Clowning Around With a Married Man

Crisscrossing Ontario in a G-String

The strip club at the Oshawa Hotel, where I had been booked into the Summer of 1976 was the size of a Bingo Hall. The men’s room had no door on it, and the stage was situated right within sight of it. If my eyesight had been better I could have had a nice show. There was no ladies’ room in the club. If a lady accidentally stumbled into the bar, she would have to hold it until she ran out to the restaurant on the other side of the hotel or out to the bushes in the back parking lot.

The hotel was about two-hundred years old and had probably suited the needs of horseback travelers, offering a warm place to stay, food to eat, and beer to guzzle. Now, it served the men who worked on construction projects up and down the St. Lawrence Seaway. The rooms were cheap and sufficient, the food was plentiful and inexpensive, and the bar offered beer and half-naked dancers. You can’t get better than that if you’re a young, single guy on the loose with money in his pocket.

The room they put me in was small, but it had its own bathroom, which was better than having to share one with the construction workers who were camped out there by the dozens. The closet was made to accommodate one pair of blue jeans, work boots, and an orange vest. I hung up the more easily wrinkled costumes and worked out of my suitcase that week.

Two other dancers didn’t arrive until just before showtime at noon on Monday. They had driven in from Whitby, a nearby town, so I took the first show, giving them more time to get ready. The bouncer who was in charge of the dancers and their music was an older man with biceps the size of my thighs and a waxed handlebar mustache. No one messed with him, and I assumed it was because he had street cred for being a tough guy, maybe thirty years ago. I certainly was not going to heckle the dancers with him looking on. He wore a watch cap that he never removed, and while we were dancing, he stood, arms crossed, scowling at the audience, just waiting for someone to get out of line.

The featured dancer that week was a very tall blond named Terri-Lee. Her promotional pictures in the hotel lobby had her lounging on a velvet armchair in her undress, wistfully blowing bubbles toward the ceiling. It made me curious to see if she was going to be blowing slippery bubble-making liquid all over the stage. That would be interesting.

We didn’t go onstage again until the evening shows began at eight o’clock. That was a lot of time to kill during the day after our first show. So, I got dressed and began my tour of Oshawa, looking for restaurants, shops, parks, and anything to occupy that long pause between shows for the next two weeks.

There was a little German delicatessen about two blocks away from the hotel and that’s where I had lunch. By the end of the two weeks, I’d become a regular customer and had sampled every soup and sandwich they made there. If they couldn’t put the pounds back on my frame, no one could. My agent wanted me to get pictures done, but not until I gained some weight.

Oh, and she scolded me for chopping away at my hair whenever I was bored or depressed, "Your hair looks like a mouse chewed on your curls. Stop cutting it. I mean it." Then, she sent me a long, straight brown wig to wear until my locks grew back. The wig was itchy and annoying. But I wanted to please this agent so I obediently wore the thing.

For the eight o’clock show, I pulled out my white satin gown with the white chiffon cape. The white chiffon cape was made of seven yards of voluminous, shiny, see-through fabric, which would swirl about me like a tornado when I spun across the stage. My white satin show had great 60s music, like White Room by Cream, and White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane, and ended with a very sexy floor routine to the tune of Nights in White Satin by the Doors.

By the time I had finished the twirling number to White Rabbit, I knew this audience was going to like me. Then, when I pulled off my double-jointed floor routine to Nights in White Satin and the guys in back all stood up to see over the fellows in front of them, I knew I had them. I was never sure of how an audience was going to respond to me until after I'd gotten onstage. I was not particularly pretty and I was on the slender side with a small bustline. However, through the years I'd been told that my ass and legs made up for all that. So, there was that.

The night moved quite quickly with just the three of us doing back-to-back shows until midnight. Things went along smoothly until the ten o’clock show when I stepped onstage and slid across it like the Zamboni had just made its rounds. With the tables butting up against the edge of the stage there was no way to avoid tripping over the edge of a table and then landing, and slamming, face first into the shoulder of a gentleman sitting at the table, who had just rescued his Labatt Bleu from my sailing frame.

“Whoa! I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m married.” He laughed, making sure I wasn't hurt and helped me down from the table.

At that point in my stripper career, I was so used to goof-ups and missteps, it would have surprised me had I not made a blunder at least once during my booking at a club. Perhaps I was going to get it out of the way on my first night.

“Sorry about that!” I croaked out.

There was nothing left to do but laugh it off. The gentleman and I shook hands, said our 'nice to meet you's', and I asked the bouncer for a bar rag so I could clean off the bubble-blowing solution Terri-Lee had spilled all over the damned stage.

I started to scrub the offending mess when the bouncer took the rag from me and finished drying off the stage for me. “Sorry, I’ll try to clean up after the Queen for you, eh?”

