The hospital had well respected my high-quality contribution to their patient care and because of that had reassigned me to work in the business office doing billing and insurance duties, to retain me as an employee. Although I had deeply loved working in this hospital I found myself completely miserable in this new work environment. I had felt so fulfilled in the nursing side of things there; something I clearly could not ever return to doing again now, though. Seeing the other nurses, around the hospital, such as in the cafeteria at meal times, left me feeling, even more, despondent, over how things turned out for me. I missed the camaraderie of caregivers working together for a noble common cause, and the tender aspect, at the core of the nursing profession. My heart had been so depleted by the distressing things I had been through in my own life. This, loving, environment had helped heal my own broken heart in ways, because of the nurturing and hopefulness, surrounding me, then, as we helped our ailing patients to heal. The behind-the-scenes of the business side of things was catty, and cold, both among the co-workers and even toward those patients who stopped by regarding their payment for services rendered. The situation in the office environment quickly and steadily deteriorated for me and things simply seemed to only go from bad to worse there. It just wasn't for me. I realized that I would have to let go of the hospital that I loved, now, because to stay there would mean I had to go on trying to force myself to do what just felt, to me, like petty paperwork, with a bunch of backstabbing bitches as co-workers, all of which I had absolutely no heart for. I felt empty and sad. This place that had once been such a blessing to me, of hope and happiness, when I got hired for the job to work on the patient floor there, as a Certified Nursing Assistant, had turned into a source of despair and growing depression for me, as each moment 'pushing papers', in the office, felt like emotional agony. Unable to continue living at that level of pure misery, I left. I had no idea what I would do, for a living, now, but I knew that I could not do that, any longer!
I was lying on the livingroom floor of my apartment, not many days later, trying to help heal my remaining back injury which I was left with from working there, when I thought to call my friend Debbie, and tell her, what had happened, to me. She and I had both truly enjoyed our work, in the patient care field, so I knew that she would really understand why all of this was so deeply upsetting, for me. Debbie was a fiery, red-headed, take charge type of personality! Wanting to be helpful, in a practical and proactive way, she had come over to my apartment, as soon as I called to tell her about my dilemma, and she brought the current newspaper along with her for potential employment possibilities, to aid me in my job search. There wasn't any internet back then. Job searches were primarily done through simply checking the local newspapers for any current employment opportunities. As she read the various job ads to me I continued lying flat on my back on the floor which seemed to help my lower back problem. With each ad she read we discussed my current skillset, and any possible new skills I could learn, in light of what was actually available now, as a potential job for me. Whatever it was going to be, I needed it to be an immediate hire, which most jobs weren't, because my monthly bills were almost due. It also needed to pay weekly, to keep me from falling further behind financially than I was now; again, something that the large majority of jobs did not do.
Almost all, of the conventional employers, had lengthy application and interview processes which often lingered over several weeks, with no assurance, at all, of ever even being hired, after all that! Even worse, since time was of the essence, for me, financially, those mainstream type of jobs usually only paid every two weeks, so the first paycheck wouldn't actually be in hand for 3 to 4 weeks from the actual start date; if hired, for any of those. At that point all of my bills, including the rent, would be past due, which could even put me at risk of possible eviction from my apartment, if I couldn't get caught up on what I owed by then fast enough. I had been living at poverty level even though I was working fulltime, at the hospital, so I did not have the luxury of having any money saved up. I had lived paycheck to paycheck, just barely making ends meet, while living an extremely frugal lifestyle. My bad back was also an issue as it affected what types of employment I would be able to do. Employers wouldn't have much patience with it interfering with their expectations, of me, as a new hire, in any way. Especially if it hurt my attendance, productivity or the quality of my work.
Working her way down the page, with all these things in mind, Debbie eventually said, to me, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money plus tips. No experience needed!" When I asked what kind of dancers she went on reading from the Help Wanted ad. "It says 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot! I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." She looked at me from over the newspaper she was holding, as I responded from where I was still lying down on the floor, "I could NEVER do that!" I said that, to her, because those few days in Biloxi, Mississippi when I had been an actual stripper were not fun or fulfilling, for me. There was nothing, about that experience, that I wanted to repeat. Now or ever! There was no rapport there, with any of the other strippers or staff. The patrons were completely voyeuristic, which I suppose one must expect in such an establishment, but were not socially engaging at all, aside from wanting to put their sweaty hands on me when I had to sit with them, in the dark, on hard, sticky-feeling chairs, in between my dance sets. I'd used so much peppermint breath spray to try to ease some of my discomfort in being that up close with strange men, that one, nearly, keeled over off his chair, after he'd asked me to join him, and I breathed out that strong scent while introducing myself, as I sat down, next to him; as was required of me. I had felt humiliated doing my striptease, on that stage, even though I was far removed from the tables the patrons sat at, there. The contrast, between how distant from everyone, and impersonal, that had felt, for me, and my being completely naked, while I was on the stage during my 3-song-striptease in the most physically vulnerable way possible, except for my high heels, and a feather boa, was something that I couldn't reconcile, about it, in my emotions. Rather than my feeling classy like Gypsy Rose Lee had seemed to me to be, I felt like, what I was doing, there, was, at best, only some disgusting display in a dingy dive. I couldn't do that again. I couldn't feel like I had felt there about me, and where I worked, again.
