The New York Doll

by Ellie Midwood

  _______________

  I was making crazy money at work the following weeks; my sparkling eyes, cat walk and the whole aura of a girl in love was driving guys in the club nuts. I had a line of customers asking me to do a dance with them. My feet were killing me, but I didn’t care. Tonight will be all over soon and I’ll leave all these idiots broke and go back to my sweet Michael.

  He had an apartment on the 34th floor of a high rise building in Manhattan and on my nights off we would drink champagne and eat potato chips admiring the view of our favorite city. My favorite city that I could finally share with someone. When I wasn’t working, Michael would never be busy: all his projects were always up to date, all the presentations were taken care of so he would spend every minute of his free time with me. We were taking silly pictures at the movies and tag each other on Facebook; we would go to the galleries and museums and share our thoughts on paintings and art objects; we would go to the nightclubs with his friends and dance like the night will never end. We were very happy together.

  _______________

  It felt really good to get messages from my boyfriend while Ari wasn’t seeing anyone. His latest girlfriend cheated on him and he was very surprised that someone could actually do something like that to him. “What goes around, comes around”, I thought with a mean grin and it was Milana in me. Mila, with butterflies in her stomach and brain vacationing in Hawaii, didn’t want to hold a grudge and just wanted everybody to be a part of her perfect, pink world.

  - Are you sure you don’t want her back? – I asked Ari at the dinner. Aunt Anna was working late and we ordered Chinese.

  - She won’t come back anyway. Besides I think she’s happy with that guy. It’s been on and off relationship between them, you know? And I was just a phase.

  - I’m sorry, Ari.

  - That’s ok. I’ll find somebody else.

  - Oh, sure you will! – I smirk.

  - Shut up! – Ari laughs and then asks. – How are the things with Michael?

  - Oh, great! – I can’t help my silly smile. – He’s really sweet with me. He wants me to meet his father next time he comes to New York.

  - Wow! Things are going really fast with you two! – Ari laughs. – But seriously, he’s a nice guy. And he’s crazy about you.

  - How do you know?

  - He told me himself when I saw him with Isaac last Friday.

  - Where did you see him?

  - They just left the gym and were going for a bite.

  - Oh, ok.

  Gym? Ari and Isaac only go to a certain gym in Brooklyn. Why would Michael go to the Brooklyn gym? With Isaac? He has a gym in his building! But that wasn’t the question that was bothering me. Michael told me that Friday he was staying home all day to prepare the presentation for his school. Some unpleasant chills went down my spine.

  - Are you ok? – Ari brought me back to reality.

  - Yeah… I just forgot to call the club to confirm my booking for tomorrow. I gotta go.

  - Cool.

  Back in my room I’m dialing Michael’s number and my hands are cold. Finally he picks up.

  - Hi, baby.

  - Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you while you’re preparing for your test…

  - That’s ok, baby. – He’s all courtesy and care. – You never bother me. I missed hearing your voice.

  - I missed you too baby. Just wanted to ask how did your presentation go? It was today, right?

  - It went great! I was working on it all weekend. Had to keep myself busy while you weren’t with me. Too bad I couldn’t see you today, sweetie, one last stupid exam tomorrow and I’m all yours. You know how Christmas time tough at schools here…

  I know. I understand. He talks so sweet…he really cares about me! He’s not Ari, he wouldn’t do anything bad!

  - Ok, my baby. Well, you keep preparing for your test and call me when you go to bed, ok? Say hi to Benjie from me.

  - I will, baby. He’s watching TV in the living room, that asshole! And I have to study! – Michael laughs…and suddenly I hear a car loudly honking right in my ear. On the 34th floor???

  - What was that, Michael? A car beeping? – My hands get colder and sweatier.

  - It’s the TV, baby, I have to tell Benjie to make it quiet. Ok, baby, I gotta go, love you, bye! – He quickly hangs up.

  - Bye, - I whisper to the dead phone. There’s no way I could step on the same rake twice. And how stupid am I if I really did?

