Eighteen Months

by Giulia Napoli

  That afternoon, a Monday, Roger was in his office reviewing advertising for the upcoming shows around Halloween. New dance music was playing through the stage sound system from an MP3 player Phil used during rehearsals. The Jolly Roger used a live band for all of my performances. When I was off, like on Wednesday and Thursday and a few other times before and after my performances, they used recorded music.

  Phil was standing behind me with his hands on my hips, to lead me through the moves he wanted me to make. Since I couldn’t see his examples, he led me through them by touch, if I didn’t know the moves already. That was fine by me. Phil had no sexual interest in me, though he’d have done Rocco in a heartbeat, if the Jolly Roger’s big muscle hadn’t been straight as the proverbial arrow.

  As I was getting into the beat and the slowly swaying movement Phil wanted me to do, I suddenly heard Phil call out, “Roger!” Then there was a crash in the distance, off to my left. It sounded like chairs and tables being overturned.

  “Something’s wrong with Roger!” Phil yelled in his excited soprano. He let go of me. I could hear him running off and a quick bump, which sounded like him jumping off the stage. The music kept playing.

  When we practiced, I kept my cane on a chair behind the curtain. I started doing this following one afternoon, when Phil saw a friend with whom he’d been romantically involved, at the entrance to the theater, as we all called it, and ran off leaving me standing there alone. I had to feel my way backstage, hands in front of me and feet afraid to move for fear of banging my toes on something. He was gone the rest of the day.

  He profusely apologized later, but I provided insurance during future rehearsals.

  So I grabbed my cane and made my way, tapping, to the back of the auditorium.

  I felt an obstruction on the floor when I got to them. “Roger’s passed out,” Phil said. “I’ve called 911.”

  Roger had a stroke. No one knew if he’d recover. He was in intensive care for six days, before they put him in a regular room. He couldn’t walk or talk.

  I went to visit him. That didn’t go very well. I couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t talk to me. If he did any gesturing, I couldn’t tell.

  I finally hugged him, told him I appreciated everything he’d done for me, including turning me into a first-class erotic dancer, urged him to recover and come back quickly, and left.

  I had a phone message to be at the Jolly Roger for a meeting at 4:00 that afternoon, a Friday. I went there expecting that they were closing down – and I’d be out of a job. There were two other erotic dancing or strip clubs in River’s Edge, but I’d heard some things about them that I didn’t like.

  Rocco started talking. This surprised me. I didn’t think the kindly brute had it in him.

  “All yous listen up,” he started. Sure sounded like Rocco. “Roger is in bad shape. He’ll be goin’ to rehab after he gets out. He’ll be in the hospital until at least Sunday. After that, nobody knows how well he’ll recover, or how long that’ll take. He’s on medication and they think he’ll get at least somewhat better.”

  “I’ve talked to him, as best I could, and to the other partner too.”

  There were partners? I didn’t know. I thought Roger was the sole owner.

  “We’re keepin’ the club goin’ without any shut-down. Thanks to Minx and the rest of yous, we’re making lots of dough, and so are yous.”

  “Since you’re the third partner, are you gonna run the place, Rocco?” Someone asked.

  Rocco, a partner and owner? I never would have guessed. I thought one of the other bouncers had asked the question.

  “Are you outa your fuckin’ mind?” Rocco said. Everyone laughed. “I don’t wanna run this place. I like banging heads too much. If I stepped in, we’d lose all our customers for sure.

  “Roger Junior is takin’ over, startin’ next Friday. Nothin’ else’s gonna change.”

  There was a moment of silence. I didn’t know what was going on.

  “No offense, Roger,” one of the dancers, Marlene I thought, finally spoke up, “but every one of us knows that Roger Junior is a first-class prick.”

  There was laughter and grunts of agreement.

  “Roger Junior is gonna run the place,” Rocco said, “so yous might as well get used to the idea. He’ll meet with each of yous Thursday and Friday.”

  I talked to Rocco privately for a few minutes afterwards.

  “I didn’t know you were an owner, big guy.”

  “Yeah. I have 24, Roger has 25, and his son has 51 percent of the place.”