However, my friend, Debbie, unclouded in her judgement by the emotions I was feeling about all this, saw my getting a job right away where I could make some good money now as a real necessity for me rather than as just an option which I could afford to choose to ignore. In fact, after covering the entire Want Ads section of the newspaper, with me, it seemed, to her, to be my only option! Literally pulling me up off the floor she hauled me outside and to her car, then drove me across the bridge, over the Missouri River, and into Council Bluffs, Iowa. It was late afternoon, when we pulled up, in front of 'Mickey's Razzle Dazzle', one of those bars with live female entertainment, which is often euphemistically referred to as a gentlemen's club. It was not far over the bridge, from Omaha, Nebraska, where I lived. It sat right along Broadway, the city's busy main drag. I did not want to go in! I was determined, not to go inside, actually. But, Debbie persisted, prying me out of her car and then pulling me toward the door, saying that it wouldn't hurt, just to go in, and see what it was like! As I continued to refuse, she then took it upon herself to, literally, drag me toward this rather ramshackle Go Go bar. I lost this struggle with her, when she pulled my hands away from gripping the outer doorframe, of the entrance, in a last ditch effort to try to keep her from pulling me through that door. She was determined, to help me; even in spite of me! So, she did, eventually, manage to get, both of us, inside the door, of this dilapidated structure. She had ignored my protests and overrode my attempts at evasion. To see her physically pulling me into this Go Go bar, by force, onlookers might have thought that what was going on was, actually, a kidnapping of me, due to my resistance, to it!
As we entered, this very dark room, and were standing, just inside the door, it took a moment, for my eyes to be able to see well, after coming from outside in the bright afternoon sunshine. Some sexy-sounding song was booming, in my ears, and I heard Debbie, talking to someone over the loud music, assertively announcing about me, that, "SHE WANTS A JOB!" Since my eyes were adjusting now, I was able to see small, white, lights, blinking continually all around the floor of the stage which extended out into the center of this cramped room, that was filled with small tables. I turned to look at whomever Debbie was speaking to about me, and saw a large, intimidating-looking figure with his bald head and his black suit. I guessed that he must be the doorman, but he actually turned out to be the manager of this bar! He had been sitting, perched on a bar stool right by the entry door, watching the room, when we had walked in (or, rather, Debbie had walked in, dragging me, with her!). Although this guy was a little unnerving to me, because of his sheer size, and a seemingly thug-like toughness, I retorted, to Debbie's statement to him about my wanting a job there, with "NO I DON'T." Then I turned back toward the door to try to exit as fast as I could, but my friend grabbed my arm, to stop me, and just as she did this menacing-looking man, we were speaking to, stood up from his seat, blocking the door now with his large frame. His body almost eclipsed the door so I had no escape. He said to me, very curtly, "Get up, on the stage, on the next song, and let's see, what you've got." So, between Debbie and this guy, I was left with no choice it seemed, but to get through this thing.
The stage was completely edged with very-close-sitting tables, except where the large mirror was attached to the back wall of the stage. Because of the seating arrangement, some of the bar patrons were easily within distance of being able to actually reach out and touch the girls on stage. There were tables packed in as tightly as possible throughout the room; not just up by the stage, and a long bar at the back of the room with several bar stools for customers, as well. The only other part of the club, I could see, at the time, was a somewhat separate room, slightly partitioned off, from this main room with the stage, which had a pool table inside. The bar had a completely different look and feel from that actual stripper bar I had worked at for a few days, several years earlier, back in Biloxi. This place wasn't set up at all like that bar, had been. This one was, and felt, very up close and personal. As the jukebox playing the 45 RPM records changed those out, there was a gap, of silence, as it rotated to the next one. With my exit blocked, by both, my friend, and the man standing in front of the door, I knew that I would simply have to humor them, to get through this, and then just never come back, once I, finally, got myself out of there! When the song ended for the dancer that was performing up on stage the manager motioned, to me, with the hand holding his cigar, for me to get up on stage, next.
