Page 49 of The Upgrade

“Take care of you, okay? Promise?”

“Yeah,” I assure her. “I promise.”

“No, really.” She’s insistent this time. “No more settling for someone who doesn’t want the same thing you do. It’s painful to watch someone try to fit a square peg in a round hole.”

The fact that she’s not making jokes about pegging means she’s serious about this. “Okay,” I assure her. “I promise.”

And I promise myself I won’t pressure a partner to be something she’s not. That I’ll learn from mistakes and do better, even if it breaks my heart.

* * *

The message comesthrough in the portal as I’m ending my morning workout.

KORA: How’s your dirty dancing?

I stare at the message. Did my boss get drunk with my sisters?

Bubbles pop up to indicate she’s typing again.

KORA: One of our consorts has a family emergency. Any chance you can sub for Dirty Dancing Brunch?

That’s a thing?

But hey, I can do it. In college I covered a chunk of tuition by touring with a men’s exotic dance troupe one summer. It’s one of the few examples I can point to of me being carefree and fun.

If I’m here to be part of this team, I may as well go all in.

ME: Yes, I can dance. When and where?

She texts me a string of emojis meant to convey gratitude. Those hands people think are paying, but they’re really a high-five. A couple of eggplants and peaches and?—

KORA: Thirty minutes from now in the beach bar. We’ll have your costume waiting.

Costume? Guess they’re making this a real production.

Whatever. I’m a team player. Besides, I’m the new guy. Something like this means more opportunity for consorts to see me as one of them. That’s integral for the research I’m here to conduct.

By the time I get down to the beach, there’s a handful of women sipping mimosas at tables in the sand. A small stage sits under palm fronds woven with bright flags. There’s a sound system rigged up and thumping.

“Sounds like a party,” I call as I enter the makeshift dressing room. There’s a small bank of cubbies where the dancers are stuffing their street clothes and shoes.

“Hey.” Logan, the Marine, waves from the corner where he’s snapping himself into a cop costume. He twirls a set of handcuffs hooked to his hip. “You have the right to find this cheesy.”

I laugh as Kora comes over with a pile of clothing. “Sorry for the late notice. You get the tuxedo.”

“Great.” I unfurl the bundle to find a set of tuxedo pants with a jacket, shirt, and bowtie. There’s Velcro at the waist and snaps everywhere else for easy removal. There’s also a skimpy red G-string, still in its plastic packaging.

“You’ll keep that on,” Kora says. “We don’t get nude for Beach Brunch.”

“No one wants dicks in their bacon,” I quip as I unwrap the red satin marble sack. “Not sure this butt floss is much better.”

Kora pats my shoulder, then turns. “Thanks for being a trooper.”

“I thoughtIwas the trooper,” Logan shouts after her, pulling on his cop hat. “This event is a great way to get your name out there. Lots of guests book from it.”

“Good to know.”

I strip off my clothes and pull on the costume as the activities director announces the start of the show. The microphone squeals on the other side of the wall.

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