The real reason you're at a dive bar

There was no reasonable way that the people in the bar weren't at least vaguely aware that you'd gone into the bathroom together and then come out eight or so minutes later, together the entire time. None of the patrons seemed to give a fuck though.

The bartender just smirked at the two of you, and you had an irrational thought that it was an actual possibility that you and Gemma could have made a pass at her and taken her home with you whenever her shift was over. She was a relatively attractive woman in her thirties maybe, and her tattoos were definitely a unique turn-on that you hadn't explored.

You shook your head. Just because something could be done didn't mean it was something you should let be more than a passing fancy. Gemma may have even been down for it, but this date was about the two of you and you weren't looking to hook up with some random woman when you had the most gorgeous thing you'd ever seen holding your hand.

"You good?" you asked Gemma.

"Very," she smirked, squeezing your hand. "Now what the hell is going on for real?"

"Come on," you said, leading her to the neon-lit stairs.

"How the fuck do you even know about whatever this is?" she asked as you started climbing up to the second floor.

"Becks told me about it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea," you said. "And something wildly different from what we've done before."

"Why do I feel like I'm about to be pranked?" she asked, making you chuckle.

At the top of the stairs was another set of velvet drapes, these half-blocking the entrance so you had to brush past them to enter the little room at the top. There was a guy wearing a sleeveless button-up shirt, a bow tie and a tophat leaning over a half-door with a knowing smirk. "Cover charge, lovelies," he said, tapping a little sign.

"Jesus," Gemma said when she saw the cost, but Becks had warned you and you paid the $35/person in cash, along with a ten-dollar tip. That got you a wink, and he handed over a wooden disc. "Table five. Enjoy!"

"Where the fuck are we?" Gemma murmured to you as you walked down a dim hallway towards yet another curtain-draped doorway - this one had lights and music emanating from it. "This isn't a male strip club, is it?"

"No," you laughed. "Well, not that I know of."

The two of you entered into a dark theatre space, one wall dominated by a stage framed with crushed velvet curtains and ostentatious guilding. There were about thirty-some circular tables almost as small as a stool and others as big as a kitchen table, scattered through the audience area and most of them were already full with an eclectic array of audience members. The far wall from the stage was a bar attended by two bartenders, a man and a woman, dressed exactly the same in white tank tops, black slacks and suspenders, each of them with their nipples showing piercing bumps through the thin fabric. The rest of the walls were decorated with mirrors at odd angles and what looked like old Renaissance paintings of garish nudes. The whole space was lit by a trio of 'gold' chandeliers casting flickering light other than some coloured spotlights slowly swirling as they pointed at the stage.

"OK, for real, what the fuck?" Gemma chuckled.

You went to the bar and ordered new drinks, and brought them to your table where you slid the wooden disc into the slot in the centre with an embossed 5 inside it. The table was maybe the size of a checkerboard, just enough for both of you to set your drinks next to the little candlelit centrepiece and to snuggle up next to each other. You were on the left side of the room, right next to the stage - it would have been a 'hot seat' at the comedy club, but you were counting on this performance not being quite so verbally contentious.

"Ladies and gentlemen!”

A voice boomed, and a man wearing a full tuxedo stepped on stage. He had an extravagant moustache that was waxed up into curling points and a barrel chest that had you wondering if he was the width sideways as he was front-on. "As a reminder, this performance is private. There will be no photography, videography, instagram-ery, TikTokery or other bullshittery allowed! If we discover you are filming the performances, we will confiscate your device, feed it to a garbage disposal and mail you the pieces. This is, of course, for both the privacy of the performers and you, our fair audience. Otherwise, please turn off your ringers, look but don't touch, treat each other with respect, and tip your waitresses. And have fun, damn it!"

The lights dimmed, and the man clomped off stage.

"Seriously, love," Gemma whispered. "Where the fuck are we?"

The curtains on the stage parted, and a spotlight highlighted a blonde bombshell of a woman dressed in what looked like a ball gown made of feathers and carrying a pair of oversized antique fans that she fluttered. Music kicked in, swanky and smooth, and she started to rock her hip to the beat as two men dressed in similar outfits to the bartenders stalked onto the stage, snapping to the beat.

"Welcome, my lovely, sexy friends," the woman said, fluttering the fans. "To Burlesque on Fifth!"

"No. Fucking. Way," Gemma muttered, looking at you with wide eyes.

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