Arlene was driving, wheeling her little red sports car like she always did, with the top down and her hair blowing behind her. My shorter cap of curls just sort of fluffed.
As we headed west of Denver I started to wonder just where we were going. Then she turned onto Lookout Mountain Road and I laughed.
"Joe's," I said.
Her little car is designed so that we could talk, even with the top down, without actually shouting.
"I wondered if you'd figure it out. Yes. The place went broke when they quit allowing 18-year-olds to drink 3.2 beer and it had been vacant for years when we first formed the Club. We picked it up for a song, got a private club license, spent about 10 backbreaking weekends cleaning and scrubbing and watching contractors do what we wanted and now we have the perfect getaway," she said.
I watched the countryside roll by and remembered coming up here as a college student, almost 30 years ago. It's a truly pretty drive and if things hadn't changed, the plate glass windows across the eastern side of the building would show a gorgeous panorama of Denver spread out below.
It was still light when we pulled into the parking lot which was bigger than I remembered. There looked to be 20 cars in the lot and the place looked closed.
We went to the main entrance door which was actually on the side of the building and when I went in I stopped to look around. The basic layout was the same but everything looked much nicer than when it was a college bar.
As usual, Arlene made a grand entrance.
"All right everybody, relax," she said in a voice that cut through the murmur of conversations, "I'm here."
As she intended, all eyes turned to us.
"Ladies of the Needy Wives Club, meet your newest recruit," she said grandly, indicating me as I tried to be inconspicuous. "Ladies, this is Judy, Judy, this is the ladies. Before I take you around," she stopped for a moment and turned to the women facing us and said, "What's our MOTTO!" the last ending with a ringing voice.
Without hesitation, the ladies replied in unison - -
WE AIN'T GETTIN' ENOUGH!
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Again," Arlene called out, "and Judy, I'd better hear YOU."
I joined in.
WE AIN'T GETTIN' ENOUGH!!
"Okay," she said, "come on dear." And she started leading me around the room, introducing every woman.
There was Laura, even bigger than Arlene, immense breasts on display, and a smile that just made you smile back.
LaVerne, soft, round, brunette, and cute hugged me by way of greeting.
MaryAnne, who laughed and said "Elsie," had the biggest breasts I have ever seen. I couldn't help but imagine them hanging to her waist.
And on around the room. Millie, a tiny beautiful elf of a woman. Edna, who looked like a church secretary with her hair in a pile on her head. Nancy, big and beautiful, auburn hair framing a beautiful face. Minnie, skinny and cute. And on around the room.
Finally, she stopped and looked at the clock on the wall.
"Nancy, open the bar, please. LaVerne, get the door. Let's get us some, ladies," she said and led me to a table at the corner of the room where we could watch.
I was amazed. It was like there had been a line at the door and as soon as it was opened about 20 men came in and it looked to me like not one of them was over 30. For another 10 minutes, they kept coming in until there were at least 50 men. A few more women filtered in too, each exchanging waves with Arlene and others.
I noticed Arlene looking at her watch and suddenly she stood and took me by the hand again, leading me up onto the small stage at the end of the room. It looked like they had a live band from time to time.
"LISTEN UP," she called, not using a microphone.
The general hubbub died down quickly and it looked to me like she had done this before.
"Guys, I bring you," and she pulled me forward to stand beside her, "a club VIRGIN."
And I felt myself blushing at the loud applause that suddenly filled the room.
"Now what am I offered for the privilege of introducing her to how things work here at the Needy Wives Club?" she said and I turned to her.
"You're auctioning me OFF?" I said, my voice rising with each word.
She grinned.
"Yep," she said calmly, "it's happened to every one of us."
"One hundred dollars," came a voice from the back of the crowd.
Arlene rolled her eyes theatrically.
"Ladies," she called, "what do we think about that?" and a virtual hail of peanuts peppered the bidder.
She was laughing.
"Yes, we spit on your hundred dollars. Another bid like that and someone gets escorted off of the premises. Now seriously!" she called.
"Two fifty" came a voice.
"Three hundred" came another.
I finally went for six hundred and fifty dollars.
"Okay people, you know how it works. Open bar for six hundred and fifty dollars," she called and then pointed dramatically at Laura who was manning the bar, "starting NOW!"
As she handed me off to the man who had bid on me she picked up the microphone and said, this time amplified enough to be heard over the general noise in the room "and now what I know you men have all been waiting for, my beautiful ass. Hit the music, Laura."
As I watched, absolutely captivated, the lights dimmed a little and the stage footlights came on and she retreated to the pole that I hadn't noticed in all of the confusion. She was amazing as a pole dancer. I couldn't look away as my "date" led me to one of the tables by the picture window.
He sat me at the table and then headed for the bar.
I was looking around, fascinated. It looked like any other "singles" bar except for the age differences and, well, the obviousness of everything. Over there a hugely overweight woman was practically molesting a much smaller man. And at one of the booths a woman was conversing, quite casually from all appearances, with a man standing beside the booth while another had his head in her lap and a nipple in his mouth. And the dancing was something from the senior prom with absolutely no space between couples as they danced.
The music tended to be slow, in the "torch song" vein. Arlene's music had started with Peggy Lee doing "Fever" and now Julie London's throaty voice was doing "Cry Me A River."