by Lacey Lane
It was obvious from the get-go that the stage was geared for the masses—there was plenty to see and it was plenty cheap. If a dancer made $50 during her turn on stage, she was really kicking ass. To the untrained eye, a near-endless flow of singles (and occasionally fives) may seem like a treasure trove, but compared to what could be made doing table dances or lap dances—or even better yet, VIP Room dances—it was chicken feed.
Lap and table dances are the next rungs up the loot ladder from the stage. Often, it was the stint on stage that got you noticed and selected—but not always. Many times I was simply walking by when I was asked for a lap dance. Mostly though, I took the proactive approach. I homed in on the guys I believed had the gangster rolls in their front pockets and did all I could to relieve them of every cent they had with them—not to mention whatever they could get from their ATM and/or credit cards. You have to understand, my intent wasn’t malicious, and I hate to come across sounding like a shark circling a wounded diver. It’s just the nature of the business. Always was and always will be. The funny thing is, most of the men who go to strip clubs know the ins and outs of the biz as well as the dancers. They, too, are playing the game—trying to get as much as they can for as little as possible. But the strippers will always have the upper hand. That’s not to say that no dancers get taken advantage of. Like any profession’s practitioners, there are those who are simply not cut out for the work and the mindset it requires. Devoid of club smarts, they might accept $50, or less, to do something another dancer wouldn’t even consider for under $200. I’m just generalizing, but a stripper needs to understand her environment, and know that she makes the rules. Failing that, she’d be much better off working in a traditional 9-to-5 gig with a punch card and a lunch break and a list of guaranteed benefits.
Anyway, in regard to lap and table dances, they’re merely financial appetizers. Dancers can make decent money performing them, but the main course is the VIP Room, where per-dance prices usually double or triple (or more, depending on the club). Tips also skyrocket in the VIP Rooms. The more intimate contact has a tendency to open a man’s wallet. However, you still have to get the customer to the VIP Room—and know how to keep him there once you do—but that’s all part of the game. A game I intended to play to the bone.
Of course, every customer who visits a strip club is different—different background, different wants, different needs, etc.—but I learned a host of techniques that could be applied to nearly every man (and occasional woman) who came in.
The first was direct eye contact. Customers love to be singled out, even if it’s only for a second. Pinning a guy in your stare is the equivalent of hooking a fish. All that needs to be done after that is land him. For instance, if I was on stage, while playing to the crowd I would also try to single out the one guy in the place I thought was the treasure chest of the moment. In the beginning of my topless tenure, this was easier said than done. I learned the hard way that just because a guy is dressed to the nines doesn’t mean he’s a real player. From a distance, in the shadowy atmosphere of a strip club, an off-the-rack Brooks Brothers suit looks identical to a custom Armani. And just because a guy is tossing singles to stage dancers like they were water, it’s wrong to assume he’ll be a big spender in the VIP Room. It might just be because he’s drunk, as I discovered on more than one occasion.
But as I became more experienced, the selection process became more natural. Women’s intuition had a lot to do with it, that little voice inside my head that guided me along. So did simple observation: How a man handles himself says a truckload about his financial status. At least, it did more often than it didn’t. But mostly it was trial and error. A poor choice usually netted a scathingly low haul, in most cases the fee for the private dance—one private dance—and nothing more. Then it would be back to the drawing board, looking for the next guy. In essence, a wasted opportunity. But everyone has to learn the hard way, which is better than not learning at all.
Anyway, direct eye contact was especially important during the lap dances themselves, especially in the VIP Room. Even though I was just going through the motions, with no more real feeling for a guy than if he were simply a barrel of cash that I was systematically trying to empty, to him it was a fantasy, a pleasurable adventure that could last as long as he wanted it to (or, perhaps more appropriately, as long as his money supply lasted). I needed to make him feel as if I truly wanted to be there, with him, although it was quite possible I was thinking about redecorating my apartment or adding to my wardrobe the entire time. A customer had to know, without question, that I was his—no questions, end of story—and pinning him in my stare, eyes conveying a sense of companionship and sensuality, and possibility, was the first step.
Another important aspect of strip club success is the ability to role-play. Mind you, I’m not talking about dressing up as a cop or a nurse or a Girl Scout—although costumes do work wonders. No, I’m talking about determining exactly what type of woman a customer wants you to be, then delivering on that character. For example, there were guys who I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would have been turned off (pronounced afraid) of intellectual women. Any girl who could converse using words with more than two syllables would have sent them running. When I encountered guys like that, I automatically lowered my IQ by about 50 points. I could play the ditzy airhead with the best of them and some guys just ate it up. They wanted to feel superior, that they knew the ways of the world and the vagaries of life and I was merely a cog in the wheel, content to put on my make-up and high heels and look pretty for them. Guys like that were cake to manipulate. Others were looking for someone to talk at, to listen to their bragging or their sob stories or their views on the world, offering nothing more than an occasional nod or a “wow,” “impressive,” or “I’m sorry.” Some actually wanted a dancer to interact with them, discussing anything from current events to the weather, from mutual funds to the no-hitter some guy with a last name I couldn’t pronounce tossed the other night.
