by SJ Cavaletti
So I packed my bag that night and decided I would do everything I could to get my head in the game again. I would have Angelo do my hair and makeup. I would stay on the floor where I didn’t have to engage too deeply and I would just focus on the strategy I had once decided was inferior. Tonight would be different. I would ONLY try to do dances on the floor. The thought of ending up in the Champagne Room with Angel/Paloma on the other side of the aisle butt fucking had such a negative value that it wasn’t even worth executing a calculation.
That night I went into Brick Road determined to sweep the floor. I needed to drop the tortoise rimmed, serious and nerdy glasses at the door and just have some fun. I brought half a skittle with me for chemical assistance, I had only tried ecstasy a couple times, since meeting Angelica it has become a thing in my life. I wouldn’t have EVER considered rolling at work in any other circumstance but ecstasy, unlike alcohol or coke had a way of making me completely carefree.
I didn’t drop until after I had had my makeup done by Angelo and said hello to anyone who might seek me out later. It was nearly impossible to hide a drug like ecstasy. Dilated pupils, stupid gummy bear smiles… saying hello now meant I could avoid my mates and managers later when my symptoms made me a criminal suspect.
Angelo and I had a great chat as usual. Sitting with him at the beginning of a night was usually a good outlay because not only did he do your makeup but also he had a way of putting you in a good mood.
“Girl,” Angelo said, “You’ll never believe it. You know that chauffeur guy, John? He comes here a lot but never really gets any dances.”
“Yeah… Funny enough it wasn’t that long ago that I actually spoke with him. The one with halitosis?”
“Honey, never judge a dragon by its breath. I was out at this salsa club with my housemate last night cuz her usual partner was sick. Anyways, he was there and I’m telling you, he can cut a rug, girl. He was such an amazing dancer. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.”
“Oh, I’d love to learn salsa,” I said, “I got his business card. We should call him and go back sometime.”
“Oh yeah, you know it honey. He’ll show our booties how to figure eight. Mmmm! There were some delicious bums on that floor!”
I laughed and he put on my last lash. I kissed Angelo’s cheeks and then slinked off to the bathroom stalls with a bottle of water. Upon opening the door I discovered a flurry of girls. A feeling of apprehension came upon me as I couldn’t help but think about the fact that one flimsy metal door stood between me and an horde of potential witnesses to my crime. The experience of doing this, sneaking around in toilet stalls and doing drugs, was one that always sent my adrenaline pumping. I sometimes thought that the true appeal of drugs for me was the secrecy of the moment when one knows one is doing something wrong but continues to do it. The drugs themselves I thought I could take or leave but that feeling of getting away with something, of being a rebel without a cause… it accessed a part of my being that was dangerous and attractive. It made me feel powerful to be in complete control of myself for that moment. Rules and laws, nature and math… in that moment I just lived. Down the hatch. The pill was in.
I needed to make sure that when I started rolling I was somewhere safe. Although I had done E a few times, I still felt really uneasy when the drug took hold of my system. I knew I was powerless. There were some two-top tables that overlooked the stage along the edge of the glass railing on the second level, way in the far corner. Few people ever sat in them. It seemed as though they were cursed as I think I had only seen a few dances happening there in my entire time of being at Brick Road and that was on nights when the Club was just heaving and the vibe was merry. I headed to those, as I would have a bit of breathing space. I could also focus on the girls dancing below, on the beautiful glass stage and the sparkles and tassels and hair.
The first girl I saw was Paja. She was probably the most beautiful girl in the Club but not the brightest. She was very young. In fact, she couldn’t even drink alcohol yet which put her at less than 21. Funny that one could be deemed mentally sound enough to decide to take one’s clothes off in front of strangers but not to have a drink. I had no idea how the managers monitored that. She was always checked in early and left early, too. Maybe she had a curfew and lived at home. There was a little group of girls that I perceived as young and naive… it suddenly made me laugh that at 25 I could possibly feel like the old wise stripper Buddha.