I stepped up over some of the blinking floor lights to stand up on the stage, which wasn't very high above the floor at all; feeling completely ill at ease, as the song started. I don't recall the song. I only remember feeling like I was lost, in a panic mode internally, and just trying to get this ordeal over with, as best I could; and leave! I didn't know how to move my body, the way that I had seen the dancer, on stage, doing when we came into the club. It was very sinuous, and nuanced. Actual dancing, rather than just 'strutting her stuff', like I had basically done, in the strip joint, as I'd traipsed around the stage, and bent over, and such, much in the style of Gypsy Rose Lee. There, the primary focus had been on just doing a striptease, which meant getting those few clothes off myself during my set on stage and ending up nude, while doing strategic strutting, and stretching, in the process of that. This Go Go bar had bikini-clad girls, working here, which did real dancing, with no nudity, although the bikinis that they each wore all had a thong bottom, exposing each of their behinds fully, except for their butt crack. I was not sure how to do this type of dancing during my audition on stage. It wasn't stripping so the focus was not on actually taking off any of my clothing although I later learned that there was sometimes a, legally limited, degree of that, done, during the dancers' performances. Go Go dancing seemed to be much more about the skill of the dancer. I really had no experience to draw on for my audition as far as this particular style of dancing, and that really showed now.
I did the best I could, which, I admit, wasn't very good. Plus, my heart wasn't in trying to do it. All I wanted was to just get through this and leave. I stayed back by the large mirror covering the back wall of the stage, for most of the song, trying not to look at the customers who were sitting there sipping their beers looking at me. As soon as the song stopped I quickly hopped off the stage, and stood in front of this man, who was still blocking the door, hoping he would say that, I sucked, at it, and could leave, now. Moving aside, to allow that to happen! Instead, he regarded me with a look of slight amusement, across his, otherwise, emotionless face, as he puffed on his cigar, looking me up and down, as if he were taking total stock, of me. Then, breathing out cigar smoke, in my face, as he spoke, he said, to me, "You're the 'GREENEST' thing I've EVER seen, but I THINK I can make a DANCER out of you!" There was something about that--- what he said to me, or perhaps, the way that he said it, or even that slight smirk, of bemusement, on his face, that caused something to rise up, in me, almost as if I had been given--- not an ultimatum but--- a challenge. A challenge that for some reason I found myself suddenly wanting to actually accept. He told me to return the next night to start working there and Debbie and I left. She was smiling from ear to ear with an ecstatic, satisfied, grin, as she drove me home and dropped me off. "I TOLD you I'd find you a job!" she said to me. To her it was that simple; and I really did need this job, I realized, on the way back, to my apartment. I didn't see another way, to survive, and not lose my apartment, without this kind of immediate income that dancers make; especially from customer tips. At least, I hoped that I would make money, as 'green' as I was. . . . I would need to do well enough for the guys to want to tip me. There was alot to learn in my upcoming on-the-job training to become the Go Go girl 'Stevie'. [Please refer to my blog post dated 10-30-19, for how I selected that dancer name of 'Stevie': https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html]
I really didn't know, what I was getting into, at the time. I just needed a way to survive; alone. My heart was still broken, from the divorce from Jim, and the transfer of our son's custody to him; and to his second wife. Pouring my heart out, for patients in the hospital, had been very therapeutic for me, but once I was no longer able to do that, the despair had settled back on me, overwhelming and nearly suffocating me. God knows, I needed someone, or something, that could capture my heart, again, to carry me through some of the dark days into hopefully better ones, at some point along the way. I never would've expected that becoming a dancer would replace being a Nursing Assistant as my favorite job. It's said that God doesn't give us what we want, but what we need. All of these colorful characters, that were about to become part of my life in the entertainment business, would cause me to fall in love . . . with them all! Well, with most of them. There were a few bitches, along the way. And, of course, some real assholes, also. But, none of them were in my path, for too long, to make my life permanently painful for me. One of the worst parts of it, though, was when I became one of those bitches, myself, for a short time. But, I get ahead of myself with that, here. That would be years down the road. I am just going to describe the very beginning of this career change for me, now. It will take me several posts, to share everything there is to say, about all the different aspects, involving my work, relationships, and lifestyle when I became a dancer. This was going to be quite a big transition, for me, to make! Even a culture shock. Going from my being a hospital caregiver, with an altruistic mindset, to a nightclub dancer, with the confidence and even ego needed to be able to handle this type of job and do it well, meant that I was about to embark on a, long, journey, clear across the expanse of my own soul; to the other side of myself! My alter ego was waiting, there, in my subconscious, for me to unearth it, and breathe life into it.
