Opie's Batchelor Party

They never threw me a bachelor party, and I’ve never been invited to one.  For some reason, they’re not too popular here at the top edge of the Bible belt.  At least not the ones you see in the movies or on TV.

But I have been to one – even if I had to help plan and put it on. 

See,  we’d got news at the office that our ol’ buddy Opie had gotten engaged.  Opie had been out of the office for a couple of years – an early victim of corporate downsizing.  But he had lots of friends and as we talked about his engagement news,  the more we knew we had to throw him a bachelor party. 

Opie was a shy, somewhat backwards, young man when it came to women.  When he was around women, it was like watching a pup with his first encounter with a box turtle.  He had a lot of interest but didn’t really know how to approach them.

Within a couple of days of the news,  a plan was set that we’d have a party in Rod’s house.  He had a large family room in the basement with wet bar and TV, etc.  I would donate a keg and others chipped in food items.

We got flack from the women in the office right from the start.  They didn’t want us to have a bachelor party.  They wanted it to be just a party that they could come to also.  No.  If they wanted to throw the bride a shower or have a party for her, they could, but this was going to be a bachelor party.  No women allowed.

Then someone got the idea we should have live entertainment – specifically an exotic dancer.  There had been running in the regional ad sheet an ad for just such services. It was left to me to make the arrangements.  Why me?  Because all the other guys were too chicken. I made the call and got an appointment to meet with the manager.  We met in a lounge of a big hotel in Columbia .

I had no idea what to expect or how to go about this but as it turned out,  the manager was quite experienced and this all went down in a very professional business like manor.  It was kind of like the old time door to door insurance salesmen routine.  He had a ring binder with all kinds of pictures and documents that he opened and narrated as he turned the pages.  First was basically the résumé of the dancer (I’ll call Miss X – even though she was using a stage name and had had various stage names throughout her career.)  She had been an extra in a couple of movies and even featured in a couple of adult movies. And she had worked in shows and reviews in Vegas, modeled at large trade shows, etc.  I tried to show some sign of being impressed but he’d shown me nothing I could related to.

The majority of the rest of the binder were pictures detailing some of the eight performances she had to offer.  They had a number of packages – including bachelor parties.  For a set fee she would do a dance featuring the bachelor and then two dance routines from the eight on her play program.  Once that was settled on, there were other points to iron out.  One was the degree of disrobing.  In most areas of this state, full nudity is not allowed in a public establishment.  But this didn’t apply for a private performance in a home. (You learn something valuable every day.) We opted for full disclosure.  Also,  she could perform and exit.  Or she could stay and perform a few stunts of dexterity for a nominal tip. Yea, that’d be cool too.

Then there were the rules.  No contact allowed other than initiated by her.  No pictures of any kind.  Any breaking of the rules and they’d fold up and leave. No refund.

A date and time was set and all details were worked out in about ten minutes.

Meanwhile, back at the office,  things were really heating up.  I’m sure more communications were be being transacted about this party than any other topic – including work.  The women were riled up.  One was conspicuously offended that we’d have live entertainment at the party.  I think the others rallied around her lead in a herd mentality as if a predator was about.  They argued, pleaded and made threats to get the party canceled.  Once they seen that wasn’t going to happen,  they actively tried to get men to boycott the event.  They were successful in getting a couple of guys (whose wives also worked at the office) to decline to attend that otherwise would have.

The way we set it up was thus.  The party would start right after work and Opie knew to show up about 6:00pm .  The dancer wouldn’t be there until 9:00 .  Therefore, anyone that wanted to come and congratulate Opie and leave before 9:00 , they’d have plenty of time to visit.  Those that opted to stay for the show were asked to chip in $10 to cover the entertainment fee.

It was a crisp but nice late fall evening.  About a half dozen of us arrived right after work to get the grill set up and the keg iced down.  Other filtered in and by dark Opie had arrived to be greeted by about 20 friends.  We had a great reunion with Opie as most had not seen him in a couple of years.  People came and went until there were about 30 people there.