  “Roger Junior is the majority owner?” I was really surprised.

  “Yeah. Up ta now, he’s been a silent partner. When his dad gave him a majority share, the deal was that Roger Senior would run the place and draw a salary, Junior and I would, of course, share the profits. ‘Course, my Don funded the place originally, gave me my share for services rendered, and eventually sold out his part to Roger Senior. That’s when Junior came in. So far Junior’s collected his annual profit and spent the rest of his time in Central America and Thailand - up until his dad got sick.”

  “Wow. I never knew. What’ gonna happen now?”

  “Honestly? Whatever Roger Junior wants. All I can do is talk to him. If there’s direct evidence that his actions’ll hurt the value of my shares, I can sue. I hope he does the right thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “For me and yous, runs the business successfully.”

  **********

  I knocked on the door to Roger’s office, Junior’s office now, and I heard him call for me to come in. Since it was a cool, fall day, I was wearing jeans, a pull-over sweater and four-inch-heeled ankle boots. I always wore four-inch shoes to stay accustomed to them, and avoid a change that might lead to a fall – on stage or anywhere else. My feet had become used to them, to the point that it hurt to be barefoot for more than short times. My tendons had adjusted. So I wore four-inch-somethings everywhere, except to bed.

  I entered and tapped my way to a chair that Roger – uh … Roger Senior – had always kept in front of the table he used for a desk. I was about to sit down when Junior said, “Hold on there. I guess you’re Minx … er … Alie Adams. Right?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I’d earlier decided to be formal until he told me otherwise.

  “I hear you’re blind as a bat.”

  “Yes, Sir. I can’t see anything. No light, nothing at all.”

  “That must be a bitch. Well, I’m not blind, so before you sit down, let’s have a look at you.”

  When you’re a stripper that only means one thing. I took off my clothes. I had to remove my boots to get out of my tight jeans, but slipped my feet into them when I was, otherwise, naked.

  “Jesu Marimba! Turn around there. Christ Almighty, you’re about the hottest piece a’ ass I’ve ever seen in real life.”

  “I’m a stripper, Mr. Ives, not a ‘piece of ass.’”

  “Yeah … whatever. For the most part, you are what I say you are.”

  “I dance. I’m very good, but that’s all I do.”

  “Never gave my daddy head?” He asked chuckling.

  “Like I said, I’m a dancer. I don’t do sex to get or keep my job.”

  ‘You do what I say you do.”

  “No, Sir. I do not.”

  He said nothing at that point. I was ready to walk out. I was not going to fuck him to keep a job. Five months ago, the idea that anyone would ever hint at that was inconceivable. Okay, I’d changed. I’m blind now and I strip for money, but the rest of me is the same as I was. That’s what I told myself.

  Of course, I was bi now. That was new.

  Having sex with a man seemed particularly unattractive when I was in the presence of this bastard.

  “Did daddy design your tits and pussy?” That’s not what I thought he’d say next.

  “Yes, for the most part.”

  “I like the tits. They look fake, like a dancer is supposed to look.”

  He was talking
about me as though I were a cut of meat. I hated this guy at that moment. How could someone as nice as Roger Senior have a son like this asshole?

  “Do you think they look fake, little ‘erotic dancer?’”

  “I’ve never seen them; it’s impossible for me to see them, so I can’t say.”

  “Well how do they feel then?”

  “They feel like breasts. Big, round breasts.”

  “They are that. What does your boyfriend think about them?” What was with this guy? Was he getting off on this? He could be playing with himself right then, for all I knew.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Are you a dyke? Your hair is short enough.”

  That hurt, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe I was still sensitive about losing my longer hair.

  “I don’t see where that’s any of your business, Mr. Ives.”

  “You make a lot a’ money here. You should learn where your bread is buttered.”

  “You make a lot of money because I dance here. You should learn not to bite the hand that feeds you.”

  “Ha!” He actually started laughing. “Touché, bitch! Don’t think I won’t be watching you. I intend to make sure you continue to make me that money. If you do anything to disrupt the cash flow here, I’ll sue you, take whatever you’ve got now, and you’ll be givin’ me every cent you make for the next twenty years.