Later that evening when I was alone, I drove myself to a nice, quiet, bar, the night before my life would change, as I stepped onto the stage, as a working Go Go girl; to have a drink, and ponder whether my dreams, of finding and having real romantic love, would ever happen for me, again, now. I had never been completely in love with any man, until, and except for, Jim, whom I had set free, by divorcing him, when it was obvious, that he would never choose me, over his parents, over the opinions of his co-workers, over his own doubts about us together; married, or otherwise. I knew there were alot of strong stereotypes, associated with girls that worked as dancers, which I felt would only make it more impossible for me to experience the loyal and lasting love that I always longed for, with one, good, man, in this life! Strictly based on those assumptions, made about people, I felt that no good man would ever want me now. There were already too many strikes, against me, from the failures in my life, that brought so much heartache to my existence on this earth. It's said that women want love and men want respect. But, I've always wanted respect more than love, if I had to choose, between the two, from someone, and I was very well aware, that respect isn't something normally extended to nightclub dancers. There was still, at this time in my life, which was my late twenties, a small hope, lingering, deep, in my heart, that Disney movies weren't lies, and that my prince would come, and I would live happily ever after with him. It just seemed impossible now because of my new job which I was about to start. I had always had very high standards, for myself, and therefore, for others, as well. So, I could not imagine meeting any guy, that came to ogle me, and the other girls, dancing, in the Go Go bar, and thinking that he had the values, character, and integrity that I was now starving to see in any man I would ever know. For me men were the single biggest let down in my life. Pure disappointment and disillusionment for me. Still, I thought, there must be someone, who fit my image of what a good man would really be like! How else was I even able to see that so clearly in my dreams? My Disneyesque dreams. . . .
There was no one in this upscale neighborhood bar, located in a strip mall, in the suburbs, of Omaha, that evening, other than a male bartender, and one lone male customer sitting at the far end of the bar, from where I sat, as I came in. I really wasn't 'a bar person', by personality, so when the bartender asked me what I wanted to drink, I told him I really had no idea, so he concocted something he called an 'Elk Creek Springwater' with shots of gin and vodka, some 7-Up, I think, and a squeeze of lime (or, something similar, to that). As I sipped it, through the straw, from the tall glass in front of me, he made the usual, bartender, small talk with me. The man at the other end of the bar sipped on his drink in total silence. As I finished the second of these drinks, I opened up about what I was feeling that night as I sensed my life was about to change drastically, by the next evening, and that my new job would make my heart's desire to really be loved, by someone, even more impossible for me than it already felt. I told him that I couldn't even find someone who liked to actually talk about things, the way that I liked to do. I am an Aquarius which are known for that. I doubted that any man I would meet at my new job would have any interest at all in having a real conversation with me, either in or outside of the Go Go bar they met me in. Sensing my deep loneliness, and grief, the bartender set a refill in front of the man sitting at the far end of the bar, and then he said, to both of us, two obviously very lonely and sad people, "Why don't you two talk to one another?" The customer had been sitting and listening to me tell the bartender that I couldn't even find a man that could or would carry on a conversation with me, so, as he picked up his drink, and came over to sit by me, at the bar, he introduced himself, and said to me, "Good evening, Ma'am. I can talk to you about politics, religion, philosophy, or the subject of your choice!". I liked that response, from him, so we talked from then on, until the bar was closing for the night, in what was now the wee hours of the morning. We went, and sat, together, in one of our cars, and with the help of our drinks, for liquid courage, we began to make out, like two starving people, that hated to even have to come up for air. He seemed like a really nice man! A good man. Right there. With me. It could have been magic, for both of us; the start of something real, and romantic, together. But there was no way, that it could take root, or survive, in the soil of our separate sadness, in our lives.
