When we stop just outside the doors of the bar, Grace gives each of us a quick once-over.
“Goddamn, we look hot,” she declares. Her curves are on full display tonight in a long, silky, pale yellow dress that looks like it was made with her in mind. She’s a curvier, dark-haired Andie from “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” with long wisps of hair framing her face in a messy updo and a large, faux yellow diamond necklace resting just above her cleavage.
“Hell yeah, we do,” Olivia agrees, doing a little twirl to show off her outfit. She’s a knockout in an all-white version of Vivian’s iconic dress in“Pretty Woman,” the one she’s wearing when she meets Richard Gere’s character on the street. It’s very un-Olivia-like, with the cutouts showing most of her tanned torso, and the bright red lipstick that matches mine. The white boots she’s wearing come to a stop a few inches above her knees, making her nearly as tall as Grace tonight. She had even curled the ends of her shoulder-length blonde hair under, so it resembles the wig Julia Roberts’ character wears in the movie.
The headband stuck on top of her blonde locks was all Grace’s doing, though. It’s bedazzled with fake pearls, and pink, glittery letters that read “Bride” stick out from the top. It’s a miracle there are no appendages affixed to it, but Olivia had a strictno penisespolicy for tonight.
“Picture time. Strike a pose,” Grace instructs her. Olivia sticks out a hip and plants a hand on it, using the other to blow a kiss at the camera.
“You have quite literally never looked hotter,” Grace tells her, examining the photo. She turns the screen so Olivia can see. “Cam is going to swallow his own tongue when he sees it.”
Olivia grins and gives her the OK to send it. “Group photo,” she announces, grabbing my hand and tugging me to her side. Grace asks a kind stranger to take a few photos of us and we pose on the sidewalk, blocking the way for people passing by as we throw our arms around each other, then stick our hips out and blow kisses like Olivia did.
Once Grace is satisfied that we’ve taken enough pictures, we thank the stranger who took them and make our way over to the short line to get into Lucky Jo’s. I’m not used to walking around in heels like Grace is and I’m careful to watch my step.
I feel like a little kid playing dress up. I’m not showing nearly as much skin as Olivia, but itfeelslike I am. In my faux leather leggings and off-the-shoulder black top that hugs my body, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more on display than I am tonight. I have a lot more hair than Olivia Newton John, but Grace helped me curl and tease it, creating a wild, messy look that I can’t quite decide if I love or hate. Red heels and lips, big gold hoops and a smoky eye complete the look.
“Too bad Declan won’t get to see that outfit in person,” Grace muses, looking me over. “I bet he’d rip those pants clean down the middle to get to you.”
“Grace,” I chide, my eyes darting over to Gail.
“Oh, honey,” she laughs. “I’ve heard much worse, especially from you three.”
I grin, just like I have every time I’ve looked at her over the last hour. She’s gorgeous tonight, youthful and glowing. She’s wearing the iconic colorful dress Jenna Rink wears to her work party in “13 Going on 30,” which Grace found from an online thrift store that she loves. Her hair is in the same updo, though we added some butterfly clips because, well, they’re cute. A big butterfly pendant dangling from a delicate silver chain rests on her freckled chest.
“Bachelorette night?” the bouncer asks, eyeing Olivia’s headband. Almost immediately, though, his eyes drift downward, lingering on the cutouts in her dress, and the stretch of skin between the short hem and the top of her boots.
“Eyes up here, buddy,” Grace snaps, waving her hand near Olivia’s head.
The bouncer jolts, his eyes snapping up to Grace and then back to Olivia, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry, ma’am,” he tells her. Grace groans.
“I’d rather you perv on my friend than call us ma’am,” she mutters.
“Hey,” Olivia protests, elbowing her.
The bouncer chuckles, shaking his head. “You ladies can go on in,” he says, waving us off when we try to pay the cover. “Have a good time, and congratulations.”
We thank our new, no longer pervy friend and make our way inside, where we immediately make a beeline for the bar.
“First round is on Elsie’s man,” Grace reminds us, yelling to be heard over the music.
“What a nice guy he is,” Gail says, sliding an arm around my shoulder and hugging me close. “I’m so happy for you.”
“It’s still early,” I remind her. “We’re not, like, boyfriend and girlfriend.” It sounds childish, my protest that Declan isn’t myboyfriend. “We’re seeing where it goes,” I add.
“Whatever you say,” Gail says, chuckling.
I have to remind myself there’s no reason to raise my hackles with Gail, of all people. But it’s a reflex, reminding people that this thing between Declan and I is still new and tenuous. I’m afraid that if people get carried away and put all their eggs in the Declan basket, I won’t be the only one disappointed when they crack.
I don’t want to go through that again. Not after last time.
“What can I get you?” the bartender, who I think is the younger sister of a girl we went to school with, asks us.
“A round of tequila shots,” Grace tells her. “As many as fifty dollars will get us.” Olivia tries to protest but Grace holds up a hand to stop her. “It’s your bachelorette, or as close to one as you’ll let us get. Tequila is a must.”
A minute later, the bartender sets eight shots down in front of us along with a small bowl of lime wedges. We each throw down a few dollars for a tip and grab a shot and a lime. Gail doesn’t grab one, but she still winces as she peers down into the tiny glasses.
“I haven’t taken a shot since Olivia graduated from college and you three bullied me into it.”