More laughter from the peanut gallery, who knew something I didn’t about the featured stripper that week. The bouncer, Cleary, began my tape again and I danced to the Blues tunes tape, making sure to smile often at the man my face had made friends with.

The audience was so much fun. They were good-natured and rowdy, each guy better-looking than the one in front of him. I thoroughly enjoyed my first day there. Even the nosedive didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. It just scraped up my shins and elbows a little. Jake, the fellow I had landed on asked me to join him for a drink after my show.

“I have to get dressed before I sit in the club. If you don’t mind waiting, I’d like to come back down and see the other girls’ shows.”

“I ain’t going anywhere. I’ll be here.”

I got a bunch of high fives on my way out of the room and went upstairs to get changed.

By the time I came back downstairs, the second dancer was in the middle of her show. What the what? She was wearing a little kid’s party hat on her head. Her costume had already come off and was lying in a heap on the stage and it looked like a clown costume. She had removed her bra to reveal red nose “pasties” that were glued to her nipples and when she turned around, I could see that she had tried to apply a grease paint clown face to her ass. Only now it was smudged and smeared and barely recognizable. The one thing that was still recognizable was her attempt at attaching a clown nose to the back of her G-string with a blown-up red balloon that looked like it was coming out of her anus. It was quite a sight.

The audience didn’t know what to do with this show and simply gave her polite applause at the end, not wanting to irritate someone who may have been clinically insane. Oh, my God. That poor girl. She must have had an idea for that show in her mind and couldn’t get it to come out right in the real world.

I finally got to the table where my nosedive pal was seated, and he ordered me a 7&7. We said nothing about the last performance. He didn’t know if the girl and I were friends, and I didn’t want to make fun of a competitor.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it. Glad you did. So, where are you from?”

“Rochester, New York. And you?”

“Hamilton. Right now this is my permanent base for at least another year. We’re building a municipal office in Whitby and this hotel was the only one left for miles around with vacancies. It’s an easy ride though. There are more construction jobs here than around Hamilton right now. You gotta go where the work is.”

“Nice. I’m sorry my face attacked you. When I saw the feature’s picture in the hallway, I figured there’d be some problems with the stage this week. I’ll have to bring a mop with me next show. I’m anxious to see her dance.”

The song, Diamond Girl started playing on the speakers as Terri-Lee swooshed onstage in a gorgeous orange sequined, floor-length cape wearing a white, rhinestone-studded gown underneath. She had long blond hair swept into a beehive and her nails were pointy and bright red. Her face was heart-shaped and her lips were glossy and matched her nail polish. She was stunning, and her entrance was certainly commanding.

I liked her music choice too and was waiting for the next song, which sounded a little bit like the first one. It was another Croft and Seals tune, Ruby Jean and Billie Lee, sort of an odd choice. She had shed her robe and was working on removing the gown to expose some wickedly long legs and an ample bosom. Tossing her sequined bra off, all she had left was

her waist-cinching, cream-colored corset, which never came off, and her silky black stockings. She was sophisticated and sultry. I would be taking notes that week.

The next song played, also by Seals and Croft. I think she probably plucked an album up and recorded all the tunes from it. A man I’d never seen before brought out a chaise lounge for her final act and she stripped off her stockings to We May Never Pass this Way Again, which was also from that same album. It was sort of an uninspiring ending to a set that had begun so powerfully. But, hey, she was beautiful and sexy, and the audience probably didn’t care one way or the other about her act falling apart at the end.

She wrapped her robe around herself with a royal flounce, and the chaise lounge guy collected her costume off the stage, following behind her as she wafted through the crowd and out of the room.

“Wow. Just. Wow. She was good.” I exclaimed.

“Tranny, eh?” Jake announced.

“What?” I had no idea what he was talking about. “What’s a tranny?”

“How old are you?”

“twenty-one.”

“How long you been stripping?”

“Two years. Why?”

“Ha, that explains it. Never mind. Some things you just have to figure out for yourself, eh? So, tell me how you got into this business, to begin with?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a dancer since I was a little kid. When I got to college that was the first time, I ever took dance lessons. I loved it and had to dance.”

“You quit college to strip? I’ll bet your folks were happy about that.”

“Oh, thrilled. My mother sewed me my first G-string. Ha.”

“I’ll bet. How are they now with it after a couple of years?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to them since my first year.” I confessed.

“Oh.” He paused awkwardly, trying to change the conversation. “What were you taking in school?”

“Physical Therapy. I used to teach swimming and it seemed like a good fit.”

“You’d be making good money in that field if you’d stuck with it.” He mentioned.

“Yeah. But I wouldn’t be dancing and that’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.”

The bartender yelled for last call and Jake suggested we go outside and enjoy the nice evening.

“Um, I’m going to call it a night. I did a little more walking today than I expected. I like to explore wherever I’m working. "

" Well, I should let you get some rest. See you tomorrow night? You don’t have to throw yourself at me you know, eh?”

