I’d heard that before, and was starting to believe it.
“I’m going to take a bunch of measurements, and then we’ll discuss costumes. Most days, you’ll dance as many as five times, so you’ll need at least six, to give you a spare.”
Surprisingly, I felt a tape around my head first. “Why are you measuring my head?” I asked.
“Wigs, dear. Your short curls are cute, but they won’t do on stage. Long hair is what the customers want.”
“Even the women customers?”
“There are eight men for every woman in that audience. So you can see who wins. Oh … sorry … I …”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh … okay. Half the women would prefer long hair anyway. Roger wants you to have two carrot-red wigs and three brunette wigs, all of which fall down below your shoulders except one of the brunette ones. It’ll be a sleek bob a little longer than chin length. They’ll be real hair, cost a lot. But remember, the customers who come here to River’s Edge, especially to the Jolly Roger, are either very upscale, or save their money for a month or two so they can afford to come. They pay a stiff cover and drinks and food are expensive. They expect quality, and Roger delivers every time. You’re part of that, and you’ll get the best as a result. Your tips will be so high some nights you won’t believe it.”
Could I trust Pat? I wanted to ask something that was bothering me. I decided to go ahead and ask, “Since I’m blind, Pat, can I trust the staff here to give me the tips I earned?”
“Without skimming off the top, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“You can. Roger runs an honest house. If anyone tried something like that, they’d be fired in a second, and then have to answer to Rocco.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, Alie. Let’s discuss what kind of thong you can wear without having an orgasm every time you take it off on stage …”
**********
That afternoon, I was introduced to Phil, my flaming gay choreographer. How did I know he was gay? I still have ears. Every time he agreed with something I said, I could hear him clap with glee. He was gay and, I came to find out as the day went on, he was really, really good at what he did.
He was also impossible not to like. So was Pat, for that matter.
He was excited about the chance to work with a blind girl. Frankly, Phil seemed to be excited about the chance to work with anyone. That’s simply the way he was.
What seemed like many hours later, but was probably only about 3:00 in the afternoon, I heard Roger calling out as he entered the audience area from the back, far from and above the stage.
“Hi Roger,” said Phil.
“Alie,” he called out gruffly, “you need a stage name, and you need it now so I can get the word out on you.”
“Roger, I don’t have a stage name.”
“Of course you didn’t, but you do now. You’re gonna be ‘Minx.’”
“Minx?” I asked. I thought it might be some kind of furry rodent. How was that supposed to work?
“Yeah, Minx. It means a sassy, cunning, or boldly flirtatious girl or young woman.”
Whatever … I certainly didn’t want to be ‘Alie,’ and absolutely not ‘Natalie’ on stage. “Okay Roger, I’m Minx.”
And that was that.
Rod wanted to take me out Friday night, but I was completely wiped out. In addition, I wanted to spend quality time with Rina, to make sure everything was good with us after our argument earlier in the week. So I blew Rod off for Friday night and spent an evening at home with Rina. And a night in bed. In spite of being dead tired, the sex was world-class.
This time, it was my tongue and my fingers that made Rina come a record number of times – at least she said it was a record.
Frankly, I could get off if all she did was blow on my clit rings.
Saturday, Rod and I were able to hang out. When he got to my house, I was wearing a big, floppy sweatshirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice my boobs until I’d had a chance to explain. I quickly kissed him on the lips, led him to the couch, sat down in the chair, and lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. I was scared. Then I told him about the job I’d taken.
“You’re gonna strip in front of people? Guys and chicks?” He asked, sounding astonished more than anything. I wished I could see his expression.
“It wouldn’t be stripping otherwise, would it?”
“What made you decide to do that?”
“In a word, ‘money.’ Think about it, Rod, how else is a blind lab technician gonna make four grand a week or more?”
“Four grand?”
“Apparently – that includes tips.” Then I thought a moment. It was time to bite the bullet. “If that means you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll understand.”
“Uh … no … of course not. You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Will you come to see me?”
“Probably … I think so … give me some time to digest this.”
“There’s more.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“The club had some additional requirements for me; I had them done this past Monday. They’re all healed, thanks to some new medicine called ‘hyperhealant.’”
Then I pulled my sweatshirt over my head, and introduced him to my newly enhanced body.
He was speechless for an uncomfortably long time. Then he whispered, “Fuck …”
“Do you like them?”
“They’re big. They pierced your nipples.” His voice was emotionless, deadpan.
“Don’t you like ‘em?”
“I … I … I don’t honestly know. I think I’m too shocked. You never seemed like the kind of girl who would do something like this. Man, your boobs are big.”
This wasn’t going like I expected. “You’re right, Rod, this isn’t me. But a girl does what she has to do to make a living …”
That didn’t help. I could hear him stutter around, apparently trying to find something to say. I hadn’t even shown him my pussy yet. I was thinking that wasn’t gonna happen.
