months. But bouts of laughter earlier in the night had eventually turned into tears of self-loathing, and finally to steely-eyed determination. D.J. had confessed, to the two women who knew her best, how much she lagged behind her contemporaries and how inadequate she felt. She’d admitted to feeling stuck, as though her life was on hold, still waiting to really get started. So with their can-do, problem-solving attitudes, plus an impressive amount of alcohol, they conspired to change all that tonight. It was time to take action.
“You don’t have to do this,” Terri pointed out as they hesitated at the front of the bar. “It’s a crazy idea.”
D.J. was unwilling to hear any last-minute voices of reason. “It’s a crazy idea whose time has come,” she said. “I’m twenty-one and I haven’t been a teenager yet.”
“This seems like a terrible place to become one.”
At that moment, a girl at a nearby table wearing a cropped tee and bikini bottoms accidentally, or on purpose, poured beer down her chest, revealing her breasts in a way that was more exposed than actual nakedness.
The men around her laughed, cheered and applauded the behavior.
Terri efficiently guided them away from the scene.
“I could do something like that,” D.J. suggested.
“You won’t have to,” she assured D.J. “You look good enough that setting your hair on fire won’t be necessary to draw attention.”
D.J. did look good. In fact, she looked amazing. Terri and Heather had made sure of that. The makeup alone had taken nearly a half hour, and a second bottle of champagne, to apply. Her typically ponytailed hair was not only hanging long and loose down her back, but Heather had sprayed in some shiny blond highlights. She’d also loaned her “lucky” sequined bikini top. The glittery eye-catcher drew attention to D.J.’s not completely insubstantial assets. The leather skirt was Terri’s idea.
“When all the other girls are in skimpy swimsuits,” she’d said, “a skirt can be an advantage, especially if it is short enough.”
The one D.J. was wearing couldn’t have been much shorter. And the five-inch Plexiglas heels they’d gotten her as a birthday gift made her legs look a mile long.
“Those shoes definitely say ‘Do me!’ loud and clear,” Terri told her. “If a guy can’t read that, he’s too stupid for you.”
“It’s the stupid ones I want to attract,” D.J. said. “A smart guy would be able to see right through me.”
“No worries there,” Heather assured her. “On spring break, all the guys are stupid.”
As they were weaving through the crowd of hot, sweaty bodies smelling of beer, seaweed and suntan oil, D.J. caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall behind the bar. If she’d not been standing between Heather and Terri, she’d never have recognized herself. That was good. That was very good. Tonight she was someone else. Dull, boring Dorothy Jarrow was back at school tonight, nose stuck in a book, undoubtedly. This sexy-looking stranger wouldn’t dream of wasting her last night of spring break that way. This stranger was some ridiculous girl-gone-wild.
She knew she could act. She’d won a major role in the Hockaday/St. Mark’s Fine Arts production of Oklahoma. Of course, it was her singing voice that won them over, but she’d been able to competently embody her character. She enjoyed acting, pretending to be someone else. And she could do that here, tonight, in this place.
With resolve, D.J. raised her chin and flashed a big, fake smile on her surroundings. If a woman was looking for a good time, half of the search was to act like she was having one.
Terri ushered them to the far side of the room where a row of booths was raised two steps above the main floor, giving the occupants a clear view of all that was happening below. She went over to a group of four very drunk, slightly sunburned girls who were already seated in the choice booth.
“Which one of you is
“You don’t have to do this,” Terri pointed out as they hesitated at the front of the bar. “It’s a crazy idea.”
D.J. was unwilling to hear any last-minute voices of reason. “It’s a crazy idea whose time has come,” she said. “I’m twenty-one and I haven’t been a teenager yet.”
“This seems like a terrible place to become one.”
At that moment, a girl at a nearby table wearing a cropped tee and bikini bottoms accidentally, or on purpose, poured beer down her chest, revealing her breasts in a way that was more exposed than actual nakedness.
The men around her laughed, cheered and applauded the behavior.
Terri efficiently guided them away from the scene.
“I could do something like that,” D.J. suggested.
“You won’t have to,” she assured D.J. “You look good enough that setting your hair on fire won’t be necessary to draw attention.”
D.J. did look good. In fact, she looked amazing. Terri and Heather had made sure of that. The makeup alone had taken nearly a half hour, and a second bottle of champagne, to apply. Her typically ponytailed hair was not only hanging long and loose down her back, but Heather had sprayed in some shiny blond highlights. She’d also loaned her “lucky” sequined bikini top. The glittery eye-catcher drew attention to D.J.’s not completely insubstantial assets. The leather skirt was Terri’s idea.
“When all the other girls are in skimpy swimsuits,” she’d said, “a skirt can be an advantage, especially if it is short enough.”
The one D.J. was wearing couldn’t have been much shorter. And the five-inch Plexiglas heels they’d gotten her as a birthday gift made her legs look a mile long.
“Those shoes definitely say ‘Do me!’ loud and clear,” Terri told her. “If a guy can’t read that, he’s too stupid for you.”
“It’s the stupid ones I want to attract,” D.J. said. “A smart guy would be able to see right through me.”
“No worries there,” Heather assured her. “On spring break, all the guys are stupid.”
As they were weaving through the crowd of hot, sweaty bodies smelling of beer, seaweed and suntan oil, D.J. caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall behind the bar. If she’d not been standing between Heather and Terri, she’d never have recognized herself. That was good. That was very good. Tonight she was someone else. Dull, boring Dorothy Jarrow was back at school tonight, nose stuck in a book, undoubtedly. This sexy-looking stranger wouldn’t dream of wasting her last night of spring break that way. This stranger was some ridiculous girl-gone-wild.
She knew she could act. She’d won a major role in the Hockaday/St. Mark’s Fine Arts production of Oklahoma. Of course, it was her singing voice that won them over, but she’d been able to competently embody her character. She enjoyed acting, pretending to be someone else. And she could do that here, tonight, in this place.
With resolve, D.J. raised her chin and flashed a big, fake smile on her surroundings. If a woman was looking for a good time, half of the search was to act like she was having one.
Terri ushered them to the far side of the room where a row of booths was raised two steps above the main floor, giving the occupants a clear view of all that was happening below. She went over to a group of four very drunk, slightly sunburned girls who were already seated in the choice booth.
“Which one of you is
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