The New York Doll

by Ellie Midwood

  - This weekend. I took two days off just for that.

  - And where are you going?

  - I don’t know yet. I will let R. choose the place, it always says a lot about a man on a first date, you know?

  - Oh, so you have the whole scientific method about dating, don’t you? – Mikky is such a little ball breaker.

  - I really, really don’t. Oh, look, what a pretty sculpture! I don’t even know if he’s married or not, if he has a girlfriend or not… Every time it’s the same thing with me, I like somebody, I fall in love without thinking and it always ends bad. But what a great feeling it is just to be in love! Totally worth it. So this time I’ll do just the same. Do you think I’m stupid?

  - No. – Mikky handles me her iPhone. – Take a picture of me next to this painting, it’s gorgeous!

  I take a couple of pictures and she continues.

  - I think it’s going to work between you two. You know how much against Zed I was, but R…. he’s just a different type of a man. So I say, go for it.

  - What about the possible wife or a girlfriend we don’t know about?

  - Well, if he had a girlfriend, I don’t think he would ask you out. And as for a wife, I don’t know, but at least I haven’t seen a ring on his finger.

  - You don’t see rings on half of our customers, but does it mean anything? – I give Mikky my “I-don’t-think-so” look.

  We both stop, fascinated by one of the modern section sculpture, all made of nails.

  - Let’s create something like this, so people remember us forever? – I say.

  - I have a feeling that we will someday. – Mikky smiles.

  Who knew in 1987 that two girls who were just born in two different Russian cities with a completely non-Russian mentality will meet in the most amazing city in the world and agree to follow our American dream together. We didn’t know yet what it would be, but we were sure that as soon as we understand, we’ll do our best to help and support each other. Because as Paulo Coelho said, if you really want something, the whole Universe will comply to help you achieve your goal, as every dream is born in the Soul of the World.

  Chapter 15

  One of the myths about this business is that all strippers are whores, or gold diggers, or both combined. Probably in certain cases you would be right, but 80% of the girls simply have temporary financial difficulties and they are hot and open-minded enough to resolve them quickly and pain free. Some of the girls are dancing to pay off their fake marriages for papers, oh well, let’s be honest, that’s the majority of the whole strip club population. That was the reason why Mikky spent three years in different clubs and now she is a happily divorced legal American citizen with a nice bank account and plans on buying an apartment in Manhattan.

  Some of the girls, however, don’t have the papers yet and that’s the only nicely paid half-legal job that they can find at the time. That’s the case of most of the Brazilian and Puerto-Rican girls who are lucky enough to have prettier faces and rounder butts than those who have to clean hotel rooms 24/7 or babysit some spoiled rotten Park Avenue toddlers.

  Some girls are paying off their tuition by giving lap dances and doing champagne rooms, since they are not that attracted to the idea of being a 30 year old lawyer with a huge debt to pay to the truly fascinating American educational system. These are mostly American girls from the lower middle class families who do this so that their daughters won’t have to.

  You know, when you think of that, I truly admire all these girls and women who actually have a very structured plan on what they want to do with their lives and what are they going to be in 3, 5, 7 years and how much it’s all going to cost. It amazes me what great accountants, managers and personal life coaches they are. Yes, they are wearing G-strings and plastic shoes, so what? They know exactly what they want and how to get it, and if you refuse to give these girls credit, stop reading this book right now, because one of them wrote it.

  However, some dancers are not too smart about what they do at all. I’m not talking about the biggest Manhattan clubs of course; they would be kicked out of there in a split second as soon as the manager would bust their asses. But even in the club where I used to work I spotted several cases of what I call a “dumb stripper”. They all got fired pretty soon of course, but the whole point is, there really should be a little training course, or a manual for the girls who just started dancing. It should give you some certain rules, if you can’t use your common sense during work. If I wrote it, it would look something like this:

  Rule #1. Customers always want the most of what they can’t get. Don’t give it all away at the very beginning. It’s not you who should beg them to buy a dance from you, it should be them begging you to buy an hour in the VIP room and come back every week for more.