  “Do we understand each other?”

  “I suppose time will tell.” I picked up my clothes and turned and left.

  Junior was there every night during the next two weeks. I was surprised that he mostly left me alone. He apparently watched all the performances, mine and the others, and made suggestions which were, sometimes, actually helpful. I didn’t have any more confrontations with him.

  Rina took me to visit Roger Senior at the rehabilitation center where he’d be for a month or two. He was able to talk a little, but his left arm and leg weren’t working very well. I held his right hand and talked about anything that came to mind. He tired quickly so I gave him a kiss on the cheek, noticing that his cheek was wet from tears, and left. He squeezed my hand and thanked me for coming.

  The guy had made a stripper out of me, but I was not the least resentful. I was grateful. He probably saved me from welfare. He was doing what his business required, and he’d been good at it. He’d always treated me fairly and with concern. He was generally a pleasant boss to have, better than most, actually. I missed him. I hoped he’d recover enough to get his life back.

  Chapter 13 – La La Land

  According to Rocco, it was seasonal. We were approaching the holiday season and people had other things to do. Business dropped off at least noticeably. Roger Junior was unhappy, even though Rocco tried to tell him that this happened every year until the day after Christmas, when it picked up and reached its highest point around New Year’s. Then it would be the slowest period for a couple winter months.

  Junior couldn’t see it, even when Rocco managed to show him last year’s figures, and got his dad to tell him this was the seasonal low three months. He was determined to fix the problem, as he perceived it. In a meeting of all the dancers, he told us our dances needed to be sexier.

  “For God’s sake, Roger,” Marlene, one of the solo dancers called out, “How do you get sexier than wearing nothing at all? All of us solo dancers have two or more of your dad’s ‘bangles’ too.” Everyone laughed, except Roger.

  I could hear Phil rumbling unhappily from somewhere near Roger. It sounded like he wasn’t pleased.

  “I’ve talked this over with Phil and there are some things we can add or do differently to get the crowd more excited, and get them talking us up with all their friends. First of all, I’d like to see a lot more tittie rubbin’ and expressions of arousal when you girls are dancin’ out there. I want to see fingers playing with your clits and a little finger fuckin’ goin’ on too. I want a few of you to dance with butt plugs and …”

  “That’s bullshit, Roger, you’re trying to turn us into a bunch of cheap scags like those girls at the Four Horsemen’s.” One of the other solo girls, Crystal, had interrupted him and it was obvious by his huffing and puffing that Roger didn’t like it. That didn’t keep Crystal from pointing out what was obvious to everyone else, “Besides, there are four of us here, including me and Minx, Marlene and Patti who have your dad’s special clit ‘bangles.’ If we start touching ourselves there while dancing, we’ll cum right on the spot, on stage.”

  “Hell, that works for me! Phil, make sure those four have some pussy fingering in their dances. In addition, I want Minx laced up every time for her dance number 3. Look, you dumb broads, I’m tryin’ to keep us in business so you can continue to earn your inflated pay and tips. Phil will be workin’ on some routines where you girls can do some bumpin’ and grindin’ on each other out there too. The guys in the audience will love it. You’ll make more money and so will I.”

  I was about to protest having my labia tied up like a shoe when someone else spoke first.

  “We don’t do lewd,” Marlene said.

  “You do what I say you do. Every one of you has a contract that says you’ll do whatever we want as long as it’s legal in River’s Edge. Public masturbation in a park is illegal but in a club setting it’s legal. Like I told Minx here, if you break your contract, I’m prepared to take everything you’ve got, along with everything you’ll earn for the next twenty years, in court. Don’t test me.”

  Roger had no idea how to get anyone to do anything without a threat.

  “We’re gonna work up a one-on-one routine to introduce the bumpin' and grindin’ as a twice-a-night headline act, behind Minx. Patti Cakes will still have five shows, but we’ll push back the last act to 2:00. Minx will continue the same schedule. I’m giving the one-on-one routine to Marlene and Crystal.”