“Funny. My eyelashes will never be the same. Thanks for the drinks. I’m sure we’ll run into each other more. I mean, not run into each other, like me landing on you. But, you know what I mean. G’night.”

Yeah, no. He already said he was married. No thank you.

The next morning there was a knock on my door. It was the “clown” dancer

“Hi, I’m Lori. We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday. Do you want to grab breakfast with me?”

“Sure, let me throw some jeans on and I’ll meet you downstairs. I’m Tina.”

Not wanting anyone in the hotel to see me with my short, curly, mouse-chewed hair, I hurriedly pinned the long dark wig back on and yanked a pair of jeans and a shirt out of my suitcase. Lori had saved us a table in the restaurant in a corner and I joined her just as the waitress brought over a couple of cups and a carafe of coffee.

“Don’t worry about the cup- just pour it in my mouth.”

She joked.

The waitress looked as though she would have liked doing that very much. Either she had no funny bone, or she knew we were the dancers and hated us automatically. Yanking a pencil out of her blond bun, she flipped open a notebook and took our orders.

Lori declared,

“Yikes. I don’t think she likes us.”

“She probably doesn’t like dancers in general. Don’t take it personally.”

“What if she spits in our food?”

“Ugh. Now I won’t be able to eat.”

“Ha, sorry. Did you see my Clown show last night?”

It was burned into my memory. I’d seen it a dozen times since then and I still couldn’t get it out of my mind.

“Just a little of it. What kind of theme were you going for? Sad clown, happy clown, funny?”

“Oh, happy clown. Definitely. Did you like my butt clown face?”

Please, please don’t ask me for my opinion on the balloon coming out of your ass. Geez. I jumped right over the balloon in the butt and said,

“I loved your clown nose pasties! Those were adorable.”

“Yeah, I thought they were perfect. I’m having a hard time getting the grease paint off the clown costume though. It’s a lot harder to wash out than I thought.”

“Yeah, that’s a great costume. If it’s satin, you don’t want to keep washing it over and over or it’ll just shred. Maybe you could do the clown face on your face instead of your butt.”

“No. That wouldn’t be sexy to come onstage as a stripper with a clown face. That’s why I saved it for the end.”

Thank God our order arrived because I had no words. No words. Hey, I tried.

In between bites, we asked each other the usual questions.

“So, where are you from originally?”

“Scranton. I’d been working in Pittsburgh though. Lots of clubs and theaters there. A friend of mine worked for Misty up here and told me I should try it. I’ve been up here about a year now.”

“What do you think of working up here?”

“I love it.” She said, "It’s getting pretty raw in Pittsburgh. The theaters have been nude for a while. Now they are just really too much for me, and once you’ve been working at the clubs for a year or two it gets boring. You know- same faces, same old lines.”

“Yeah, I’m from Rochester and it’s too small a city to hide from people I don’t want to see.”

“Are you dating anyone serious now?” she asked,

“Hell no. I just got out of a really bad relationship in February and have no plans to get attached again anytime soon. Every time I let that guy back into my life it screwed me up.”

“I know what you mean. They’re either looking for sex or money and when you’re on the road missing them, they sure as hell aren’t missing you.” She agreed.

We finished up our breakfast and made sure to leave a good tip so the waitress would think twice before spitting into our food next time.

My noon show was going to be the Singing in the Rain show. Apropos because it had begun to pour like crazy outside. Hopefully, the stage was not going to be slippery this time. I waltzed onstage to the theme song, twirling my Clear umbrella as I danced. Then to Rain on the roof, I removed the jumpsuit pants, leaving the halter top and the clear rain poncho on, until the third song, which was Bus Stop by the Hollies. Instead of my floor routine for Rainy Days and Mondays, I chose to do the cape-twirling routine. It was nothing spectacular, but it was a good, solid set for the small crowd of twenty or so in the audience who had braved the thunderstorm.

After the noon show crowd had dispersed, I asked the bartender for a couple of rags, so I could scrub down the stage before I landed on another customer during my first evening show.

Lori had come downstairs looking for me and helped finish the job. With the thunderstorm outside, we decided to go to the restaurant and grab a hot tea to go. She had brought a deck of cards and we plopped down on the upstairs landing and played rummy for a few hours, chatting while waiting for the rain to let up.

At the eight o’clock show, there were fewer patrons than the night before because of the downpour. I danced to the disco tape in my yellow jumpsuit and used my yellow cape to twirl to Barry White’s Loves Theme. It went over pretty well. There were no massive hiccups, and I left the stage without injuring myself or innocent bystanders.