“Alie, I’ve really become fond of you in the short time we’ve known each other. I realize intellectually that there is still a lot each of us doesn’t know about the other, but I would never have expected this. I had a different picture of you in my mind. I guess I thought you were a different kind of person …”
“But I am, Rod! This is only for my job!” For some reason, his words were really cutting into me, because he was saying that I was no longer the person I’d always thought I was.
“I never would have thought you’d take a job … exotic dancing.”
I realized he couldn’t even say “stripping.” I felt everything slip away. It was awful. I was losing a chance for a relationship with him. He was the kind of guy I’d always wanted – including the attitude that kept him from reacting well to what I’d done and was planning to do. Out of desperation, I’d taken a job that let the world change me into a person that the kind of guy I wanted didn’t want to be with.
“I probably need to go home, think about this,” he said.
“I understand,” I replied, holding back tears.
“I … I’ll call you later,” he said as I heard him get up. But I knew he wouldn’t.
He took my hand and we walked to the door. “Bye, Alie. I’ll talk to you later on.”
“Bye, Rod.” He left. I closed the door and cried for an hour.
I called Rina, told her what happened. She was out with friends. She showed up a couple hours later, and held me all night. There wasn’t any sex, simply pure affection. But in the morning, I was awakened by her fingers on my clit attachments. I forgot all about my troubles as she took me over the top.
After lunch, I spent the afternoon at the club, practicing with Phil for five straight hours. All I got were a few smoking breaks, and one orgasm when my thong got caught on my clit assembly. I told Pat later that I NEVER wanted that to happen on stage.
“You’d probably doub
le your tips if it did,” she said, clearly amused.
“I don’t care. Some things should remain private.”
“Okay, Alie, I understand. We’ll make sure the G-string pad is snag-proof.”
Over that week, I developed, practiced and refined my routine – with detailed help from Phil and a significant amount from Pat – from eight in the morning, until the club opened at five in the afternoon.
Except for Wednesday, I got to spend every evening and night with Rina, but didn’t get any blindness training during that week. I did practice braille most every night, and was getting better steadily. With John’s learning enhancement pills, I was mastering contracted, Grade 2 braille, at about twice the rate an unassisted (undrugged) person could learn simple, Grade 1 braille. At this rate, in a few more weeks, I’d be fluent.
That would serve me well for the next eighteen months or so, a lifetime to a 22-year-old.
On Wednesday evening, at Rina’s insistence, I made my way alone to River Lutheran Church for the meeting of the visually impaired group, guided by my talking GPS and my trusty cane.
Walking along a street, unable to see anything, is its own challenge for a blind person like me, but not in the way you may think. It’s difficult to do, for certain. But the challenge comes from being totally unable to picture what’s around you. The best you can do is to try to construct a scene in your mind, based on sounds and the occasional smell. The texture of what the cane tip is feeling tells you if you’re on a concrete sidewalk or an asphalt street or a brick walkway, and so on. But nothing tells you if you’re surrounded by buildings or open fields or driveways into businesses or homes, or if there are steps up or down to the right or left. In daytime you can sometimes tell if there are trees by the quality of the shade. If you feel the slight heat from diffuse light filtering through the leaves, it’s different than how an overhang or awning blocks the sun. Likewise, if you’re surrounded by buildings on both sides of the street, there is a faint echo that the sounds of cars, or especially trucks, produce that isn’t there when the land is open on one or both sides.
I’ll bet you, as a sighted person, never noticed that.
In the evening, it’s more difficult. In a suburban area, where everything is usually spread out and the buildings aren’t tightly clustered, it’s harder to picture the surroundings. In that way, River’s Edge is more difficult to model in your mind than a very urban neighborhood, like uptown or downtown.
So I tapped along. When the GPS said I was there, I tapped right to find a sidewalk or driveway to the church. I found a driveway and counted steps as I walked along the left side of it. The visually impaired group must have posted a sighted lookout, because I heard a person to my left call out, “Are you looking for the VIG meeting?” He pronounced it “vig.”
“Yes.” I turned, found a sidewalk, and continued to count toward the person. He came up to me, put my left hand on his upper right, and led me into the church, through a doorway, and down a hall. Knowing I was counting, he was quiet until we got seventeen paces along the hall.
“Here you are, ah …”
“Alie. I’m Alie.”
“I’m Sean. Right in here, Alie. Need any help finding a seat?”
“I’ll manage. Thanks, Sean.”
“You’re welcome. And welcome,” he chuckled.
“Thanks,” I said, and tapped my way to a chair. I moved along the row until I came across someone else. “Is anyone sitting here?” I asked.
“No. Be my guest,” a woman said. “I’m Gini.”
“Alie. This is my first time at a vig meeting.”
“Newly blind or new to River’s Edge?”
“Kinda both. Are you blind?”
“Yes, for about eight years. It happened when I was 22.”
“Oh … I’m 22 now. I lost my sight recently. I guess we have that in common.” This made me feel very weird. She was where I’d be in 8 years, if my sight didn’t return for some reason. I expected it would, but I did worry about it. “Can you see anything?”
“Light and dark patches. No color. No resolution. And you?”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Sounds like either optic nerve damage, or you’ve lost both eyes.”