He was an Air Force officer--- a captain I believe. Because I could tell that he definitely wasn't any jerk, and because he had been a gentleman, from the start, and, because I trusted him, I agreed to follow him back to his home, in my car, because he lived closest, and he needed to get home to check on his children. It turned out that he had 2 young sons living with him after his divorce. His wife had left him and the boys, because she simply couldn't handle the death sentence hanging continually over their two beloved sons. Both boys had Cystic Fibrosis and weren't expected to live, to see adulthood. His ex-wife was racked with guilt, because of their having children, since this was an inherited, genetic, condition, that had been thrust upon her babies, and always considered fatal, up until the 1980s, which is when all this was happening in this family. It was chronic, progressive and required daily, energetic, chest percussion to be done, on both boys, to help clear their airways. Although there have since been great medical advances making the prognosis so much better, and longer, for Cystic Fibrosis patients, back then, about half of the people, with this infirmity, did not live to see their 20s. It was certainly a sad situation, for this family. Unable to cope with the grief and the guilt, the mother had exited the picture, leaving the boys motherless and this devoted dad with his hands full as the single parent, and, an active duty officer, in the U.S. Air Force. I liked him. He literally was 'an officer and a gentleman', and very similar to the real-life prince that I had always wished I would find. Only, we just wouldn't work out, because we were both drowning in our sorrows over our own children, and simply could not take on the additional heartache, from one another's situations.
I had told him all about my deciding to let go of, my own son, Jay, leaving him, with his father, and stepmother, to have a two-parent home, and a better life, than a struggling single mother could give him. This, of course, hit a nerve, with him, because of his wife leaving their picture, with their boys, although the motivations were much different for us two women. With my son, it was only due to having his best interests at heart. Also, I made sure he was in a stable, two-parent, home, because I believed that it would be the healthiest, happiest, home life he could have, growing up. Many people feel, very emotionally, that, a mother, should not or could not, 'abandon' their own babies, birthed from their own bodies, under any circumstances. But that doesn't always fit with the realities, of the relationships involved, when other choices must be made. I interacted with his boys well, but I also could not cope with getting attached, to them, and watching them wasting away toward death, which would be, another, horrible loss, in my own life, as well; if I let them in, to my heart! My heart was, already, so shattered, from losing my own son, from my life, that I just couldn't do it. This was a great guy; and he always made me great grilled cheese sandwiches, with Velveeta, every time that I went over to their house to visit them because he mostly needed to be at home, near his boys, to care for their needs. Knowing that, given the situation, I just couldn't cope with getting more attached to him or the boys, I parted ways, with him, before we would start to fall in love, and add more pain, to one another's lives, that neither one, of us, needed, or could deal with, now. Because I'd told him, about my new job starting, he showed up, there, one night, in Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, to see me. He sat at the end of the bar, just as he had been sitting the night we met at the other bar, weeks before, and I went over, to speak to him, as soon as I saw him. I just couldn't go there, emotionally, though, and I never saw him again after that night. I pray he found healing love. I never did. But, I know that he really deserved to have that, in his life. He was so loving! There just seems, to me, to be too few, of these, really, good, deserving, men, like him, in this world.
My first night, going to work, at the Razzle Dazzle, I had no idea what to expect. Dick had told me to just show up and what I needed, to get started as a Go Go girl, would be waiting for me. After seeing how tiny those thong bikinis were which the girls wore I had shaved off almost all my pubic hair, and put on, what I thought was, plenty of makeup, before I left home for the Go Go bar. When I walked in, one of the bouncers called one of the dancers over, and told her to take me back to the dressing room, that she shared with a few of the other girls and now also me because the manager had assigned me to that room as well. As we headed to the back of the bar, and down a dark hall, toward this dressing room, she introduced herself as Nikki, and explained to me that there were a few different dressing rooms tucked away in out-of-the-way places throughout the bar; each having several girls in them who had to share that very small space, as they got themselves ready to go out on stage, to do the show. As we were about to pass by, a larger room, with its door open, I saw a big desk, and the manager, Dick McGinnis, who had hired me the day before, sitting behind it. He called out for me to come in there for a moment. (People in the bar later told me that he was the spitting image of a wrestler who was nicknamed 'Mad Dog' Vachon*. So much so in fact, that many people actually insisted that he was him! In size, appearance, gruffness, even menacing attitude, etc., Dick was, definitely, an intimidating person, to be around! As I got to know him, there were many times that it seemed he definitely lived up--- or down--- to the name Dick.) Going into the office, I saw that an Asian woman stood off to one side of the desk. Her name was Lee and she was there asking to sew costumes, and bring them in, to sell directly to the girls there. He asked her to look at me, and asked if she could sew something for me because I was just starting in the business. She said she could, and would bring something in for me within a couple of days for me to buy from her. Dick told me if it cost more than I could afford, that I could take a draw against my base/hourly pay to be able to purchase that from her. That was such a nice perk, of working in these clubs that I danced in! If an employee ever needed quick cash, to pay a bill, or purchase something, and was short on funds, they could just take a cash draw against their pay usually on the spot.
