She leans still closer and clears her throat. "A hundred fifty for a half hour. Two hundred for a whole hour. And you get the whole time, not just until you come." She moves away a little to sip her champagne and glances across at Vegas, who now has her free hand in Lit's open shirt. For just a second I can see the bored look on Vegas's face as she quickly winks at Star. I feel a little sorry for Angelina, sitting next to Chris, like two high school kids not particularly interested in the dance.

Star brings her lips to my ear again. "What do you say?"

I bring the beer to my lips and take a sip. It tastes just a little bitter. Then I take a long breath. "I don't think so. Maybe next time."