About 9:00 someone came to me and told me Miss X had arrived and that they were asking for me to come to the van.  I did.  First order of business was to pay for the entertainment.  No problem.  Then we had to come up with her introduction.  How was she going to enter the party?  I had come up with a plan that she’d introduce herself as Rod’s cousin.  And that she was just passing through and wanted to stop and visit.  Miss X asked how she was going to recognize Rod.  I told her that was easy; he was the only black man at the party.  Well,  as Miss X was very white,  that would be hard to pull off but for the fact that Rod had a white step-dad and did indeed have white relations – even if they were on his step-dad’s side. Opie would know this.

While they were clearing the drive so they could pull the van down to the back side of the house,  I went and alerted Rod as to what to expect.

Soon the party noise shut down.  It was told around that Rod had a cousin dropping in for a minute and everyone had to act civilized.  She come in and walks up to Rod and greats him.  She pulled it off just fine but Rod was a complete fool.  Opie didn’t take note as he was scanning Miss X like one of those laser scanners at the supper market looking for a bar code label.  Like often happens,  it didn’t register. He was dumbfounded and confused.

Soon the cat was out of the bag and they stated to unload a van load of equipment.  There was a sound and PA system, lights, fog makers, and a big wardrobe box that had to be carried in.  Miss X was escorted to a nearby room to do her dressing while the manager rigged up the stage with lights and sound.

I guess at this point I should describe Miss X.  Well, she wasn’t a skinny aerobic dance type college girl trying to earn a few bucks on the side.  She was 5’-8” tall with a voluptuous figure in the 1950’s pinup model mold.  Think Jane Mansfield. If she wasn’t pushing 30 she was likely pulling it a bit.  Although very attractive in this setting and as made up,  you could have passed her that morning in the grocery store and not given her a second glance. (Well, maybe a quick one.)

First she did a dance around Opie seated in an arm chair.  He remained ridged as a corpse with is eyes closed and white knuckles on the arms of the chair.  His face was as red as a tomato.  He never moved.  I’m not sure he took a breath. We all like to have died laughing.

Then Miss X did a dance of seven veils and then some cowgirl number.  Most of the music was from unpublished David Allen Coe collection.   She did a couple of stunts displaying her unique dexterity.  A few guys paid $5 each to get a Polaroid snapshot with Miss X and then they packed up and left.

Probably within a half hour of her departure, most everyone else gave Opie their last congratulations and left. 

You’ve probably heard some variation of a joke were a guy dies with a grin on his face that the undertaker couldn’t take off?  Well,  my face hurt all the next day from all the laughing I did at the party.  Others were the same way.

I got to the office the next morning to face the wrath of the women.  As I was the one who arranged the entertainment,  I was the focus of their criticism.  But something strange happened.  The first thing, I was descended upon by half a dozen women wanting to know all the details.  First,  was she pretty?  What did she look like?  What did she do?  Who did what? And most important, who touched her? - This women, defiler of the Christian family home.

I told them what they would be most astounded at was how every guy there treated Miss X as if she was a celebrity.  You would have thought she was Cleopatra.  If they had a golden throne they would have carried her in on it. They did.  Every guy jumped in to help carry in all the stuff, cleared a path, opened doors for her, etc.   One time I asked if she and the manager would like a beer or something to drink.  When she said she’d like a beer,  I bet six guys like to have ripped the door jam out trying to get through the door at the same time.  It was funny to watch.  I think the manager had to go get his own.

Secondly,  I told that I was amazed at the pride this women took in her work.  Unless I was completely fooled,  I could see no shame, remorse, feeling of degradation in her at all.  You could see her face light up when she received applause, hoots, and whistles from the audience.

They were disappointed in my observations. They wanted the down and dirty details.

If when they lay Opie to rest and he has a grin on his face,  I’ll know what his last memories were.