Strip Me Bare (32 page)

“Alana, what is that on your hand?”

“Huh? What?” I play dumb.

Emily grabs my wrist, “Is that what I think
it is?”

“Well what do you think it is?” I ask
sarcastically.

“Alana!” Emily’s voice pitches as she yanks
me into hug, “You’re getting married!”

“Squeal louder Emily, I don’t think my father
heard you in New Jersey.”

“Oh my God, your father.”

“He’s blessed off on my relationship.
Everything will be fine. Ryan and I will just elope to avoid the
spectacle.”

The honorable Judge Remington’s daughter
marrying a male stripper? The humiliation. I wish I’d had a camera
to capture my father’s expression when I told him Ryan and I were
moving to Las Vegas, and why. What a conversation that was. But I
made a pact with myself. No more lying or sneaking around. This is
my life and I’m going to live it my way, with the person I want,
doing what I love. And for now, he seems to be okay with that.

I’m not going to sit here and pretend that my
father and I have this wonderful new relationship now, we don’t.
But it’s definitely different from the way it was before. We
communicate more, mostly through texts and emails, since that seems
to be the way he feels most comfortable talking to me. Which is
fine. It’s interaction. And over the last few months I’ve learned a
lot about my father. That underneath that stringent, stoic exterior
is a man who’s generous and eccentric and complex.

He said my mother was the only person who
ever loved him. But I don’t think that’s true. My father has plenty
of people who love him. I think she was the only one who understood
him. And I really want to understand him too.

“Elope?” Emily puts her hands on her hips.
“That might be fun. We do live in the perfect city for it,” she
says with a cocky smile.

“I hear the Little White Wedding Chapel is
nice,” I say as I grab her hand and pull her to the door.

“And I know the perfect place for your
bachelorette party,” she laughs loudly.

Um, I don
’
t think so.

I take a deep breath as I pass through the
corridor, remembering the last time I went to a male revue and the
metamorphosis that transpired. Hopefully tonight won’t be so life
altering, just some good fun.

We get inside and I’m amazed at how different
this Culture is compared to New York’s. There’s no one hanging from
the ceiling or dancing on elevated stripper poles. There is
however, a huge stage and a host of hot, half-naked men walking
around.

Emily and I make our way down a few levels;
there are three large staircases, one in the middle and one on each
side of the semicircular room, and find a spot with a close enough
view. The club is packed to capacity and the tables and chairs in
front of the stage are already filled with eager and excited women.
We order a drink at the bar with the music pumping and people
mingling all around us.

“Are you nervous?” Emily asks.

“Yes, this is a big deal.”

“I know, look at this place, Culture in New
York is nothing like this.”

“Seriously.” I take a sip of my drink,
engrossed by the environment. Then everything goes dark for a split
second. A spotlight comes on, illuminating a shirtless guy with
loose jeans and an exaggerated fauxhawk standing on stage. He
introduces himself as Sammy, then juices the crowd with some dirty
jokes. He’s actually pretty funny. Next, he addresses the women on
the floor about the Do’s and Don’ts of the show, since they’re the
ones who are going to get hands on.
There are way too may Dos
than Don’ts for my liking.

A few moments later the whistling of
Moves
Like Jagger
streams through the speakers and the stage is
overtaken by six guys in leather pants and matching vests. Strobe
lights flash as they move in a choreographed fashion infecting
everyone in the room; ladies scream and dance as they embrace the
men who can most definitely
Move Like Jagger.

“Where’s Ryan?” Emily asks, noticing the same
thing I am. I see Divan and Logan - who Emily can’t look at without
blushing - but no Ryan.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, just as a burst of
pyrotechnics grabs my attention. The entire stage halts as someone
plunges from the ceiling on a line like a teardrop. Then the music
explodes with Christina’s voice and Ryan starts ripping it up. My
mouth falls open.
Talk about an entrance.
I look on stunned,
he’s just so freakin’ awesome. It’s as if I’m watching a bigger,
better, amplified version of Jack the Stripper. The audience is on
its feet as he twists and turns and straight-up owns the stage. I
stare out with all these emotions running through me as Ryan
hypnotizes the room; I’m happy and impressed and a little
embarrassed, but above all I can’t believe how far we’ve come. I
roll my engagement ring between my middle and pinky fingers,
remembering the summer Ryan and I met; a free-spirited boy and an
emotionally unavailable girl. Who could ever have imagined that
those two people would end up here?

A princess not in love with a white knight or
charming prince, but a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. A guy
with swarms of women falling at his feet, but who only has eyes for
her.

It’s the perfect fairytale ending.

It’s
my
perfect fairytale ending.

Love and Laughter and
Happily Ever After

Six years later

I stare at my name on the door.

Alana Pierce, Junior Partner.

It still makes me smile, the Pierce part
and
the partner part.

I look at my watch; I have to hustle or I’m
going to be late. I scurry out of Remington, Anderson, Smith and
Steele, waving hastily at the receptionists behind the desk. I
press the star key for the lobby and am whooshed down to the first
floor.

I nod to Stanley, my driver, as I hop into
the black town car waiting for me on the street.

“Traffic should be light into Jersey Mrs.
Pierce, it’s still early,” Stanley says, business as usual.

Yes,
Jersey.

“That was the plan,” I smile at him as I pull
out my iPad and look over some work; I have an hour to kill.

Stanley pulls the car up out front, nodding
politely as he opens the door for me. “See you Monday.”

“Yes, thank you,” I respond graciously.

I hurry up the walkway, stick the key in the
lock and turn the knob, opening the door to the sounds of splashing
and giggling and one very naked baby running along the upstairs
hallway.

