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“Let’s fuckin’ go!” I cry out with a laugh.
“That’s the spirit!” shouts Brett, giddy.
Aubergines is accessed by an alley between two buildings, its secret entrance blinking with the neon light of a giant eggplant for a logo. On the way in, I’m the only one who’s carded, and I don’t hear the end of it as we dive into the dimly-lit bar.
Which I very soon discover is also a strip club.
There is a small sea of purple-and-black tables and purple-cushioned chairs filled with loud men whistling, chatting, and watching. A catwalk juts out from a wide stage along the dark back wall, cutting through the tables. Dancing on that catwalk, a pair of guys are halfway out of their sailor uniforms, the waistbands of their pants lined with dollar bills.
Brett is loud as he cuts a path for us through a crowd of men up to the stage, where I’m given a front-row view of the action. The nearest dancer catches my eye, winks, then demonstrates his talent of twerking in a pair of skintight white sailor pants.
“Like what you see?” asks Brett with a nudge. Lex and Omar have gone to the bar to get drinks. “Your mouth hasn’t closed since we came in!”
I snap my mouth shut, then laugh. “Well, are you looking at the same guys I’m looking at??”
“Yeah, dude, I am!” He throws an arm around my neck, pulling me in for half a headlock and half a hug. “Hey, we can do this every fucking night. I mean, isn’t that the point of being alive? To live it up? Wait, what the fuck is he ordering?” he blurts as he stares past me toward the bar. “Hey! Hell no! Take those fruity-ass drinks away! Nah!”
He leaves my side at once, and I just laugh, finding it all funny. Somehow, I already know I’m safe with my roommate and his friends. They will look out for me, no matter how wasted I get.
My pocket buzzes.
I suddenly remember I have a phone. When I lift it clumsily up to my face, I have to squint and wipe my eyes to see the message clearly.
My heart leaps. It’s a text from someone who apparently saved himself in my contacts as “That Awesome Alan Guy You Met At The Airport” that reads: Had a great time meeting you today. Hope you like your roommate. Meet up sometime soon for a bite?
I have to read it ten times in a row to make sure my buzzed eyes are getting it right. Then I slap my phone to my chest, deliriously happy.
Now what do I do? How do I respond?
I barely give it any thought as I start tapping out a reply, grinning the whole time, and send it.
Lex fills the vacuum left by Brett, two drinks in his hand. He gives one to me. “Vodka tonic,” he says, then nods at my phone. “Whose hot sext got you dreamy-faced? You already got a few numbers tonight? There were some hotties at Poison Ivy.”
“It’s a guy I met at the airport,” I tell him. “He was really cute and let me share his Uber, since I apparently can’t hail a taxi for shit. He even paid.”
“Your Georgian accent comes out more when you’re drunk,” Lex points out.
“It’s Kansas,” I reply, taking a sip of my drink.
“Let me give you a couple of city lessons. First, never drink something in a club if you didn’t see it get poured in front of you. That’s how you end up strapped to someone’s bed with a rubber foot-long up your tooter. Your drink is fine,” he adds as I stare at my glass, frozen and wide-eyed. “You can trust the three of us. We’re basically family, now.”
“Uh …”
“Second, and this doubles as a heads-up: Brett is going to try and turn you into his little bro. He’s got a kind of bro complex, if you haven’t picked up on that yet. He inexplicably both fucks and friend-zones himself with every guy he meets. I think it’s from his fraternity days. Are you keeping up or are you too drunk for this kind of conversation?”
I give him a thumbs-up that nearly knocks over my drink, and a wink of reassurance.
Lex shrugs. “Fine. And third, and perhaps the most important: Never—and I mean never—be late with your rent. Brett’s last roommate was a disaster, and that coupled with Brett’s own immaturity … Let’s just say that Dante wasn’t happy. Next slip up and Brett is out of that apartment he loves so much. He won’t say this, but he’s counting on you to be a good roommate and to … well … balance him out. You’re his last hope, Kansas boy.”
Everyone keeps calling me that. “Got it, Lexicon!” I assure him cheerily.
“So what’s your job?” he asks. “Let’s hear it.”
