I groaned inwardly. This was going to be painful. Trust Mark -- Mr. Silicon Valley, Mr. I'd Still Vote For Ross Perot If Given Half a Chance -- to think that going to a bar South of Market would be innovative. He was the kind of straight guy who would get one of those Hail Caesar/George Clooney haircuts that gay boys had been wearing for years and say he invented it. "Can I just ask you something? Why is Ted telling you this?"

"Oh, they're really good friends," Marianne said quickly. "Ted says, well, OK. And off they go to some stripper place! Mark's never done that before, as far as I know. And he proceeds to get hammered, and in the course of the night has not one, not two, but three women do a lap dance on him. What kind of idiot guys are into strippers? What is that all about?"

"Three women? At the same time?" Even I was impressed.

"What? Oh, Courtney, nooooo. Why do you not think this is a big deal? I am completely and utterly disgusted. I mean, think about it. I have big tits. Is that the only reason he was interested in me? It makes me rethink this entire relationship -- did I even know this guy?"

"Probably not," I said. "I'm sorry, Marianne. It sucks, but I just have never thought of strippers as anything to get outraged about."

"Anyway, that's not even the worst of it," she continued, ignoring me. "Ted tells me that Mark's egging him on -- saying, c'mon Ted, I'll pay for it, c'mon, it's great. And Ted is just standing at the bar, trying not to watch --"

"And this is Ted telling you this. Yeah, right. Carry on."

"-- when Mark proceeds to go in some back room with one of the chicks and disappears for 20 minutes! I just can't believe it." Marianne shook her head and pulled at the collar of her pajamas. "Now I need a drink," she said, craning her neck over the side of the bar.

"Wait a minute," I said, remembering something. "Wasn't it Mark, all those years ago, who wouldn't see 'Showgirls' with us? I seem to recall there was a big group, and we ended up seeing 'Lethal Weapon Part Four Hundred' because Mark refused to go."

"Exactly!" Marianne snapped, poking a well-chewed fingernail into my chest. "That's why I'm having a fit! He said, 'Oh, no, I won't see that, it's degrading to women and I won't support that.' Hypocrisy!" she spat. "The only thing worse than pornography is hypocrisy."

"Yuck," I said. "That is gross. Now I see what you mean."

"And what does that say about me? Is that what I was to him?"

"I don't know, Marianne." I considered really laying into her about Mark, but there was always the slim chance that she'd get back together with the bastard. Then our friendship would be done for. "You do have nice breasts. Even women look at you."

She was snapping her fingers in the direction of the bartender, who appeared to be tending to a stuffed owl. "Could I have a Bloody Mary?" she called, again ignoring me. Sitting down heavily, she sighed. "Being a hypocrite is way, way worse than anything else. Even worse than getting a lap dance. And I have a feeling all modern men are like this. They spout the lines, but then in the face of some luscious knockers, they revert back to little boys who haven't gotten enough of that X-rated feeling. How can I trust any of 'em?"

"I think you should keep that in mind next time you talk to Ted," I said. "Friend that he may be, I'm pretty sure he's got a pair of mammary glands on his mind too." I looked pointedly at her chest.
SALON | March 18, 1998

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