Madam Of The House. Donna Birdsell

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      “You wish,” Cecilia said.

      Grace pulled a bunch of pictures out of her purse and passed them around.

      “Oh, God. I remember this skirt,” Roseanna said. “I couldn’t get one thigh in there, now.”

      “Sure you could,” Dannie said. “It would be a little tight, though.”

      “Ha, ha.” Roseanna passed the pictures to Cecilia. “Hey, remember when we used to play Truth or Dare in study hall?”

      “Yeah. I think Mr. Montrose almost had a heart attack,” said Cecilia. “You’d always dare me to lean over his desk to ask him a question.”

      “He couldn’t stand up for the rest of the class,” Dannie said.

      “In his defense, you did have some pretty nice boobs,” said Roseanna.

      “To Mr. Montrose.” Grace raised the shot the waiter had just delivered. They all toasted Mr. Montrose and blew out their Flaming Togas.

      “Let’s play,” said Roseanna.

      “Play what?”

      “Truth or Dare.”

      “Here?” Grace said. “You’re crazy.”

      “It’ll be fun,” said Dannie.

      “Why not?” said Cecilia.

      Music thumped in the background. Motley Crüe belted out, “Girls, Girls, Girls.”

      “What the hell,” Grace said.

      “Who’s going first?” Dannie asked.

      “I will.” Cecilia had been first in lots of things. She’d been the first to get a bra, the first to get her period, and the first to wear gauchos to school.

      She was the first girl on the debate team (she never lost a debate), the first freshman to go to the senior prom (with Kyle Farber, the captain of the debate team), and the first one to let a boy see her underwear (Kyle Farber, the night of the prom).

      So it only followed that she’d go first. At least, this was the logic after three Gladiators and a Flaming Toga.

      “Okay, Truth or Dare?” Grace said.

      “Dare,” said Cecilia.

      Dannie rubbed her hands together. “Great. Here’s one. Get our waiter to bring us a round of shots on the house. By whatever means possible.”

      “Nah, that’s too easy,” Grace interrupted. “How about she has to get the waiter’s phone number?”

      “Oh, that’s good.” Dannie laughed.

      “Are you kidding me? Shots? Phone numbers? That’s lame.” Roseanna closed one eye and tipped her glass toward Cecilia. “Here’s a dare. You have to get the waiter to give you…a lap dance.”

      The three other women hooted and clinked glasses.

      “A lap dance?” Cecilia shook her head. “Are you insane? I can’t get that guy to give me a lap dance. I can barely get him to give me a straw with my drink.”

      Roseanna snickered.

      Dannie shrugged. “Hey. You picked Dare, and that’s the dare. Take it or leave it. But if you leave it, you know what happens.”

      The Alternate Dare.

      “In the case of forfeit of an Official Dare,” Cecilia intoned, “the daree shall be forced to perform the Alternate Dare, which shall consist of phoning her current crush, and confessing all feelings she might have for such crush.”

      Cecilia imagined how that phone conversation might go:

      “Hello, Jake? This is your boss, Cecilia. I’m calling to tell you I think you’re really, really sexy. You smell great, and I love the dimples on your earlobes. I want you to know that even though you are my assistant and I’m just about old enough to be your mother, I have smoky sex dreams about you almost every night.”

      A wave of queasiness washed over her.

      “No copping out,” Roseanna warned. “We swore on our posters of Jon Bon Jovi.”

      “I remember. Jeez. Did I say I wasn’t going to do the dare? I never said I wasn’t going to do the dare.” Cecilia sucked down the rest of her drink and ran her fingers through her hair. “Just…get him over here.”

      Dannie waved to the waiter, who stood near the drink station at the bar, as still as a Roman statue and twice as gorgeous.

      Cecilia’s heart sped up to Moderately Dangerous on the heart attack scale. As the waiter neared, he morphed for a moment into Jake.

      Cecilia blinked and Jake was gone, but the stud-boy who now stood before her was only a slightly less fantasy-inducing alternative.

      She forced herself to stay cool. “Hey, Spartacus, how about a lap dance?”

      Grace spewed a mouthful of Gladiator all over the table. Dannie covered her face with her hands. Only Roseanna was able to keep a straight face.

      The waiter’s eyes grew wide. Cute. Like Bambi.

      Oh, dear Lord. She was propositioning Bambi.

      She quickly banished that image from her mind.

      “Pardon me?” The waiter said, apparently believing he’d misunderstood.

      If only.

      “May I have a lap dance, please?” Cecilia waved two twenty dollar bills in front of him, which he pretty much ignored.

      “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this isn’t that kind of establishment.”

      She ignored the ma’am thing. “What kind of establishment is that?”

      “The management doesn’t allow hands-on entertainment, if you know what I mean. We have strict rules.”

      She fished another twenty out of her wallet and added it to the others, fanning herself with the bills. “It wouldn’t exactly be hands-on, now would it?”

      Spartacus had finally taken notice of the bills, and moved a little closer. Close enough for her to smell the fabric softener on his toga.

      She fished another twenty—her last one—out of her wallet. There went her lunch money for the next two weeks. She was quite fond of lunch. This lap dance had so better be worth it.

      “And if there were no hands involved,” she continued, “you wouldn’t exactly be breaking the rules, would you?” she said.

      “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” He glanced around, presumably to make sure no management was watching.

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