Paja was the type of dancer that never left the pole and never made eye contact with anyone in the audience. She was a picture of absolute beauty: catlike green eyes, chocolate hair, a delicate, feline nose… she was stunning. Like a young Angelina Jolie. I watched her twirl around the pole and then lean back on it with her front to the customers. Her gaze remained on the back of the room and so, as breathtaking and striking as she was, the customers got bored of holding out their dollar bills and finally just set them on stage and talked amongst themselves.
Next up was Ariel which I had at first thought was a throwback to the old mermaid, Disney princess but soon realized was a play on words. She was just the entertainment I needed to get my party started. She could do gravity defying tricks on the pole, twirled elegantly like a ballerina, always landing as though she had padded rabbit feet. I watched her climb the pole, up and up… down… my pill dropped, too.
The sensation was somewhere between having a hot flash and having a limb fall asleep. The warm numbness ran from head to toe quickly and without warning and the intensity was somewhat scary. The first time I ever dropped I was with Angelo, thank goodness, too. He taught me yoga breathing which I used today to calm the nerves that were firing all at once. Within minutes the buzz turned into fuzz turned into warmth. I no longer worried… As we often said when we were rolling, I was all Whitney. You know… “I wanna dance with somebody… I wanna feel the heat with somebody.”
And that’s just what I did. I don’t remember everyone that night but I do remember the first guy. When I had scanned the room his soft smile connected with mine. I sauntered over to him, playful and confident. I kept his gaze as I walked and performed a few cliché flirtations- flipping my hair, twirling it in my fingers. When I arrived at the sandy blonde haired boy-man I sat down on his lap and immediately put my arm around him. It was as if he was the boy next door I used to have a crush on when I was only an ugly duckling and the ecstasy now made me feel like a swan.
He pecked up every morsel of bread and then some. I don’t even remember asking him if he wanted a dance, I just started to gyrate. I looked into his eyes, a majestic, snow white temptress. The song pumped me full of ever more sexual power; it was The Pussycat Dolls “Don’t Cha.”
“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don’t cha…”
I felt the song’s lyrics move my limbs and core and the guy looked at me in awe, something at the time I saw as desire but was more likely to have been shock at a stripper starting to dance without asking for a dime. I went on like this, dancing all night and actually enjoying myself.
It was a great discovery to find that the drug dealer strategy of giving out the first hit for free transferred into the sex industry. Give the first dance out for free and they will get hooked. Hours later I did indeed have somewhere in the region of $1000. My purse was overflowing so it was time to go down to the lockers, unload and reload.
On my way, I silently lipped the words of the song coming out of the speakers, still high and mighty the Rhianna tune seemed fitting. I was in my own little world when I got grabbed by the arm. It was Vin.
“Hey,” he said, “You weren’t even gonna say hi?”
He was sitting with Angelica having a drink and there was a chair available so I took it but one of the problems with E is that it’s incredibly hard to sit still. And incredibly hard not to touch other people. My God Vin looked incredibly delicious at that moment. I touched his leg and asked him how he was doing.
He loo
ked at me carefully, my hand running up and down along his thigh. I have no idea what Angelica’s face read as my face was planted squarely on his. He still said nothing.
“Well,” I said again, “How have you been? I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages.”
With Vin still speechless I looked over at Angelica for human connection. She had a quirky little smile on and then said, “Any further up, Girl, and it’s going to be OctoberFest over there.”
“What?” I asked, amused even though I didn’t get it.
“Sausage in the hand…” she replied.
I looked down at my hand on Vin’s thigh and indeed, it was pretty close to summiting.
I pulled it back coyly.
“You’re rolling,” Angelica said.
“What makes you think that?”
“My God, girl, you’ve got alien pupils,” she said, “So obvious. Plus we’ve been watching you and you’re never all over the floor like that.”
