Life, a Page Turner

My stripping career had been waylaid by a dislocated knee. It took three months to recover and I was anxious to get back onstage where I belonged. Everywhere else made me feel like a lonely, awkward stranger. Onstage I knew exactly what to do, and how to act. I was in charge and never had to ask for permission to be me. Give me a wooden floor and some music and the rest of my pathetic life didn't matter.

I'd been working at a newspaper and living in a homeless shelter for women while my knee was healing. Living it up. A friend of mine had recently opened up a strip club, fulfilling a dream she'd had for years. I took a bus on a cold, rainy night in April to see if she would book me for a few nights, to test my leg.

Roxanne, my friend, had started renovating the old place and called it the Bottom’s Up. Fitting for a strip club. She was surprised when I walked in. “Holy shit! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What the hell happened? Where were you?”

“Oh, I’ve been laying around on a beach in Florida, getting a tan. You know- having parties every night, getting rich.”

“Uh, huh. Right. What were you doing?”

“Where do you want me to start?” I sarcastically remarked. “Where Gypsy kicked me out of her house and took my money or where Frank beat the shit out of me?”

“I heard he was a real asshole to you.” Roxanne commiserated. “Marjorie worked here last week. She told me what happened with your money and stuff at Gypsy’s.”

“Yeah, well, my leg is back to normal, and I think it’s time to start dancing again. Have you got any openings on the schedule for next week?”

“How about I make some openings? Now that you aren’t my competition you could be my favorite dancer.” She joked. “How many nights do you want?”

“Let’s start with two, just in case there’s a problem.”

“How ‘bout Tuesday and Friday? That gives you a couple of days to rest up.”

“Great. I love how you fixed this old place up. The stage is perfect. Very nice, Roxanne.”

The barstools were shiny chrome and brand new. The walls were freshly painted with a coat of egg-shell white, to make the place look bigger. She had found a couple of old church pews, which her boyfriend had re-engineered into a beautiful, shiny wooden bar. Sort of sacrilegious, but better than being tossed out in a dump somewhere. The walls were decorated with framed mirrors of different sizes and styles, which opened up the small club even more, and the stage- only a dancer would have designed such a perfect stage. It was ten by ten feet of polished parquet wood up against the back wall of the club, where it could be seen from the bar, as well as from the tables.

She even hung velvet curtains on the end where the dancers would enter the stage. Very classy for a place called the Bottoms Up.

The front door slammed open with a blast of soggy wind, and in swept her barmaid, Dianna, shaking the rain out of her long, curly red hair.

“Ooomph, I couldn’t wait to get out of the house tonight.” She exclaimed. “The kids were fighting, and Timmy had a diarrhea diaper. Whoops, Danny, got to go- sorry! Hey, you make ‘em, you clean ‘em.”

Dianna was one of a kind. Curvy, Irish, and beautiful- she could counsel tattooed bikers across the bar, comfort dancers with crappy home lives, escort hookers out of the place and bounce rowdy patrons while slinging 7&7’s and Screwdrivers all night long. She was funny, sympathetic, and ice-cold all in the same breath. Dianna and I didn’t know it yet, but we would become fast friends, tied at the hips until we weren’t, ten years later.

“Hey, Dianna, this is Tina. She’s back and gonna start here next week. You’re gonna love her.”

“Aren’t you the one who got beat to hell by her boyfriend and went out of town for a while?” Dianna wasted no time in asking.

“My reputation precedes me.”

“Glad you dumped that loser. Are you going to stick around tonight for a while? Roxanne, can I get her a drink on the house?”

“Sure, if we can talk her into staying maybe she can boost our liquor sales…”

“Don’t count on me- I’m a lightweight.”

Little by little the bar began to fill up with customers as the dancers wandered in. Two girls I hadn’t met before, Marla and Toni came in.

Then, to my surprise, Annie, an old friend from my days as a beginning stripper walked through the door. I hadn’t seen her in months. "Tina! You're back. I was so worried about you. Are you going to start dancing again?"

“Yep, next week I’m working two nights to make sure my leg is healed.”

While I was talking with Annie, I didn’t notice the man who sat down at the bar next to me.

“Hi, aren’t you the girl I took to the house with the yellow crime scene tape?”

I turned around and there was the cabbie who picked me up from the bus station when I had come back to Rochester almost three months ago.

“Oh, yeah,” I admitted. “I remember you with the green eyes. That was me all right. The beginning of a nightmare.”

“Who, me? I’ve been called worse.”

“ no- not you- the way things turned out was the nightmare.”

“I don’t want to be pushy, “he asked, “but can I buy you a drink?”

Cha-ching! Roxanne was going to put more money in her till.

“Sure, it’s been a while since I’ve drank. One 7&7 won’t kill me.”

Dianna winked at me as she set my drink down on the bar and picked up the cash.

“So, are you a working girl or a dancer?”

“Um, right now I’m a working girl.”

“Okay. How much?”

“How much what?” I wasn’t getting the joke.

“Half and half.”

“What’s that? I don’t get it.”

“You know, half this and half that”

“Um, I work at newspaper typing ads. I don’t know what half this and half that mean. But I am a working girl. I don’t just sit around on my ass all day.” I declared indignantly.

He started laughing awkwardly.

“Oh, my God. I thought you were a hooker, and I was asking for you know… never mind.”

“A hooker? Really? Do I look like a hooker?”

I was furious. How could he think that? Even when I was dancing only a few men asked me that and I straightened them right out. Here I was, fully clothed with a winter jacket on and he thought I was a prostitute? I started to get up to leave when he said,

“I’m so sorry- wow. My mistake. When you said you were a working girl, I thought you meant, you know- w-o-r-k-i-n-g girl, as in you know. No- no. You don’t look like a hooker, which is why I was surprised.”

“What exactly do hookers look like?”

“In the Wintertime in Rochester? Jackets, boots, hats, mittens, and blue lips. In the Springtime, same thing.”

“ I suppose I am dressed like a hooker then.”

“Sorry- well, you know what I do for a living. So, you type in a newspaper? Why are you in a strip club? Most chicks avoid these places unless they are wearing jackets, boots, hats, and blue lips.”

“I’m a dancer. I’ve been out of work with a dislocated knee for a while and next week I’ll be starting back up here. I’ve missed dancing.”

We chatted for a bit longer. He finished his drink and said,

“I have to get back to work, do you have a ride home? I can give you a lift if it’s not too far from my next pick-up.”

“Oh, are you a male hooker? What do you charge for your pick-ups?”

“Nice. For you? Free. Seriously, I’ll even let you ride in the front. Where to, ma’am, not a hooker.”

“Um, the ‘Y’ if that’s not too far away.”

“Nope- right on my route.”

We both got up to leave and Dianna called out,

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Roxanne added,

“Dianna, there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do. That’s bad advice.”

I found out the cabbie’s name was Gary. He was funny and smart. The thing that stood out in my mind about him was the pile of books on the passenger side floor. A taxi driver who read Steinbeck and Hemingway couldn’t be all bad. He came around and opened up the door then walked me to the entrance and held the door for me after we got to the ‘Y’.

“Hey, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Tina- nice to meet you.”

If I could have seen into the future that night, I would have known that meeting Gary was not going to lead to anything nice. That’s the thing about life. It’s the greatest mystery story of all and each day is a page-turner.