I smiled at the jazzy rendition of “Baby One More Time,” being hammered out by the spirited pair of players at the piano bar. I stared across the tiny table at my husband. He had used product in his hair. I could hardly believe it. Then again, I’d spent far too long trimming my crotch into a neat and tidy landing strip. I had no idea what the night would bring, but I wanted to feel sexy in comparison to the smoldering goddess on my right.
Juli was a vision in shimmering silver. The cut was surprisingly classic. She could have fit right in whether it was 1920 or 2020. In fact, all of us were dressed to the nines. When we asked Juli where we should go on a date, she insisted that she wanted to go somewhere we’d always wanted to try but had never pulled the trigger on.
There was this dueling piano place an hour away. It was really classy. The dress code was formal. We’d always figured it would be dead. Who the hell dressed up to go get drunk at a piano bar? Turns out—a lot of people.