Some were stunningly-beautiful, while others were moderately attractive. Their beauty was relative to the outcome of their lives, I suppose. Their residual beauty may have been the result of the terminal disease called life.
Some of them wore see-through nighties or boas around their necks, but most just flaunted their tight young bodies in a veiled yet desperate attempt to make the rent. For that was the only reason that they were there.
On the stage, a tall, leggy black woman had just removed her bra to reveal sagging breasts that had been suckled more than a few times. She spun and strutted around the dance floor in a sequined g-string and obscenely-overstated high heels. Deep thumping bass from the song which she danced to seemed to guide her motion.
But the awkwardness in which she moved made her look like an emaciated cow possessed with some virulent bovine disease. She lost the g-string to reveal only the modest protection of curly black pubic hair, and I shrugged. I hadn’t spotted any opportunities yet, so I decided to get a front-row seat and discover what narrative opportunities the evening would script out for me.
I sat down at a table that was mere feet from the dance floor. Reaching into my breast pocket, I emptied my wallet onto the table. A stack of fresh bills in search of corruption lay in front of me like an overt invitation to be violated, and I smiled. Time for the fun to begin.
I looked around. Cute young things still sat with shrunken old men and university students. A group of dancers hung out at the video lottery machines. Some raced to the door next to the dance floor, perhaps in search of a hit of coke, or in preparation for their turn on stage.
But I was alone and I wondered why I hadn’t been assaulted. I was ready and willing, and there was about five hundred dollars sitting in an obscene gesture right in front of me. I frowned and stared right through the stripper on stage while she fingered herself at a couple of vociferous McGill students waving five dollar bills at it.
That was when my unlikely savior appeared from nowhere in particular. A waitress came up from behind me, and she startled me when she asked me if I wanted a drink.
“Hi Hon! What can I get you?” She was kind of hot in her own right, even though she was fully clothed. Maybe that’s why she seemed hot. She had full, heaving bosoms and a cute face that carried a natural smile. She was chewing gum and looked genuinely friendly. I smiled and ordered my drink. She’d be my channel tonight.
“Double Scotch, rocks.” She was about to walk away, but I stopped her. “Say, why are the girls in here so unfriendly?” She looked at me with a slightly confused stare.
“What’s a guy gotta do to get some attention? I came in, sat down, I have a wad of cash on the table, but I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes and no-one’s come over to talk to me.” She nodded and smiled compassionately.
“I don’t know, hon. The girls in here are very nice, but you shouldn’t have been treated like that.” I nodded in agreement as I slipped her a fifty. A little insurance never hurt. She took it and stuffed it in her waitresses’ belt. A determined look crossed her face and she put her tray on the table. Leaning into me, she whispered.
“What are you looking for?” I thought about the question for a moment, and while I had set out on this quest for dirty, dirtier, and dirtiest, my response shocked even me.
“I just want someone nice, with a great personality. Someone I can talk to.” She nodded and smiled.
“Gimme a sec. I’ll be right back with your drink, hon.” She winked and whisked off, and I turned my gaze back to the dance floor. It was empty now, and I sat there lamenting.
My words became my jury. I just want someone nice, with a great personality. Someone I can talk to. I sighed and hoped that she would return soon with my drink, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
Startled, I looked up. Standing over me was an angel who smiled down at me as if she were bringing a message of Divine comfort from above. She was beautiful, in every sense. Long straight blonde hair fell around her shoulders like thin strands of spun gold. They shimmered in the eclectic light of the strip club like small waves of purity which fought back the impure.
She had a beautiful face. Soft, delicate features and glistening blue eyes which smiled in waves that crept up onto the shores of my heart like high tide in August. Yes, she was beautiful, but not the type of beautiful you see at a strip club. It wasn’t the ubiquitous and overdone look of glamour, which screamed at its own scathing irony.
Rather, it was the pure beauty of a gentle spirit, whisked down from the sky on wings of the purest summer breeze. It left life-giving warmth in everything it blew over. The Prom Queen. The girl you’d like to bring home to mom. The future-mother-of-your-children type of beauty. And yes, I’ll even admit that it was the type of beauty that I remember seeing in Elizabeth, ages ago and so far away.
I was stunned. Of all the sights that I had expected to see that night, this one was farthest from my narrow frame of reference. She looked like she should have been at home studying for a mid-term, baking brownies and knitting a sweater for her boyfriend.
Even her ensemble – a shimmering white bra and g-string, six-inch open toe pumps and a sheer white nightie wrapped around her soft, alabaster shoulders – couldn’t steal the glow which wafted around her. It was like a spirit of kindness walked quietly with her through her life, and for the first time in ten years, I think my heart beat again.
“Hi! I’m Lexi. Shelley said that you were lonely.” I nodded dumbly. Even her voice, her very demeanor, were harbingers of the gentle spirit.
Let’s face it. I was waiting for the spell to be broken by an errant expletive, some misguided social comment. Criminal misuse of the English language. Or even worse, gratuitous smatterings of ‘ain’t’ and ‘I seen.’ This was after all, a strip club. I smiled at her as I regained my composure, and managed to find my sweet spot in my own ability to be suave and sophisticated.