Role-playing required you to be a good listener, waiting for the tip-off that indicated exactly what kind of character the customer preferred. And that meant you had to be flexible and fast on your feet, able to drop into character the moment you figured it out. As you might expect, at times I guessed wrong. For example, one time I pegged this guy as a slow-starter looking for an aggressive woman to get his juices, and his cash, flowing. But when I came on like gangbusters, he clamped shut tighter than a frightened oyster. As it turned out, I’d made a costly mistake; a little while later, he made another dancer’s night, shelling out more than $500.
On those occasions, I either dug my way out of the small hole I’d made for myself by playing it off in a goofy manner—blamed it on the booze, his pheromone-activating cologne, or some other obscure but plausible reason—or I simply accepted the fact that I was probably going to get a shitty tip, no tip, or lose the customer to another dancer. Once again, it was all just a part of the game and I learned not to take it personally.
That leads me to another crucial aspect of working in a topless joint: attitude. You can be butt-ugly, out of shape, and dumber than a pair of sweat-socks with the dancing ability of a one-legged drunk and still make a fair amount of money if you have a good attitude. Trust me, I’ve seen it done time and time again. But throw a shitty attitude into the mix and I promise you the only thing you’ll go home with is sore feet.
Attitude is, in my opinion, the main reason why some dancers excel and many others don’t. Too many girls come into work with a piss-poor attitude, complaining about this, that, or the other thing, make next to nothing, and leave even more pissed off than when they arrived.
One night, at a club where I was working in California, an established feature entertainer (a former centerfold in one of the major adult skin magazines and a real upand-cummer—pun intended—in the XXX biz) came in to perform. Apparently, she’d gotten into a fight with her boyfriend/manager in the limousine on the way to the club. The second she
walked into the dressing room I could tell she was in a sour mood. Immediately, she began to complain. The dressing room was too cold, the stage was too short, the pole was too wide, the lighting was too bright, the customers looked too poor—you name it, she had a problem with it. But I guess she figured her goddess-like body and looks would compensate for her suck-monkey demeanor. Wrong! I wasn’t surprised at all when she cut her routine short and left in a huff. I think the flower girl made more than she did that night.
While I’m by no means professing to be Miss Congeniality 24/7/365, I decided early on that when I went into the club to work, anything that had happened outside the club stayed outside the club. If I found myself unable to put on a smile and act like I truly wanted to be there, I simply wouldn’t go in. I almost always rose to the task, but those times when I just knew the night would be a total bust, I avoided the club like the plague. Men are there to see tits and ass, yes, but they’re certainly not going to shell out major coin to girls dancing for them with permanent scowls, I don’t care how gorgeous they are.
At one club, there was a black girl named Darci who, had she wanted to, probably could have been a Victoria’s Secret catalog model or a Sports Illustrated swimsuit-issue model. Tall, femininely muscular, and absolutely beautiful, she was easily one of the most attractive women I had ever seen. But Darci had a major attitude problem. From the in-club rumor mill (every strip club has one), I heard that much of it stemmed from a failing marriage, along with a deep appreciation for vodka. At the beginning of the night she would be peaches ’n cream to all who came into contact with her, dancers and customers alike. But midway through the shift, Darci transformed into King Kong in a thong and everyone within a mile was well-advised to steer clear of her. I figured she was not long for the business—at least at that club—and the circumstances of her final night didn’t surprise me in the least.
Apparently, a VIP Room customer was less than pleased with Darci’s performance and tipped her a dollar, in quarters, to make a point. By that time, Darci’s chip was practically crushing her shoulder and she decided to make a point of her own. First, she spit in the customer’s face—a nasty green globule she seemed to conjure up from her soul. Had she ended it there, perhaps she would have only been suspended from the club for a week or so, if at all. But the phlegmy facial wasn’t enough and she followed it up with a straight right to the guy’s chops, chipping one of his teeth with her ring in the process. After some serious negotiating, financial reparations, and major freebies, the customer agreed not to file charges or sue. Darci, of course, received her walking papers. On the way out, she spit on the floor, the manager, and the bouncer, too. I don’t expect you’ll find her working in Customer Service any time soon!
While the attitude of the dancer is a key element of her success, the attitude of the customer is equally important—though often overlooked. Dancers have to be able to determine when a customer is truly interested and willing to spend a lot of money on her, as opposed to when he’s simply biding his time, shining her on, trying to get more for less. This determination is something a dancer needs to make immediately, for it will set the financial tone of the evening, and her career. If a dancer believes she can make more money via volume—meaning many one- and two-song dances for numerous customers—more power to her. But in my opinion, that’s working way too hard for way too little of a reward. The best way for a dancer to hit the jackpot is to latch on to a customer (or customers), develop a (working) relationship of sorts, and take him for all he’s worth. Again, there’s nothing vindictive about that statement, and I certainly don’t mean to sound rapacious, but that’s how it works. This is how it was done long before I broke into the biz and this is how it will be done for eons to come—assuming our nation doesn’t become a complete Big Brother society and legislation shuts down the strip club industry.