  Some girls don’t get this simplest rule, but it defines the whole business and on this rule only it will depend whether you will be making money or not. I saw girls letting customers touch their boobs under the bra for a $3 tip. I saw a girl humping the shit (pardon my French) out of the customer right at the bar and then complaining that he didn’t want to buy a dance from her. Of course he won’t buy it, he’s not stupid, he already got it for free, so why would he pay twenty more dollars now?

  When I was working, I was always at my best lady-like behavior, as if I was at the most upscale high society New York event. I would talk about politics, economics and analyze the market with them. I wasn’t a stripper, I was a geisha, who was not only the pleasure for their eyes, but for their mind. And it was always working perfectly! They would buy rooms from me so we could talk in a more intimate atmosphere, drink champagne while he would be rubbing my back and telling me how beautiful I am. That’s why I never felt dirty at work, if you act classy, they will respect you and will never treat you wrong. Simple as that, it should be enough to be successful and for the club to make money.

  Rule #2. Make yourself valuable. The more you invest in your looks, the more money you will make. Don’t buy your outfits in Marshalls, go to Victoria’s Secret and get not only sexy lingerie, but some hot accessories, like garter belts or stockings. If you look like a cheap porn star in bright ass green panties and a red bra, you’ll be attracting customers asking you for a blow job on the side or if you’ll show him your boobs for an extra five bucks during the dance. But if you look like one of the Victoria’s Secret Angels, you’ll be treated like one by some Wall Street money bags.

  And the same goes with your body. Ladies, go to the gym, work out, make yourself look sexy as hell; believe me, everybody wants a Sports Illustrated model, not some plus size cellulite filled jelly mess.

  Every time you come to work, get ready as if you are preparing yourself for the most important date of your life. Always have your hair done, always make sure your make-up is flawless, but be careful with perfume since most of the male club population are married men and they won’t take a chance getting a divorce because they come home smelling like a Sephora store. And don’t forget about the manicure: when you sit with a customer at the bar and he buys you a drink, he doesn’t want to see different shaped nails with a month old half-gone nail polish and bit cuticles. Always remember, the more expensive you look, the richer the customer you will attract. Simple, isn’t it?

  Rule #3. Simple courtesy rule, also known as “among us, girls” rule. Like in life, always treat another girl like you want to be treated. I have such sweet memories of the golden age of “Velvet” when I just started working there. All the girls were like sisters to each other, we knew everything about each other’s lives, boyfriends, kids, schools, careers, and we would discuss it all at the back room doing our make-up. We could leave the money right on the dressing table next to our bags and no one would ever take it. We never used lockers since we would never take anything from another girl’s bag. We were all dancers, we knew how hard it is to get this money and we would never betray each other by stealing from a fellow dancer.

  Another thing is the mutual courtesy whe
n it comes to the customers. If you see a girl sitting with a customer and he bought her a drink, but now she has to go on stage or use the bathroom, never come up to her customer and ask him for a dance. It’s the same thing like stealing, but now you’re stealing not the actual, but potential money. And it’s not cooler in any way. You wouldn’t want anybody to take your customer while you do your set, so why would you do it to somebody else?

  And of course, never, ever, ever try to steal the other dancer’s regular customer. That’s one of the lowest things that you can do in the club. I remember how hard Alana was trying to steal one of my regulars, Coconut. Luckily for me, he was so in love with me that he wouldn’t even come to the club when I wasn’t working. But Alana tried to steal him as soon as I would get on stage and leave him alone; she would come up to him and start saying how much prettier she is than me and how her boobs are bigger. I was only laughing though, if you have to persuade somebody that you’re hot, you probably aren’t. You should just enter the room and have everybody looking at you. That’s how it works.

  So here we are, these three rules are very simple, but if you follow them, soon you’ll be the main attraction of the place, making crazy money and being spoiled by the attention of the most desirable customers in the club.