  Chapter 8

  To make a long story short, Michael started cheating on me at the first month of our dating. And after I caught him red-handed several times, there was a very long talk and a lot of tears and promises. I said the only way for me to take him back would be the ring on my finger. This way it would be the proof that he really means what he says, otherwise it’s all just all the same bullshit that I’ve heard before. To be honest, I just wanted to break up with Michael and my sparkler demand was the perfect solution as I thought (I mean, really, who’s going to propose to a girl after only couple of month dating?). My grandpa proposed to my grandma after only three days since he met her though, and they lived happily ever after till he died from cancer at the age of 72. But it’s a completely different story and a completely different Michael.

  I actually think that my mother failed at choosing a husband just because my grandfather was such a perfect husband and father that she mistakenly thought that all men were the same way. As for me, on one hand I had a pretty traumatic experience with my father and on the other hand I had the greatest father figure I could wish for in the face of my grandpa, that I became even more messed up than my mom. It looks like I know that all men are cheating, lying and indifferent jerk offs, but at the same time fall desperately in love with them just because deep inside I want to believe that they aren’t. Go figure.

  Anyway, by Christmas I got a little red box from Cartier. There was a ring inside. I was officially engaged to Michael Govoryan.

  _______________

  As I’ve already said before, it’s going to be a very short chapter, just as short as my engagement was. I didn’t quit my job even though my new fiancé was begging me to. His father was coming to New York soon and Michael asked me to lie that I was a medical student and to never mention my job to his family. The condition was that right after the wedding I quit my job and we never speak about it again. They say there’s only one step from love to hatred and despite the ring on my finger, after all he’s done, I was half way there, so I just shrugged and thought: “Can I mention all the girls you slept with while we were dating? I’m sure your father would love that!”

  In the meantime I started working in the new club that not too many girls would go to. When I asked why, they couldn’t even give me an answer, they were just saying that it was a different place, and it was harder to work there. But since I always loved challenges, I called Tasha and asked her to put me on schedule in “Velvet”.

  The club turned out to be a very beautiful, exquisite place, with a lot of red drapes and mirrors. I liked it right away and now was wondering even more why the other girls were finding it challenging to make money here. Seemed very nice to me…

  By the end of the night I solved that mystery: the other girls couldn’t work in “Velvet” just because customers there loved to talk. And not just a regular five minute chit-chat, but they would go on and on discussing politics and recession as if they were on some political talk show. But the great thing is, after all the talking is done, instead of a $20 lap dance, they would take you to the Champagne or VIP Room, the prices for which were much higher. Shall I say, I decided that “Velvet” was my kind of place right after my first night there. The customers were mostly all white collar white Americans, very educated, very polite and I also liked the fact that I could actually talk to some normal people, who knew why they were here, unlike customers in other clubs, who were almost all brain damaged. Just couple of weeks ago a customer in “Cigar Room” asked me how he can f
ind out if the dancer from the club likes him because of his personality or if she’s only pretending to get to his wallet. Hello! We are all working here! And it’s our job to pretend to like you, you stupid degenerate! We pretend to like you, you pay us, it’s that simple, like in the supermarket. Or you seriously think that strippers do what they because they enjoy it???

  “Velvet” customers, mostly family men, stopped by just to relax, they weren’t looking for anything dirty or for a new girlfriend; all they wanted was a couple of hours in private with a beautiful girl. They are nice, they talk to you about economics and whatever elections were going on, toast champagne with you and rub your back. And at the end they tip you a nice couple of hundreds. So when at the end of the night, when the house mom, a very pretty Jewish lady Sophie, asked me if she shall put me on schedule for the next week, I very enthusiastically agreed.