I walk up the staircase in my heels and black
pant suit and am met by a big grin and high-pitched shriek,
“Mommy!”

“Hi baby,” I pick up my daughter and swing
her in the air as I walk into the bathroom. Ryan is sitting on the
toilet seat, towel-drying our son. Savannah Ray and Sean Merrick
John were born two years ago on a warm August night, Savannah at
11:58 PM, Sean at 12:03 AM.

Not only did Ryan and I get pregnant the
first time we tried, his super-sperm fertilized two of my eggs,
which resulted in two little people with pale blonde hair and
cobalt blue eyes; twins with different birthdays.

“Hi.” I lean down and give him a quick peck
on the lips.

“Hey beautiful,” he responds as Sean squirms
in his arms.

Ryan and I spent three years in Las Vegas. We
planned to elope, but my father, of all people, insisted otherwise.
To our surprise, he gave us a beautiful wedding, but the biggest
shock came when he found out I was pregnant and gifted us my
childhood home. I still get teary-eyed when I think about it. He
was adamant that the house was too big for just him and it was time
for a family to fill it up again. He said my mother would have
wanted it that way.

There was no refusing after that.

We decide to move home six months into my
pregnancy. It was time; Ryan was getting tired of the grueling
schedule and physical demands, and I was really starting to miss
New York. The law firm I was working at was great, but I felt like
I’d peaked. My days started to become monotonous and I was ready
for a change.

I can still see Ryan kneeling down and
kissing my stomach by the window in our bedroom before he left for
his last show; his platinum wedding band contrasting against my
black shirt while the lights of Vegas sparkled in the background.
As sexy and alluring as Ryan was then, it’s nothing compared to the
way I see him now. He has definitely kept his promise. He’s the
father he never had and the husband his mother was cheated out of.
But there will always be a piece of him that’s missing.

I put Savannah in her pajamas, a two-piece
set with little black and pink hearts and the word Diva written
across the chest. I pull her hair back and clip it away from her
face as she bops and sings in her little tiny voice. We named her
after our mothers; Savannah for my mom, Rayleen for Ryan’s. I pick
my sweet girl up off the changing table and place her on the floor.
She darts out of her pink and gray room with the butterfly mobile
hanging by the window and then down the stairs, no doubt on a
mission to find Ryan or Sean or both. I pick up the clothes in the
bathroom and wash out the bubbles left in the tub. When I get
downstairs I hear Elmo singing in the living room, and find Sean
and Savannah standing on the couch shaking their bon bons with
their shirts hiked up to their chins.

“Um, Ryan?” I say as he digs in the
refrigerator. “I think more than just twins run in your
family.”

He looks over and catches a glimpse at what
I’m witnessing. “Oh no.” His face drops and I laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll encourage ballet.”

Ryan cocks an eyebrow, “Hip hop for
Sean.”

“Whatever you want,” I concede. “We just have
to make sure he keeps his clothes on,” I joke.

Ryan just shakes his head amused, then goes
back to poking around the fridge.

A moment later Emily teeters through the
front door. She’s seven months pregnant with her third child. She’s
finally found her calling, motherhood. Together, she and Alex have
Alyssa and Aaron and I think they’re naming this one Amelia. I
asked her if she was planning to start a reality TV show.

“This may be my third kid, but I will never
know how you carried two of these things at the same time.” She
kisses me hello, and as soon as Sean and Savannah see her they make
a mad dash across the living room, screaming and giggling for their
aunt. Ryan walks over with two juice boxes in one hand and a light
jacket in the other. He’s dressed in jeans and a black sweater with
a pin-striped button up underneath; the shirt tails are hanging out
and the sleeves are rolled up his forearms.

It’s October 15th, Ryan’s birthday and
although this is supposed to be a happy day, there’s always a
melancholy undertone. We kiss Sean and Savannah goodbye and leave
them in Emily’s capable hands. We get into our car and drive
quietly to the cemetery with Ryan’s thoughts far, far away.

We park and walk up the grassy hillside to
Sean’s grave. The weather is on the cold side, but the sun is still
out and the colors of the leaves are just starting to change.
There’s a bouquet of flowers and a few small baseball figurines
lying by his headstone. After Sean’s death Rayleen hit rock bottom.
She spent years in and out of rehab and therapy trying to cope with
the loss. It was only after the twins were born that she started to
somewhat manage her life. She attends AA and hasn’t had a drink in
nearly a year. She visits every day. Every, single, day, she comes
to Sean’s grave. And now that I have children of my own I can
sympathize with her grief.

Ryan kneels down on the grass and it’s the
same each year; a purge of tears. My heart splinters every time I
witness it. It’s the only time he allows himself to cry for Sean. I
encourage him to visit more often, but he says once a year is all
he can take.

When he’s finally finished he rises and I hug
him tightly.

Then we stand silently, hand in hand, looking
over Sean’s grave. Ryan snivels, “When I was eight I got in some
trouble at school.” I look up at him surprised; he usually doesn’t
say much when we’re here. “For two weeks they made me eat lunch by
myself and stay in at recess, which is pretty devastating when
you’re eight years old,” he takes a deep breath, “but Sean snuck in
the classroom every day just so I didn’t have to be alone. He broke
all the rules even then.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “That’s how
I try to remember him, an innocent eight year old kid who’s still
my brother.”

“Ryan he will always be your brother,” I run
my hand down his arm, “and he loved you, he just didn’t know how to
show it.”

“It just makes me so angry that it had to end
like this. That he’ll never know our children, or have a life of
his own.”