“Hi. I’m Malcolm. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I gestured for her to join me. I thought about her statement and decided to set the record straight.
“Not lonely. Confused.” She gave me a comically-suspicious look.
“Confused by what?”
“Well, I’ve been sitting here, by myself, for fifteen minutes, with a wad of cash on the table. And no-one’s come over. I was beginning to wonder if there were any friendly people in here.” She smiled at me. Besides straight white teeth, it like everything else, was just as beautiful and natural as she was.
“There are.”
“Oh, I know. The waitress – what did you say her name was…Shelley? She’s great. I asked her if there was anyone here who had a nice personality and could carry a conversation. But I never expected you. She’s going to get a big tip.”
“So you’re looking for someone with a personality? That’s different. Normally, they’re just looking for a nice butt.” I cocked an eyebrow and smiled back at her. Normally, I never made eye contact with strippers, but she wasn’t a stripper. I peered right into her eyes, and she gazed back at me without flinching.
“I’ll give you an example. I came in here and sat down. Now take her for instance.” I gestured toward the black stripper who had been shaking her cottage cheese ass at the college students. She was lounging around the bar looking like she was in search of something way out of reach. “I sat here and watched her, and she didn’t do anything for me. She seemed so disinterested by everything around her. I have a simple rule.”
“What would that be?”
“If you can give me a hard-on just by taking your clothes off, then that’s worth something. I’d drop a twenty just to say ‘thank you.’ But it seems so ludicrous that you – I don’t mean you, of course – would get up on stage, shake your ass for the world to see, and do a – excuse the pun – half-assed job of it.” She chuckled but furrowed her eyebrows. Her gaze moved closer to the conversation. I think she was as caught off-guard by me as I was by her.
“Mmm. I see what you mean. Brandi’s actually funny
as Hell. She’s a friend of mine. She’s going through some tough times right now with her boyfriend, and I don’t think her heart’s all there.”
I nodded with understanding, for I understood everything that she was saying. I wasn’t just paying her lip-service, the way I paid lip-service to everyone I knew. I was engaged in this conversation. Shelley came back with my drink, and I did tip her generously while I thanked her like she had just saved my life. Right in front of Lexi and partially for her benefit.
Shelley laughed and began to walk away, and I saw the slightest imploring look on Lexi’s face. I remembered myself. Dammit, I was so caught up in her, I was missing crucial cues.
“Geez, I’m sorry! Would you like a drink?” She nodded and smiled, and we brought Shelley back long enough to take Lexi’s order. Once again, we were alone. Deliciously, sublimely, divinely alone in a room full of naked women and leering men.
“I have to make a confession, Lexi. I came in here tonight not knowing what I was looking for. But in a million years, I never thought I’d meet someone like you.” She smiled out of the corner of her mouth and tried to dissect me with her eyes.
“No? What did you expect?”
“To come in, forget about life for awhile and get my rocks off.” She seemed to appreciate my bluntness, for while I’m sure men spoke bluntly to her all the time, she was used to the bluntness of ‘take your clothes off’ or ‘show me your tits.’
“I have to make a confession too. I’m not used to meeting men like you. They’re not usually interested in talking. Or if they are, they want to talk about my body and what I’m willing to do for them.” I nodded. She was intelligent…extremely so. I wanted to know everything about her.
“I imagine that must be difficult.”
“Not really. I’m not doing this as a career, like most of the girls here. I’m going to do it for a year or two and then go to Japan to teach English.” I was sipping my Scotch when she said this, and I stopped and put my glass down.
“Really? Wow. That’s cool. Do you speak any Japanese?” Without missing a beat, she said something in Japanese, and while I wouldn’t have known the difference between Japanese and Portuguese, I was truly impressed. And curious.
“What does that mean?”
“It means ‘I am honored to meet you.’”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” I was struggling a bit. There was something about this woman that made me want more…everything. Something. But how to get it?
After all, we weren’t meeting at a speed-dating event. This was a strip club, and these girls were there for one purpose. To make money by taking their clothes off for men (and sometimes women). They weren’t there to pick-up, and their very nature – their very job – was to act. To be someone they weren’t. To be someone else for the singular purpose of gratifying men.
So for all I knew, this was Lexi’s act. Even the look of fascination that was in those young, bright eyes could have been part of the shtick. I had to watch myself. My heart may have been beating again, but it had just come off life support. I took a sip of Scotch and pursed my lips.
“So tell me Lexi…” she cut me off.
“Elizabeth.” The glass nearly fell out of my hand.
“What?” How does she know about Elizabeth? What the Hell is going on? I was startled and no doubt looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She barely noticed it though, as she smiled guiltily at me, like she had just told me that she had done something horribly wrong.
“Elizabeth. My real name’s Elizabeth.” Shivers and waves and streams of things and dreams coursed through me in a single moment. Processing information at an accelerated rate, I found some strange discomfort in knowing her real name, as it brought back agonizing memories. But for once, those feelings were superseded by something more powerful.