  _______________

  My fiancé was so stupid that it was making me laugh. In the following three months I was catching him so easily, that I started wondering, how could he make it in his school having such a tiny brain? He was lying and forgetting the details later. His friends were tagging him in their Facebook pictures from the nightclubs they went to on nights when he was supposed “to study”. He would leave his iPhone face up and I would see all the popping messages like: “Baby?”, “Where R U, munchkin?” and “Can’t wait to see U tom”.

  Milana in me fell out of love with Michael long time ago, right after his first romantic encounter, and the only reason why she decided to say yes to Michael’s proposal was revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. Let me marry this asshole and make his life a living hell. Let me get my papers done and divorce his sorry ass! After all, he deserved it all!

  And here I am, three months later, sitting at the bar next to Michael’s building, finishing my third apple martini and thinking if I’m doing everything right. I can become a citizen in less than six month… I can go to school and get a nice job. I will be living in Manhattan with Michael. So what that he’ll keep on whoring around? I don’t know if I’m getting sick of martinis or the thought of us living together as husband and wife. On the other hand I can keep my life as it is and be my own boss and be absolutely independent from anybody. The easy way or the right way? I looked at my Cartier sparkler one more time, paid my bill and went to Michael’s. I made up my mind.

  _______________

  Michael opens the door and looks surprised.

  - Hi, sweetie… I didn’t expect you so late actually…

  - I’m not gonna take much time, Michael. – I take the red box out of my bag and give it to my now ex-fiancé. – I just wanted you to take it back.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I won’t let him.

  - No more talking, baby, talking is over. Take back this ring and I hope you will find happiness with one of your girlfriends, and I wish you all the luck in the world with every one of them, and hope you will die of AIDS one day. Bye!

  There! I’m proudly turning around and starting to walk to the elevator.

  - Mila, wait! You’re drunk, honey, you don’t know what you are doing! Come back here and let’s talk! You hear me? We can work it all out, don’t do it, don’t walk out on me! Baby!

  Luckily, the elevator is still here and right before I walk inside, just like Andy in “Devil Wears Prada”, I give him the last look and say:

  - I’m not your baby.

  The mirror doors close with the final bling and I’m proud of how cool and movie-like I broke up with him. So what the tears are filling up my eyes? I press the ground floor button and wipe them off. Ok, maybe it was harder than I thought, but it’s over now. And even though I’m trying to persuade myself that I’m crying over my citizenship and beautiful life, in fact I’m crying over the idea of a broken marriage, the family that I wanted so bad, the summer house in Hamptons with our kids playing outside. And now there will be no family, no house and no kids. I’m a single stripper in New York City. Again.

  Chapter 9

  Since I was happily single again, I started working 5-6 days a week. Dancing became my remedy, my meditation, my therapy. And more and more days of my schedule went to “Velvet” instead of “Cigar Room” and “Exotics”. The big role in my decision making played the difference in stage time organization in those three clubs. Both “Cigar Room” and “Exotics” worked on the same principle: they had five to twelve girls on stage at once and the girls had to dance for 30 minutes every hour, while the other half an hour they could do dances. Of course it wasn’t enough, taking into consideration that first you have to talk to a customer for at least five minutes. In “Velvet” on the contrary, girls didn’t have a fixed stage time; instead, they would be called on stage by a DJ and mostly it was only one or two girls dancing on stage at the same time. I really liked that idea, since you have way more chances to be noticed by customers when it’s only two of you on stage than twelve. Another positive moment was that “Velvet” customers preferred rooms to lap dances, which meant much more money every night compared to the other clubs.

  And after several month of dancing I realized that I had to change my whole politics about dancing. And my sober shifts, when I wouldn’t even talk to customers besides asking them their name and if they wanted to dance, were soon substituted by way relaxed shifts filled with martinis and champagnes in “Velvet” VIP rooms. I knew that if I wanted regular customers, just like most of “Velvet” girls had, I had to stay in one club. And that’s how I became a full time “Velvet” girl.