  Chapter 16

  Our first date with R. was on May 27. I remember it so well because since that date we have a tradition of celebrating our anniversary in the same Mexican restaurant in the Village, take a ride on a horse and buggy in Central Park, stop by the “Imagine” mosaic dedicated to John Lennon (R. is a huge Beatles fan), make out on a bench in the dark and go home. It was quite unusual to see each other in the daylight while I was dressed sexy, but classy and without my whorish make-up. We haven’t had a tiny bit of an “uncomfortable silence” that most of the couples have on their first date. We were talking all the time, laughing and holding hands.

  We found out a lot of new things about each other. R. was quite surprised to find out that I was Jewish (but it turned out to my favor as he grew up in the neighborhood that was predominantly Italian and Jewish and had more Jewish friends than I did); that I had a bachelor’s degree in linguistics and that I haven’t spoken to my father in almost a year. I learned that he was older than I thought (the fact that I didn’t believe in until I saw his driver’s license since R. looks at least 15 years younger than he really is); that he was separated from his wife long time ago (big relief!) and that he lived with a cat named Rory and a goldfish named Feesh. Besides the club R. had a sign business and he enthusiastically pointed out to me every billboard and every sign he made while we were driving to the restaurant. R. told me a lot about his big Italian family, about his nieces and nephews, how his father died several years ago and how he missed him. I told R. about my daddy issues and about my grandpa who was such a great father figure to me; I told him how I haven’t seen my mommy and granny for so long and how much I miss them. I also told him what a bitch my aunt Anna was and how I wanted to move to Brooklyn. I didn’t want to hide anything, I wanted R. to know everything about my life without covering things up.

  That’s why I also confessed that my uncle was in jail for heroin trafficking. R. just laughed and told me to look up a couple of names on a Wikipedia: they were his good friends and probably made the top ten most wanted Italian mobsters on the FBI list. I really started laughing after that one. Looks like I just can’t beat him at anything! R. started laughing too and said that he was very happy that I didn’t take off like a bandit. And by the way, the Feds might be watching us right now and taking pictures, R. said. That’s fine, I look great, so they can take all the pictures they want, I answered. We looked at each other and realized that we’re going to make a great couple. Just like Bonnie and Clyde.

  _______________

  R. started spoiling me right away. And I’m not talking bags and shoes, he was spoiling me with a completely different from all the other men attitude, he was almost cherishing me and making me feel like a princess. R. was giving me showers after my stages, getting me my favorite cheesecakes and I was sitting on his lap talking about everything in the world. He was taking me home after work and singing Sinatra for me and, oh my God, he sounded just like him! R. was taking me to the best Italian restaurants and feeding me oysters, lobsters and filet mignons. But more than all that, I loved those cute little gentleman things he did, like opening doors for me (even in his car), helping me with my jacket and serving me at the restaurants. One thing I can say, men should learn from R. who’s always been an old school gentleman, and too bad they don’t make them anymore.

  Pretty soon he introduced me to all his friends and they all loved me right away, and very soon I found out why. As I told Mikky before, I had no idea about any possible girlfriends of R.’s, and pretty soon he told me that he broke up with his girlfriend a couple of month ago, but she still bothered him calling and asking to come back. It was surprising for me to find out that she was very persistent in her calls and I had no idea how crazy the girl really was until R. and his friend Vito told me some stories.

  R. got separated from his wife many years ago and since then he dated Jessie, a fitness instructor, for almost ten years, but after his ex-wife got very sick, he decided to break up with his girlfriend to take care of his ex. Jessie moved to California, got married and became quite a successful painter. She still e-mails R. from time to time and says she never got over him. I understand her. R. spoiled me for all other men for the rest of my life and I don’t think I could ever be with somebody else.

  Anyway, when R.’s ex-wife got better and forgot all about how good he was to her during her illness when even her own father and sister didn’t want to take care of her, R. met Denise. The biggest nightmare of his life, as he calls her. Also known as “the Nut”, “Stalker” and “Crazy Bitch” (all names are given by R. and I have nothing to do with them).

