I have one audition left and then I’m all done with the list of clubs I thought I wouldn’t hate too much. I feel like Goldilocks of the strip clubs. There’s the one that has a cheap stage fee and amazing food, but the music sucks and it’s just…boring. Then there’s the one with pretty okay music, a really cool stage, but it’s far away and the private dance area layout seems like it will only be a matter of time until I inevitably get assaulted and no one hears my cries. There’s also the one where the booking agent texted me too many times and made me feel suspicious of his desperation.
I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground or my hands glued to my phone or whatever, trying to find out where the “good money” is, having text conversations like this:
Her: I make at least 400-600 when I work
Me: In shows or dances? [Club Name] or [Other Club Name]? I am so curious!!
Her: But some girls offer sex, okay maybe most girls so I don’t mind doing handjobs.
Me: OH. Gotcha.
(I don’t know why she couldn’t have mentioned that detail first either.)
Mostly though, I’m back at my old club reminding myself why I left in the first place. But hey, the music’s good, it’s comfortable and I love the girls. You gotta appreciate a girl who will raise Hell and threaten employees of the caramel corn place in Lloyd Mall because the flavor of popcorn her boyfriend wanted to sample wasn’t available.
The customer from this entry and this entry was thrilled to see me return. He recently had 8-hour aortic reconstructive surgery. It sounded serious from what I could decipher from the way he was explaining it. (Anything involving the aorta seems never not serious.) He now also has a deep scar over one brow from where a suitcase apparently fell on his head when he was recovering from the surgery. Between the unintentional expression on one side of his face and the way it sounds like his tongue is too big for his mouth, I assumed that he must have had a stroke. But no, the speech impediment is a side effect of medication. It was hard to decide whether he had gone downhill mentally or if it was just the new packaging.
He seemed so weak that I was surprised when he asked me if he could get a dance. I gently asked if he was sure he could afford it. He assured me he had plenty of money. I tried to be mindful of his recent medical history during the dance since he was acting cavalier enough for the both of us. He told me that he was living at a hotel and invited me to come hot tubbing. I had forgotten about his wacky texts and the fact that he signs them.
Him: My suggesting we eat sushi and simmer in the hot tub was not a solicitation for sex. More likely some one to laugh at my attempts at what I think at I find hilarious. Also sunset walks on the beach with kittens while dipping strawberries in chocolate bunnies. Sorry, self entertainment. Nite, R
Me: Haha, no need to explain the hot tubbing :)
Him: Yagotta admit sunset walks on the beach with kittens, dipping strawberries… can only be trumped by walking with strawberries, dipping kittens in chocolate bunnies. Shouldn’t have gone down this path. Not that funny. CU later. R
The next time I saw him, he couldn’t get any dances because his bank account was mysteriously eight hundred dollars overdrawn. The next text after that was the stats on a boat that he thought he was about to purchase. Subsequent texts in the following days asked if I wanted to go in on the boat with him. When I saw him, he asked if I would rent a room to him. He didn’t first ascertain whether I even have an extra room, let alone rooms that I am prepared to rent out to my customers. I kindly recommended Craigslist. He said that he didn’t want to live with weird people he didn’t know.
One of my better nights recently was thanks to a jockey. As in, one of the little men on top of the horses. He was extremely drunk and coked out, lamenting on how his girlfriend had dumped him for drinking too much and doing too much coke. He kept asking me why I strip when I’m too good, too beautiful, too blah blah blah, to be “doing THIS,” blah blah blah. You know, just regurgitating the same empty words of all the White Knights who ride through the club for a night, returning to their castles to jerk off to their altruism.
Then he told me over and over how hard he has to struggle to maintain his weight in order to work, starving himself and doing coke. He was so tiny. I was sure I would hear the sound of bones snapping if I rested all of my weight on him. Touching his bony, emaciated body made my hand want to recoil, like petting a rescued street dog. His obnoxiousness muffled the sadness of straddling a poor kid with Body Dysmorphic Disorder. But then it wore off and I had to stop taking his money and hide from him because it was just too goddamned depressing.
Anyhoo, I had my first shift at a new club last week. It’s fancy-ish. The girls are not the type to yell in the middle of Joe’s Caramel Corn like they’re sticking the place up. They have all these rules. A giant man appeared out of nowhere to yell in my face within seconds of taking my phone out of my purse on the floor.
I think I forgot what it was like to work at a “nice” club. My bag was full of whatever outfits were just in there. My good shoes were in my locker at the other club. I realized that my hairbrush was on the seat of my car when I was walking to the club but hadn’t looked in the mirror and decided that it was probably fine. I felt like a total street urchin next to the other girls. I should have brought my A game, but had brought my D game at best. I somehow actually made money, but more importantly, saw how much more money there was to be made.
Tomorrow I’m not recycling old lashes. I’m going to brush my hair. I’m painting my nails. I’m packing my most flattering outfits. I’m going to fuckin’ look in my bathroom mirror and repeat things like “My dances are fanTAStic. My dances are VERY provocative. I do the BEST dances here.”* I’m bringing protein bars and Sugar Free Red Bull. I’m really going to try, damn it.
*Not really
PS. I will try to blog at least once a week. No promises. I’ve barely been over at Tits and Sass, but at least the other ladies are holding it down with things like this fanTAStic piece.
PPS. Thanks to Hannah for surprising me with Myth & Knowing from my Amazon wish list. Seriously, that made my week. Now I understand my favorite episode of The Simpsons.