  I was very lucky to come to “Velvet” at that particular period of time, as now, after some time passed, I realize that it was the so-called “golden age” of that club. Since not so many girls knew how to work in “Velvet”, we mostly had the same set of girls and only very few new comers. Sophie, the best house mom I’ve ever known, was always making sure that we had everything we needed, and there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t have if we asked for it, let it be a fake eyelashes glue, a hair tie, tweezers or dry shampoo. We always had the whole set of hair straighteners, blow dryers, brushes, deodorants, perfumes, cosmetics sets, underwear, food, anything, - you name it, Sophie had it. And every night we would be sitting in our huge dressing room, like some Vegas show girls, and making ourselves gorgeous. I don’t remember one girl in “Velvet” who wasn’t pretty; we all looked like Victoria’s Secret Angels.

  There was Lara, a tiny brunette with gorgeous hair and beautiful boobies, bought by one of her ex-boyfriends (they looked so natural that for some time I was thinking that they were real). I was in shock when I found out that she had a 9-year-old daughter. She looked very young and had the most seductive green eyes that you can only imagine. There was Sonya, a stunning blonde who was very fond of yoga and who would do the craziest, almost circus tricks on stage, like putting both her legs behind her ears. Customers were going crazy for her and she wouldn’t leave rooms all night. There was Stina, a very young girl with piercing blue eyes and a tiny little body, who loved to climb the pole and shake her little ass while guys were throwing money at her. There was Evelyn, a Russian mixture between Miranda Kerr and Adriana Lima; Dash, another Russian beauty with gorgeous wavy hair, green eyes and a body of a supermodel. There were Russian twins, Alicia and Priscilla, another candidates to be the next American top models. There was Megan, Megan Fox’s evil twin, her best friend Alana, an Asian beauty from the south of Russia… There was a whole bunch of Russian girls there, but only the finest ones. And that’s how I first met Mikky.

  Micaela, or Mikky, started working at “Velvet” approximately at the same time with me. And our first meeting wasn’t at the dressing room as it normally happened with girls who didn’t know each other in “Velvet”, but on the floor. I just came out of the dressing room, all dolled up, with my silky dark hair extensions up to my butt, in my new stockings with the garter belt and long, fake eyelashes. Right away I spotted a beautiful girl with gorgeous, long, red hair, in her green bikinis, doing some crazy stuff on the pole. Nob
ody does the pole in “Velvet” and therefore I was pretty fascinated by what I saw. She looked very confident with what she was doing and had a perfect sense or rhythm. For a long time I haven’t seen anybody dancing as good as she did. “She’s good, - I thought. – There’s going to be some competition”. But sexy and confident Milana quickly took over and cat walked to a guy, sitting alone at the end of the bar. The night only started, but the rest of the customers were already sitting with girls.

  - How’s your night going, handsome? – I give the guy one of my trademark sexy looks from underneath my long lashes. – Why are you sitting here all alone?

  Normally, after this phrase they would start smiling silly at me and say something like “I was waiting for you…” And they were all mine.

  - I’m sorry, I’m waiting for Mikky.

  “Mikky? Who’s Mikky?”

  - There she is, dancing on stage.

  - Sure, honey. Enjoy your night.

  I walk away with a smile, but narrow my eyes at the same time. Yes, there will definitely be the competition. The guy didn’t even want to talk to me! And I look frigging gorgeous! Who the hell he thinks he is anyway? A bolding, curly-haired shorty! Didn’t even give me a dollar! Whatever, I’ll do five rooms today when Bill comes (Bill has been my regular customer for two weeks now and I’m determined to keep him that way).

  Meanwhile, while I’m standing leaning on the railings that separate the bar stage from the main stage, and think about all that, the red haired girl comes up to me and introduces herself.

  - Hi, I’m Mikky. Are you Russian?

  I’m surprised by her friendly tone, so I smile back.

  - Yes, I am. I’m Milana, nice to meet you.

  - Nice to meet you too! I’m so glad I found a Russian girl here, most of the dancers are Americans and I can’t really talk to them, I’m a little shy because of my English.