  The whole story of how they met gives the tone to the whole three year relationship right away. R. loved riding bikes and some of his friends who also shared his love for Harleys, often went for a ride all over the States. So one day, when they were ready to take off for another trip, Vito brought a pretty blonde named Denise, who decided that R. was way hotter than her date and started flirting with him and asking him out. Because of the guys’ code and his morals, R. kept refusing her again and again, until she persuaded him that Vito and her have never technically been a couple, even though Vito took her to a couple of family dinners and she spent a night at his house (but not at his bedroom).

  “She was calling me twenty times a day! – R. was laughing. – What was I supposed to do? I gave up. Biggest mistake of my life! I should have known back then that she was a crazy stalker!”

  Denise always had an attitude. She never liked the restaurants R. was bringing her to, the food was never good enough, his friends were annoying, and God forbid a waitress or a hostess would smile at R., - at moments like that Denise was going completely ballistic.

  “Did she give you her number? Do you know her? I saw you staring at her ass! Do you wanna fuck her? You motherfucker!” And then there would be tears, hysterical accusations, slamming the doors and walking out on him.

  _______________

  It was hard to believe that a woman can be that crazy until it concerned me one day, when Denise showed up at the club with couple of her friends looking to give me a beating of my life. I’ve never seen her before and so I was just happily dancing on stage when a bartender, Leslie, called me up and told me not to collect the tips after I’m done and just go to the dressing room right away, as R.’s ex-girlfriend Denise is sitting at the bar and she’ll make trouble. I was pretty drunk by then, so I just winked at Leslie, said that trouble was my middle name and started dancing as sexy as I possibly could. But right after my stage was finished, the club manager Philip and a bouncer escorted me right to the dressing room, so there wouldn’t be a risk of her making a scene. It was almost closing time, so I changed and was waiting patiently for
the van to take me home. On the way to Staten Island I told Mikky the whole story and she laughed with me, and then I stated receiving a bunch of messages with apologies from R., calling Denise a “stupid drunken moron” and saying that she was now banned from the club.

  Later I found out that as soon as Denise showed up, Philip called R., and R. rushed to my rescue in the middle of the night like a knight in shining armor. And while I was going to the van with Mikky, R and Denise had a huge fight on the kitchen, during which drunk Denise tried to stab R. with a knife. Thanks to his martial arts skills and years of experience of being a mobster, R. quickly disarmed her and after that gave her a nice kick in the ass goodbye, as the other manager and club co-owner Shawn told me later, laughing. “That girl was trouble, - he was saying. – R. had to sit at the bar looking at his shoes, he couldn’t look at the girls, he couldn’t talk to them, and he has to, he’s the owner of the place! She would make a scene out of everything, I’m so glad R. kicked her out!”

  Too bad it wasn’t so easy to kick her out of our lives as well. She would still bother R., even though he wouldn’t pick up the phone, she would leave messages crying, saying how much she loved him, and then right away going to the aggressive mode and calling him names and asking how could he do that to her. Meanwhile, R., a very mellow man who put up with her shit for years, only broke up with her after she went on a cruise with her ex-boyfriend.

  “God knows how many guys she’s been with while we were dating! I don’t even want to think about it. – R. was saying. – And you know me, I never run around, if I’m with someone, I’m only with that person, and she kept accusing me of cheating on her! I just kept saying that we see in others what we do ourselves. She hated when I would say that.”

  Chapter 17

  Zed didn’t take me going out with R. too well, and along with nasty text messages I was getting “upset DJ’s vengeance” songs for my sets on stage. I didn’t mind dancing to “What Goes Around, Comes Around” by Justin, or “Heartless” by Kanye, and if he thought that his choice of music would make me feel guilty, he was very mistaken. I couldn’t care less and instead of looking upset or mad, I was winking at customers right and left, and doing as many rooms as I could. The nights when R. was stopping by and we were hanging out together and leaving together, Zed was fuming and in the next couple of days he posted a picture of himself with five or six girls sitting around him. And one weekend, while at the barbeque with his friends, he put a Barbie doll on a tent pole and captioned it “girl of my dreams”. I showed it to everybody in the club and was dying laughing.