The biggest crowd was always at the second show of the evening, so I spent extra time doing my white greasepaint makeup with the doll cheeks and lips dabbed on with bright pink lipstick and extra long false eyelashes glued on. I fluffed my mouse-chewed curls and zipped up the green and black satin striped ballerina tutu with the matching G-string and black silk stockings. I completely missed Terri-Lee’s performance and hoped she hadn’t blown bubble solution all over the stage again.

Because we could hear the music all the way upstairs we always had a good idea of when the dancer before us was finishing up. When I heard the opening lines of We May Never Pass this Way Again play, it was time to get down to the hallway behind the club entrance and wait for my music to begin.

After a round of applause, Terri-Lee and her husband or whatever exited the club and I waited for the introduction to my doll show…and waited. I finally peeked out at the stage to see what the hold-up was and saw Cleary, the bouncer, wiping down the stage with a bar rag. Damnit. She’d done it to me again. At least Cleary knew enough to make the stage safe for the next dancer. I just hoped it would be dry enough when the music started.

Before Cleary got done on the stage, he brought up a chair for me. Hello, Dolly poured out of the speakers as I made my way to the stage. I tentatively tested the stage surface to make sure no one got a surprise visit from me on their table tonight. A little sticky, but that was better than slippery. Hello, Dolly, was a hit with the audience and it boosted my confidence for the following two songs done in a blocky, robotic style. Then I decided to try the chair routine with the robot style. It worked pretty well, pretending to be a marionette on strings being pulled by an invisible puppeteer above the stage. The final song was the theme from Valley of the Dolls, and I had to do a cape-twirling dance to that. All in all, it was very successful, and I was becoming more and more comfortable with that show.

I wrapped up in my robe and as I exited the club, Jake, my accidental dance partner from the first night met me at the doorway and mimed applause. He was drenched from head to toe and said, “These are the days I wished I’d taken my father’s suggestion and gone to Barber school. Man, what a mess. Mud all over everything and we spent most of the day hanging tarps and plastic. I gotta get out of these clothes- you wanna watch?”

“Ha, ha. No. I’m good. That’s the fifth offer I’ve had tonight. I’ll pass.”

“Nice show. Very cute. I’m probably going to eat, take a hot shower and pass out. Just wanted to stick around long enough to say, “Hi”.”

“Well, you have a good night- you look exhausted, cold, and wet.”

He reached out, tousled my curls, and headed to the restaurant. I went back to my room and scraped off the doll makeup to get ready for the last show. I decided to do the Singing in the Rain show to match the weather. I was pretty certain the audience would get a kick out of it. I had barely begun putting my next costume on when a huge clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning hit at the same time and all the lights in the room went off.

Shit. Not only did I hate the dark. I was scared of thunderstorms too. It was going to be a very long, nervous night. I pawed around on the nightstand and located my lighter to illuminate my path to the door. I peeked out into the hallway and saw no one. Lori was probably stuck downstairs, and Terri hadn’t left for her show yet. There would be no more shows if the power doesn’t come back on.

I heard chatter at the bottom of the stairwell and saw a flickering light floating up the stairs. It was Lori, half-dressed, being guided along by my new friend, Jake. I quickly retreated into my room, sort of embarrassed that I had seen them together as if they had to hide anything from me. Sheesh. I needed to get laid soon. I was starting to imagine things.

I’m ashamed to admit that I listened to see how many doors opened and shut down the hall. Good. Two doors. Unless they were trying to trick me into thinking they both went their separate ways. What was wrong with me?

In the parking lot out back a dozen cars and trucks were being started, which meant the crowd was going home. Even if the lights did go back on, with no audience that would be it for the night. I changed into my oversized t-shirt and got ready for bed. At least the water still worked, so I could wash my face and brush my teeth.

I heard several heavy boot steps plodding up the stairs from the lobby and listened as they picked their way through the dark hallway to the rooms at the far end. More construction workers disappointed that the shows were over for the night. That confirmed my suspicion that the club was closing. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head to muffle the thunder outside. Surprisingly, I fell asleep.

The next morning was bright and misty, as the puddles evaporated in the warm sunshine. I wanted to invite Lori to breakfast. But I avoided her room- just in case, you know. If they had gotten together, I didn’t want to know. Lori was very pretty, and Jake wasn’t too hard to look at either, with a square jaw and dark eyes he sort of looked like a male model, but not as prissy. It would have been natural for two good-looking people to be attracted to each other.

I asked for my breakfast and coffee to go and took them out to the front steps to enjoy the sunny weather. Lori followed me outside after I had finished my breakfast.

“Why didn’t you come to get me for breakfast?" She asked, "I knocked and you must have been gone already.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t hear anything from your room and figured you were sleeping in. What happened when the power went out last night?”

“Well about two dozen lighters clicked on so I could find my way off the stage and some guy walked me up the stairs.”

Gritting my teeth I said, “Oh, that was nice.”

In my head I was asking, 'Then, what did you do with him?'

Not that I cared.