Vin took the edge off, “Shit. Maybe I should get an Ana dance tonight,” he joked.
He slid over a bottle of water that was on the table.
“Drink,” he said.
The relative sobriety on the table and the near end of my pill started to bring me back down to earth. Vin warned me not to get caught by the managers and to sit tight for a bit. Chill out with him until I was feeling a bit more normal. He wasn’t wrong. If I were suspected of rolling in the Club the consequences could have been dear. Getting fired for drug use was probably the only detail that managers leaked to other managers across town. Oh, you didn’t think that strip club managers follow up on references? Think again.
Angelica and Vin didn’t press me as to why I had decided to roll that night. We simply talked about the girl’s that we knew mutually in Vin’s club and made small talk. I felt myself coming down which was both a relief and a worry as the shift was only half over and I was getting sleepy as could be.
Vin said to me, “Babe, let me get you something to eat. It will pass the time. Get you to closing time. My treat.”
I could see Angelica’s face go funny as she wondered why he might buy me dinner. But ever the opportunist she asked for some, too. The thing was that I wasn’t keen on sitting and having dinner. I needed to figure out a way to make more money. I was thousands behind on my financial schedule. And I didn’t have to wait long before a prospect broke. Though perhaps it wasn’t the right kind of opportunity.
Just as I was about to say I was headed downstairs I felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Angel. Her voice came out like a woman possessed. She spoke so rarely that her tone never quite matched what one imagined it to be and so the speech always came out like an out of body spirit.
“I need another girl. My guy wants two,” she said.
Angelica stared at Angel with steely eyes. Fuck. I was desperate. I knew Angel only ever really went into the Champagne Room. A great moment of clarity overcame me and I saw this as a chance to pay off my utilities. But I looked over at Angelica and she had her pouty latin lips pursed and she started to do a sassy, pissed off head wobble. Then she spoke for me.
“Can’t you see we’re busy?”
Angel didn’t rise. She looked back at me, calmly, and waited for an answer.
But Angelica gave it again, “I said we are busy.”
Just speaking to Angel brought back all of Angelica’s anger. I could see she was biting her tongue. Though Vin was not her manager, there was still a clear hierarchy that Angelica respected. She didn’t want to get a reputation as a trouble maker.
Angel shrugged and responded to my silence, “Suit yourself.”
And off she went.
At that point I felt it was time to clear my head and go downstairs.
“Vin,” I said, “Thanks for the offer of dinner but I think I’d better just sober up a bit downstairs. Freshen up. You know.”
I stood up to head down to the locker rooms and Angelica followed me.
Once we were in the changing rooms she bombarded me.
“So… why would Angel think that you would want to go with her in the Champagne Room,” she asked pointedly.
In general I wasn’t anywhere near as aggressive as Angelica but given the drugged state of my being I was even less so.
“Why do you think she wanted me to go in,” I asked.
I could see she held back an accusation. “Just kind of wondered if there was some Simon-Carlos connection,” she asked.
I hardly wanted to admit that we had all been on a date together. But it also felt a bit silly to lie to my friend. I had to trust that she would know my true intentions.
“She probably thinks we can be friends now… when I went to lunch with Carlos the other day she and Simon showed up. I had no idea it was going to happen or I would have tried to ditch.”
“So did Carlos pay you to go to lunch,” she asked, knowing full well that Angel would have been paid for her attendance in some way, shape or form.
“Seriously, Angelica?”
Why would any friend care about this detail? Because Angelica, though loyal, fun and deep, was a money-oriented human being. I was becoming more and more sober by the instant and stared at her, unwilling to entertain the line of questioning.
“What? I’m just asking. I’m not here to judge.
“Dude, I told you that I’m in love with him. Why would I have him pay me to go to lunch? And why does it matter?”
She started to realize her own position. Why did it matter? She knew there was only one answer. It mattered because she wished it was her. But of course she couldn’t say that so she changed tact.