I knew Lexi was her stage-name. They all had them. Ending with an ‘i’ and devoid of the usual ‘e.’ As if wannabe Wise Guys. Brandi, Candi, Harmoni, Valeri, Misti…they all used obviously-contrived stage-names. They were part of the act, but they were also for anonymity and protection.
But in all the time that I had been coming to these places, in all the time that I made ‘friends’ with them, I never knew their real names. Holli didn’t even tell me her real name, and I never asked. For the most part I hadn’t cared. Until now.
But the fact that she just shared her real name with me – more so the fact that I hadn’t asked – was a gesture of sharing and candidness. Maybe even her reaching out. Those few words and her blunt confession were the key to knowing this person. She had given it to me freely.
“Elizabeth.” I smiled at her, even though the speaking of that name had a conditioned response to instill distaste. Like I salivated acid. But the name had a new meaning now, and speaking it now felt different from speaking Elizabeth MacKenzie’s name. As different as if I was saying ‘Frank.’ I put my right hand out to her and she took it while I smiled right into her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.” She looked at me like I had just invited her for Christmas dinner with the family. No doubt this woman enjoyed life, even enjoyed her job. But that job often necessitated loneliness. She may have lowered a life-line down to me, but I think she was quietly thanking me for doing the same for her.We talked for an hour and a half. The conversation flowed freely through topics of relationships, dreams and desires. She told me that she hadn’t had a boyfriend in over six months. But she wasn’t lonely. And even though she had just turned twenty, she was the most mature, well-adjusted person I’d ever met.
She kept an apartment in Montreal, but she owned a condo in Niagara Falls, where she hailed from. As it turned out, she came from money. Her parents were quite wealthy and she was well-educated. But she touted her independence with pride. Everything that she had, she had because she got it herself.
Suddenly, I discovered incredible respect for this woman who grabbed life and made it what she wanted it to be. It was a novel experience. One doesn’t normally expect a stripper to be doing it because she chooses to. 99.9% of them do it because they have no choice. There’s no other way to make it through the harsh realities of life. I liked this woman, and I loved the conversation that we engaged in. There was only one problem.
It was a Thursday night. She told me that she was just finishing a month-long stint in Montreal, and was departing for Niagara Falls on Sunday. I thanked whatever God it was for the amazing timing, but lamented that she was leaving. I considered asking her to stay, but struggled with other things.
It was still difficult for me to parse the difference between having a meaningful conversation with this Goddess, while still feeling overwhelmed by the lust that I had for her. It wasn’t lost on me that I sat and had this conversation with a half-naked woman. She was almost entirely exposed. Not just to me, but to the rest of the world. I watched her beautiful breasts as they desperately tried to claw their way out of her bra. And when her legs weren’t crossed, or when she re-crossed them, I wondered what paradise resided between those beautiful legs.
There was also the matter of money. This had started out as a business transaction, and I had stolen valuable time from her. I bought her a couple of drinks, but let’s face it. Time spent with me was time that she could have been making money elsewhere. Finally, my curiosity and inherently mercenary male nature took over. I looked at her with a smile.
“You know, I should make this worth your while.” She smiled and traced a long fingernail across the top of my hand and I shivered.
“Would you like a dance?” I nodded dumbly. OH GOD, YES! She took my hand and pulled me to my feet. She drew me through the bar to the entrance of the ‘private room’ while I guiltily watched the fulsome cheeks of her ass sway in unison with her legs.
She chose a booth that was partially cut-off from the rest of the world by a curtain. Inside, there were two chairs and she sat me down in one of them. Taking a seat in the other, she faced me. Only inches away as she spread her legs and beca
me businesslike.
“It’s twenty dollars a dance. Okay?” I nodded. If I could have afforded it, I’d have paid twenty-thousand. While she waited for the song to end, she gently stroked my hands. But as it ended and the new one began, she went into character.
She danced for several songs, and it was the best non-sex that I ever had. But I finally came to my senses. This was going to go nowhere if all I did was sit there and let the business run itself. I suggested that we take a break and told her that I’d like to continue our conversation. Adding that, if we kept going, ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions.’ She giggled and eagerly agreed to return to the table with me.
As we sat and talked again, I was relieved that we managed to find our way back to where we began. Like the non-sex never happened.
During the dances, I began to worry that she was seeing me for what I was. A man, just like every other man who ogled her pussy, grabbed her ass and squeezed her breasts. I grew fearful that we wouldn’t be able to recover from that, and she would just write me off as another source of funding. A mild diversion at best. But our conversation didn’t miss a beat, and we continued our fascinating dialogue.
Another concern gripped me, though. She was leaving in a couple of days, and I had to fly to Detroit the next morning. I struggled with this while we related. Finally, I found a solution.
A ‘solution’ that still haunts me today.
At one point in the conversation, we were leaning into each other like two whose love was beginning to blossom. I, unfortunately, had too many Scotches in me. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I asked her out.
“So tell me. Do you do private dances?” A cloud passed over her face, only briefly, but visibly. IDIOT! You couldn’t have asked her out for coffee? It’s what I really wanted to do, but in my heart, I still wasn’t sure if our connection was real, or just part of Lexi’s act.
The House that Jack Built Page 17