Slip Service

The Bad Girls team seeks a gusher with oil wrestling.

"You slide right through it," Bootilicious says. "It's nice."

Bushere is trying to make her team more professional. She recently hired a wrestling coach -- "a guy I know who comes from a wrestling family in California." She also thinks the time has come for matching uniforms. She envisions duplicate purple and silver bathing suits for all of the girls. "And it doesn't necessarily have to be a thong," Bushere stresses. If everything falls into place, she even sees a clothing company manufacturing them specially for the squad -- kind of a sponsorship deal.

She'd like to see bathrobes, too, for when the girls enter and exit the pool. And while they're at it, how about collectible cards, like those for baseball or football players? The girls' stats and personal information will be on the back. Fans will collect 'em and trade 'em.

Patrick Merewether

And, someday, of course, her own bar, which the Bad Girls will call their home.

"This is gonna be huge," Bushere says. "I have big plans."

A week after the team meeting, a hand-scrawled sandwich board calls to drivers passing by the Sports Channel: "Bikini oil wrestling tonight!" A giant loaf of a man spilling off his stool collects the $3 cover at the door.

"You might want to get a good seat," he advises three young men wearing uniforms of goatees and baseball caps. "Beautiful ladies, all greasy," he explains.

Bushere is dressed in a tubular silver evening gown. Several of the Bad Girls work the crowd selling raffle tickets. Coors has even sent some reps to check out the show.

"We're not really sponsoring them yet," one of them notes. "I mean, we already have the Silver Bullets." Still, he adds, the beer company's intrigued by the promotional possibilities. He's donated several T-shirts for the Bad Girls to raffle off.

A couple of Bad Girls assistants drag a ten-foot-by-five-foot inflatable pool into the middle of the dance floor. The crowd of about seventy -- 90 percent of them men -- starts to pay attention. One of them pays $15 for the privilege of oiling up a guest wrestler, Sam, one of the Sports Channel's bartenders. Sam, who clearly spends time at the gym, will be facing Code Red, who looks as nervous as a rabbit.

With good reason. Bushere gives the start command: "Ladies, get on your knees." Within seconds, Code Red is in a devastating headlock. A moment after that, she's on her back, trying to slip out of Sam's intriguing body lock.

The giant doorman whips out his camera and snaps a few shots. The crowd pushes in closer to the pool. Men whoop and shout and give each other high-fives. Bootilicious and Secret work the crowd. The night is young. And oily.

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