Many guys go to strip clubs planning to spend more on booze than on the girls. These are the customers you want to identify and steer clear of. Don’t waste time chatting it up with a guy like that—you’re probably only going to get one or two dances out of him—when other men out there are ready and willing to pay for four, five, or six dances. Spotting one of these liquor-loving tightwads isn’t always easy. Befriend a cocktail waitress or two and ask them to keep track of any power-drinking customers. Ditto for the bartenders. The courtesy $5 or $10 you shell out for the info might save you from wasting your time—and losing serious money—in the long run.
In the Vegas clubs, the girls can drink for free, but in many other cities the dancers are charged for their cocktails. In these clubs, if a customer is initially hesitant about paying for a lap dance, at least get him to buy a couple of drinks—one for you and one for him. Alcohol has a tendency to loosen up customers, along with the ties to their wallets. I’ve had some of my best nights courtesy of guys who, at first, weren’t at all interested in paying for a lap dance or journeying to the VIP Room, and it all started with a casual getting-to-know-you cocktail. However, some dancers take advantage of the drink freebies and get themselves too soused to work. I’d often see girls getting wasted with customers, which in some cases didn’t hurt their earnings, as the guys were looking for companions for the night, not necessarily dancers. But on other occasions, when it came time to perform and the girls were unable to, they were dropped like yesterday’s news in favor of dancers who had all their faculties. Waking up with empty pockets and a hangover is clearly not the way to make it big in the topless business.
I made a pact with myself when I first started dancing that when I went to work, I worked. Often, I’d see girls taking break after break, chatting it up in the dressing room with other girls, constantly talking on their cell phones, or simply hiding out in the bathroom with a cigarette and a glass of wine. It was usually those same girls who complained at the end of the night, week, or month that they didn’t have enough to make their rent or car payment. To be successful as a stripper, you need to circulate. You absolutely have to put yourself in position to make money and that means getting around and getting seen. Four-figure nights with millionaire celebrity customers do occur, but they’re few and far between. On most nights (and/or days), strippers have to grind it out, figuratively and literally, making $20 here, $40 there, and so on. It takes real effort and those who aren’t committed to working—and working hard—are probably better served in a different profession.
Alcoholic beverages aside, there are other “tricks” a dancer can use to get guys in the mood and eager to spend. For instance, when I knew guys were watching, I might come up and give another dancer a smack on the ass, playful but firm, which almost always triggered a positive response from the surrounding males. Most men are entranced by girl-on-girl and two-girl/one-guy fantasies. Just the thought of becoming the meat in a girlie sandwich drives them through the roof and every stripper knows it. (Actually, I think all women are born with this knowledge—must be some kind of neonatal-instilled feminine characteristic.) Many of those gentle pats resulted in trips to the VIP Room, often with a favorable ratio of dancers to customers—and we all banked the bucks.
Another trick of the trade involved my stage performances. In most cases, this is when a dancer does the most and earns the least. Unfortunately, every dancer has to take her turn on stage (or stages, depending on the club’s layout). To maximize my time, I often enlisted the help of a small prop to up the ante. For some reason, watching a woman rub some sort of object on or across her body is more appealing to most men than simply watching that woman caress herself with her hands. Don’t ask me why. Maybe somebody should do a study on it. (Hell, they’ve spent our tax dollars on weirder things!) Besides, I’d sure as hell like to know the results.
My favorite prop was a loaded water pistol (even fake guns are great attention-getters). Not only could I rub it against my body but it was perfect for singling guys out of the crowd. All it took was a playful squirt and they were mine—my version of big-game hunting. Sometimes, I even filled it with
liquor—usually vodka or rum—and topped a guy’s drink off for free if he desired. The $10 or so it cost me to fill it up at the beginning of the night almost always came back ten- or twenty-fold. I got the idea from another stripper who used a toy slingshot to fire Hershey’s Kisses at the guys she wanted to entertain after her turn on stage. Sure, the water pistol was a case of one-upsmanship but, hey, that’s what it’s all about.
Other dancers used props, too, and some of the items—and the manner in which they were used—were extremely creative. Others were freaky and sick. I’ve seen strippers use dildos (external use only on stage, but who knows what the hell they did behind closed doors), hula-hoops, martial-arts weapons like samurai swords and nunchakus, pieces of rope, chains, a straitjacket (she was a better escape artist than Houdini), a broom, chocolate chips and a mini-vacuum, playing cards (one dancer even played an erotic game of War with the customers closest to the stage), power tools of varying sizes, lotions and oils, and all types of food items including whipped cream, chocolate syrup, assorted puddings, and one extra-long zucchini.
One of the coolest routines I ever watched involved a pair of custom nipple covers. They were made of some kind of synthetic material and the dancer wet them, stuck them to her breasts, coated them with a flammable liquid like lighter fluid, and set them on fire. Although they didn’t burn for very long, it was long enough to get the guys all hot and bothered. Then, with her fingertips coated with cream or Vaseline, she pinched her nipples and snuffed out the flames. Definitely original.
