Pub Med

As we washed up, my question about their country of origin was met with steely silence, so I tried another approach: "I love Borat!"

"I laughed my ass off!" said the taller of the two blond goddesses.

"What ass?" the other beauty asked, turning her friend around to face the bathroom door and smacking her on her tiny tush.

Back at the bar, Christine had ferreted some information out of our bartender, Kurt, who was now engaged in a squirt-gun duel with his coworkers behind the bar. "He was a male stripper for five years!" she reported in a giggled whisper. "Maybe he'll make a comeback!"

And then the two continued to shamelessly flirt while the belly dancer took an interest in me. When she again tried to cajole me into joining her, I spat out the only argument I could think of.

"Look, you don't want me dancing on anything around here," I assured her, recounting the time a boyfriend remarked that my clumsy enthusiasm meant that our sex life should be limited to the bed, which was "not only for comfort but also for safety."

Evidently, my story convinced her. Since it was slow and she'd already shimmied for everyone in the joint, we took the opportunity to talk. Akasha (her real name), a marketing and advertising professional by day, said she took up belly dancing when putting her grandmother in a nursing home made her aware of her finite time to realize her dreams. "I called my mother and said, 'Don't plan anything on Tuesday nights for the rest of your life!'"

Eight years later, she and her mother both perform. The hardest part?

"Getting people up to dance," Akasha replied pointedly.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to have any luck with the two women at the far end of the bar, one of whom had an expensive Ferragamo sandal on one foot and a big, black cast on the other.

"Amateur night at the strip club," she joked when I asked about her injured leg, which she'd elevated on one of the barstools.

When the two, Debbie and Lynda, told me they'd just come from a charity event for a bite to eat, I told them they would have gotten a little charity of their own if they'd come a little earlier.

"Hey," Lynda called to Kurt, "how come you didn't tell us it was ladies night?"

"I'll give you the martinis two-for-one," he offered.

Debbie observed, "They've got a friendly staff."

Lynda agreed. "Very, actually."

Yeah, and Christine was making the most of it, batting her lashes at both the bartenders. I, on the other hand, used my skills to learn more from the ladies, who shared their plans to open a beauty salon/supply store in Delray this fall.

"Which do you like better, Shag or Mirror Mirror?" Lynda wanted to know when I asked what they were going to call the place.

"How'd you come up with those names?" I asked, thinking maybe understanding the process would help me choose.

"A lot of drinking," Debbie said, laughing.

Since they obviously appreciated the power of excess, I suggested they use both — one for the salon and the other for the store. They declared my genius and promptly offered me a makeover as a reward.

I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or insulted. I didn't have much time to deliberate because my dessert — a passion fruit martini aptly dubbed the "Passion of Eros" — had just arrived to take my mind off things.

Meanwhile, Christine was entirely focused. She'd claimed a water pistol from behind the bar and was battling Frank, who was firing cowboy style with a gun in each hand. She dipped beneath the bar's copper top and tried to position for a stealthy attack. But Frank kept reaching over and shooting her dead on, sending her squealing for cover several times before she realized he must somehow be tracking her. A little moist and momentarily baffled, Christine looked up to discover the problem.

"That's what the mirror is for!" she exclaimed.

When the newly arrived chichi patrons began to object to the unsophisticated fun, the two called a truce.

"I'm giddy from all the sex hormones," Christine laughed.

"It'll be the best 30 seconds you'll ever forget," Kurt quipped suggestively.

Whether he was talking about himself or Frank, I wasn't sure. I wasn't exactly sure either how what had promised to be an erotic evening had turned out to be just a bunch of silly fun. Then again, Eros moves in mysterious ways.