“My optic nerves don’t work. I still have my eyes, but my right one turns in a little. You know a lot about this.” The conversation was uncomfortable, but I thought I needed to hear it.
“I’ve had eight years to learn. Since you’re recent, any chance for improvement?”
I said what Rina had suggested. “Not according to the docs.”
“Where do you live in River’s Edge, Alie?”
“About three blocks from here. I walked.”
“Good for you! Sounds like you’re adjusting some and can get around.”
“I do rely on my talking GPS.”
“Hey … use what works, I always say. Can I look at you?”
“Uh sure …” I didn’t know how that was possible and didn’t know what to say. Then I felt her fingers touch my cheek and chin and turn my head towards her. She gently slid her fingers all around my face and carefully into my hair, so as not to muss it up.
“You have lovely, symmetrical features and nicely full lips. I love the short curls.”
“Those are new. I had a chin-length bob but when I lost my sight, I couldn’t fix it properly. The hairdresser suggested these curls. Plus I used to be light blonde, and now I’m a dark brown brunette – or so they tell me.”
“You’re brave, I’ll say that. My hair is a warm brown – naturally, it’s dishwater brown. Do you want to look at me?”
“Yes, thanks.” I set down the cane I’d been holding, and felt her face and hair. I tried my best to form a picture of her face. I didn’t know if I were close, and I didn’t want to ask. Her hair was long and soft. “You kept your hair long.”
“Not really. I cut it short like you, but it was straight. I eventually let it grow after I got married and my husband said he was willing to fix it for me, if I’d grow it out. I was more comfortable with it short, but I did it for him.”
“Seems like a good compromise.”
“Yeah, it was. I had it colored for him too, though he didn’t ask. I couldn’t care less what color my hair is, but my hairdresser said it was naturally drab, so I had her color it several years ago. She’s the one who says it’s warm brown. I’m not one-hundred percent sure I remember quite what ‘brown’ looks like.”
“Really?” I thought I could picture brown in my mind.
“The light or dark patches I see don’t have color as such. Either it’s distorted away by my messed-up vision or I only see black and white. The docs don’t know which it is. I sort of know brown is different from red or that there are various browns that can be different shades or lighter or darker, but I can’t tell if it’s an intellectual understanding or an actual picture of brownness in my mind.”
I tried to picture brown. I thought I could. I told Gini.
“It’ll be interesting to see how long you retain your understanding of sight in general and colors in particular. Especially since you can’t see anything at all now.”
“I guess time will tell. I’m not sure it makes much difference anymore.”
“Trust me. It doesn’t.”
The meeting began at that point. There were apparently about forty people there, which surprised me.
There were presentations and discussions. The discussions, in particular, were helpful to me. Finally, they asked anyone new to introduce themselves, before we broke for refreshments and socializing. I wasn’t going to say anything, but Gini forced me to. I guess I was the only new one there. I stood up when no one else volunteered.
“I’m Alie Adams. I moved to River’s Edge recently. I don’t know what else you want to know.”
“How long have you been blind, Alie?” The moderator asked.
I answered as Rina and I had decided. “A few months.”
“Can you see anything?”
/>
“No, nothing at all. My optic nerves don’t work anymore.” That seemed good enough, and true for that matter.
“What do you do for a living?” It was a friendly question that I had no idea how to answer. I could make something up, but what if someone heard about me as Minx?
“Well …,” I started slowly, “I’m a lab technician by training, but that obviously isn’t going to work out now. So I’ve accepted a job dancing at the Jolly Roger. My opening performance is Friday.”
“Whoa! I think you’re the first of us in that profession!” The moderator exclaimed. “I’d love to witness that!”
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” I added with a laugh I didn’t feel. “The money’s good, though. Besides, I have big tits.” I have no idea why I said that. When you’re nervous and on the spot, you say dumb shit. At least, I do.
I felt a hand reach up to my right breast.
“She sure does!” Gini said. Everyone laughed. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then, realizing everyone here was blind too, I decided I was among people who would understand, so I laughed too.
“I’m also a good dancer,” I added. “Or so I’ve been told. And no, Gini, you can’t feel me while I dance just to prove it.”
That got another laugh from the group.
“There you go, folks. One of our own, Alie Adams, is dancing at the Jolly Roger this Friday. If you can, go out to cheer her on!”
There were cheers and, getting into the spirit, I had to say, “If you go, plan to be there for Minx … that’s my stage name, M-I-N-X.” I spelled it out. At that moment, I was proud of it. Thinking about it, I was proud, period. After all, I was a headliner!
I finally sat down. Gini must have turned toward me, still laughing, as she said, ”You have really hard nipples.”
“Yeah. You noticed, didn’t you? It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
**********
John’s pills were definitely helping with learning my dances. Phil was amazed at how quickly I picked things up. So was I. Rina came one afternoon to watch. She told me, in all honesty, that I was fantastic. After she almost ripped my clothes off at home, I believed her.
Eighteen Months Page 17