After a hard week of tmaking the world safe for cashmere ponchos, Karen feels she deserves a night out with her closest girlfriends (or, at least, those among her friends who are not married or otherwise disengaged from bar nights). Her friends Stephanie, the wild one of the group, is on the list for a party at a famous place in the city. Being on the list means they do not have to wait in an endless line or pay the ridiculous cover charge, but it will not protect them from the men on the prowl inside. But Karen's not complaining. If the night's plan had been up to her, they'd have gone to McKinon's, a local pub near her apartment with a fireplace and a decibel level that actually allows a group of friends to do more than yell "What ??" to one another over the din of techno music. But Stephanie is leading the charge, and Karen plays the dutiful companion, donning her Seven jeans and her pointy Prada pumps, and heads out into the promise of yet another Friday night.
They are Karen and 5 of her closest friends ( 2 of the women were college roommates and the other 3 are industry friends). They are all single ( Stephanie had been married once, and 2 others had recently left long-term live-in situations), and smart enough to know that the only men inside the club are guys they'd never really be that into ( but who would, nonetheless, buy them 15 $ drinks). So why are they there? Well, the heart alwaus holds out hope that the mind knows may not likely be met. But that hope is what gets us out on a Friday night, isn't it ? It;s always possible that the love of our lives is inside the same miserable club we are walking into, tucked away in a corner, waiting for us to make an entrance.
The evening progresses, and trays of expensive, fruit-based drinks ordered. Much laughter is had. Dancing follows, and soon the girls are invited to the VIP room by a group of commodities traders celebrating a big week at the exchange. The men are harmless- good-time guys, a little heavy on the white bread, but nice enough to share a bottle of champagne with. Karen has a hard time telling them apart as they essentially look like copies of one another ( and every other guy with short hair, a business degree, and the ability to walk into Banana Republic) but she's up for the challenge.
And then a funny thing happens. As the night waers on, and the mini-party progresses, Karen and one of the traders begin to talk. Sweet James ( as he calls himself) is not the best looking of the bunch but he is very complimentary, and the attention makes Karen feel special. He was, as his self-proclaimed title suggests, very sweet. Basking in this warm glow, Karen starts to loosen up (the Ketel One and Red Bills they are downing help as well), so much so that she allows James to feel her out as they dance to that "dirty" Christina Aguilera remix. She is getting sloppy, yes, but who would possibly recognize her amid the strobe lights and artificial fog ? Moreover, she is a sexually liberated woman, and she has the right to do as she pleases. Leaving the dance floor, she and James find a quiet banquette and proceed to get freaky, 2 urban professionals letting their hair down after a long week. The man she is mashing in the corner is not the man she will marry but Karen is willing to put up woth the Mr.Wrongs until Mr.Right comes along.
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