  “I don’t want it,” Marlene said.

  “Neither do I,” Crystal added.

  “You’re both stupid. You’ll each make a couple hundred more a night in tips. Regardless, your contract lets me give it to you, and that’s what I’m doin’. Phil will work with you.

  “Starting tonight, all the headliners - meaning Minx, Patti Cakes, and when the new routine is ready next week, Marlene and Crystal – will get a dose of Easy X a half hour before your first performance each night. I’ll oversee it. I want my dancers loose and ready.”

  I’d taken Easy X that first night. It got me over the hump and through the first five performances. I’d taken it a few times afterwards but I didn’t much care for it. When you were very anxious, it balanced you out. If you weren’t more than a little nervous, it made you feel like all you wanted to do was have sex. I didn’t like what it did to me. Besides, it was slightly addictive.

  “I won’t do it,” I said. Marlene echoed me. On this one, it didn’t seem like Crystal or Patti cared.

  “Don’t push me Alie. I’ll be there with it at 7:30. You give me trouble and I’ll make your life hell. Marlene … same for you.”

  “One more thing. I want to try something else, see if the crowd likes it. I want someone to get three to five tongue studs, and put some tongue action into the show. Sorta like Miley Cyrus some years back, but sexier. I think the men and women patrons will love the studs; they’ll imagine them on their dick or pussy. So, I need a volunteer to try it.”

  There were no volunteers.

  “O … kay. Then I’ll pick someone. Patti Cakes, tongue studs are now part of your job description. You already have an appointment with Doctor Riffkin tomorrow morning at 8:00. Be there, or be in trouble.”

  “I don’t want my tongue pierced, she complained weakly.”

  “I don’t care what you want. Your contract says you wear the bangles we select. Be there at 8:00.”

  Patti, who wasn’t very forceful anyway, said nothing more.

  The meeting was over and I didn’t know what I was going to do when Roger tried to give me Easy X tonight. I didn’t want trouble, and I certainly coul
dn’t afford to be sued – a lawsuit Roger would likely win. Phil must have come up to me as I was pondering this. Deep in thought, I hadn’t heard him.

  “Alie, Roger wants me to put some new moves into your routines starting tonight. We need an hour to work on them.”

  “Meaning he wants me to play with myself on stage.”

  “I’m sorry. You are contractually bound.”

  “You aren’t.”

  “No, but who’s gonna take care of you guys if I get fired?”

  I smiled at him. I decided to give it a try. Maybe we could fake something so it wouldn’t be too bad.

  In an hour, I knew it was bad and there was no faking it. Even trying to be careful, I came four times during practice. Worse yet, I’m sure I must have looked like a whore on stage.

  “I can’t do this, Phil. Don’t you think this distracts from the performance? It isn’t sexy anymore, it’s just dirty.”

  I heard a big sigh. “Yeah, it is. I’ll be completely frank, though, it’s what Roger wants. Try it for tonight. Maybe he’ll see that it isn’t doing what he wants and drop the idea. If you don’t do it, there’ll be hell to pay. He’ll take it out on everybody.”

  “Is Patti going along with this?”

  “Yeah. Roger talked to her yesterday and she agreed. We worked it into her routine then. She still wants the headliner spot she thought she deserved when Roger Senior hired you.”

  “Really, she’s always been friendly to me here.”

  “She doesn’t hate you or anything, she felt cheated by Roger. She’d be the first to admit that you’re the better dancer. However, if you should eventually get mad and leave, even if you hold out until your contract expires, she thinks she’ll have a shot again.

  “Let’s see if Roger cancels the whole fingering thing after tonight.”

  I doubted he would, but I agreed to try it in the 8:00 dance. It would be the Friday crowd, which had a high percentage of regulars, blowing off steam after a week at work. They liked me as I was.

  In retrospect, I should have said, as I had been.

  **********

  Pat was doing my red-hair makeup while I sat there, in costume but with my own kinky black curls for the moment. She’d put the wig on me last, after the makeup was done. I felt a hand grab my right upper arm and then a sharp sting that lasted only a moment.