“Ana, whatever you do is your business, and of course I don’t care… I love you just the same whether your boyfriend is your sugar daddy or not but one thing is for sure: being friends with Angel is not good for your reputation. We both know that.”
“I’m not friendly with Angel, first of all. She just happened to be in the same place at the same time. And anyway after you jumped in to save me it’s probably clear to her that I’m not interested in any sort of relationship… even a professional one.”
Angelica grabbed some lip gloss out of her bag and rolled it around her juicy pout.
“I’m going to go back upstairs. Wanna come,” she asked.
“No, I’m going to take a breather down her for a minute and grab some chips or something first.”
“See ya,” she said. And she was off.
She left me behind with a very unusual feeling. I looked in the mirror. That was a mistake. Seeing one’s face after a night on Ex was always a surprise and a somewhat unpleasant one at that. You see, dropping skittles makes you feel sexy, carefree and beautiful. But the truth is, one tends to get sweaty, the pupils explode and skin takes on a yellowy, jaundiced tone. It’s fine for the dim lights of a nightclub but here in the ladies’ dressing room, the image in the mirror was foreign to what I had been feeling inside.
I stared at the girl in the mirror and wondered what had happened to the goodie two shoes from Hampton. My eyes were nearly all pitch black, like in a video game when a character becomes possessed with a spell; they didn’t even need to blink. My hair was slightly matted from perspiration and the edges of my face had lost colour where the moisture of the night had washed away the bronzer and blusher, my mascara gave me panda eyes.
I thought about what Angelica had said. She wanted to know if I had been paid for my company. She wanted to know if I had now become friends with a prostitute. She wanted to know if Carlos was my sugar daddy. And I wanted to know what the hell to do. Loving Carlos should have been perfect. Innocent and life changing. The chick in the mirror said that clearly it wasn’t.
I rubbed my under eyes and cleared off the mascara under my eyes, then went into my duffle to grab my makeup bag. My cell was lit up and buzzed.
There were several texts from Carlos. My heart fluttered when I saw that he was thinking of me. His texts said that he couldn’t stop dreaming of his ‘perfect girl.’ In anot
her text he asked if Abby could arrange with me a time to go off on safari in Africa. My God…somebody pinch me.
I scrolled through all his texts and then checked some others that came in. Pacific Gas and Electric: my bill was now due. Comcast: your bill is now available for viewing. Ugh.
But then I saw my sister had written:
“Hey Honey! I’m in town tomorrow morning. Surprise! Can you meet me for breakfast? I have a conference but can be late… let me know asap. Need to meet near Moscone Center. Maybe my hotel? 8 am? Can’t wait!”
Just what I needed. A bit of grounding. I decided to pretend I wasn’t feeling well and ask to go home early.
Blood is Thicker Than Water
My sister and I had always had a close but slightly competitive relationship. On the one hand, we both shared the same traumas: Mom’s alcoholism, Dad’s domination and Nancy’s scheming. Our soap opera childhood did bring us together but in a home where love and affection were scarce, we were also driven to vie for it.
On the whole, we had grown to be two adults that supported one another through thick and thin. When I told her I had become a dancer to escape Dad’s claws, she actually told me she wished she could do the same. That singular statement made my heart drip with sadness. The thought that my little sister, the one that should be under my wing, could possibly want to fly around half naked for strangers rather than be safe in the nest? Heartbreaking.
She never did do it, thank God. Though she definitely could have. Rebecca was naturally gorgeous. She inherited my Dad’s brown locks, so unlike me, had cocoa brown hair that seemed to frame and illuminate her bright, blue eyes. She had a petite, delicate nose and a feline face that glowed. She did not flaunt her luscious hair but rather pulled it into a slicked back ponytail most of the time and she wore no makeup at all. She was desperate to look older than she was and to be taken seriously, so her beauty was tangled up in loose suits and penny loafers.