Then Nikki took me on back to our dressing room and told me that, before I came in, Dick had asked her to find me something, that I could wear, to dance in, that night. She picked up what looked like two skinny pieces of fake fur, and handed them to me. I stared at them, wondering what they even were, before I realized that one small piece was a tiny top, like from a bathing suit, and the other little piece tied, on both sides, making it into a slender, thong, bikini bottom. Somebody had simply cut them out of furry fabric. There was no sewing involved. No lining or elastic. Nothing, but the fur. I got the top on. Then Nikki tied it much tighter on me, for support, and told me to bend over at the waist, and pull my breasts upward, and inward, to make them look bigger, by creating cleavage. It was so tight, I could barely breathe! Then she handed me a package of brand new, nude-colored, seamless, pantyhose. She told me it was an Iowa law at that time that dancers were required to wear pantyhose underneath their costume bottom. I had no idea at all how to do that, because once I pulled on the pantyhose they came up to my waist and the costume bottom did not, sitting further down on me, along my hip bones. I could not even figure out, which part, of the costume bottom, was the front, and which was the back, because either way, the fabric covered so very little of me! Nikki had to show me. Then, taking safety pins she rolled the pantyhose down from my waist until they were hidden just below the top of the costume bottom and pinned them in, all around, to hide the fact that they were even on me. Nikki basically dressed me, for the first several nights that I worked there! I brought my own high heels, so I was as ready to go on stage as I was going to be for my first night there, I thought, until she also darkened my eyeliner, to make it more dramatic, because the room with the stage was so dark. Even the walls were painted black. When the seamstress, Lee, brought the costume she made for me, it was so plain, basic, and not very well sewn (the seams came apart, and I had to mend it!), or professional looking, but it was a start. At least, I had a change of costume, now. Both Lee and I were clearly both new, to being around this business, and we both had alot to learn, about it. Nikki sold me a pretty purple costume, with white lace trim, that she had owned, and it was the prettiest, of my 3 'starter' costumes. I was wearing that one, the night that the sweet man, with the 2 sick boys, I had briefly been seeing, stopped in, to see me. I was glad that he hadn't shown up one of my first few nights, working there! Those went badly.
Not only was I struggling to learn to dance this way, when I first started, and studying the other girls' moves, intently, as they did their routines on stage, but I also had what would, now, likely be referred to as humiliating 'wardrobe malfunctions' wearing that fake fur costume, those first couple of nights I was working there. At the time, I was such a sweet girl (even still quite naive, almost innocent, in alot of ways) that when I went in the restroom and saw and read the graffiti on the walls, I honestly didn't really know what it meant! The drawings, or the words. I was just a very decent human being by most standards. Too much so, for where I was now, I would say. So, in the beginning, I looked, and felt, like a fool, at times, as I tried to learn the culture of this, basically, other world, that I had entered! Especially, in those early days, I sometimes felt like I was Alice, in Wonderland, in the Razzle Dazzle, and had fallen through, the looking glass, into some strange, new, world that was topsy turvy. . . . So, I figured out why the girls had so easily parted with that, fake fur, costume, simply giving it to me, when I started working there; though no one warned me, about it. (Maybe they thought it would help my tips!) I had to find out about that costume in the worst way. Due to the pantyhose underneath the costume bottom being so slick, the bottom slid, over the nylon, shifting to the side, completely exposing my private parts, through those very sheer, nude-colored, pantyhose, underneath. I was on stage doing a leg lift as I had seen some of the other girls doing, right over the head of a customer that was right by the stage. He said something to me then, but I couldn't hear his words over the extremely loud music, and my own pounding heart, from being up there on stage, so close to these men, who were watching me. When I shook my head, that I didn't know what he said to me, he stood up, to get closer to my ear, and even when I finally heard his words, I didn't know what they meant. He said, to me, "DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE 'SHOOTING BEAVER?' " ** When I got down from the stage, I asked one of the girls what that even meant, and she told me, it meant, that I was exposing my crotch! I was mortified. I didn't do any more leg raises wearing that costume, and as soon as I had a couple more to wear I never wore that thing ever again, nor did I give it to another dancer, as some 'rite of passage'. Nikki had not given me that to be bitchy. She had dressed me for the first week that I worked there, and was always supportive, helpful and kind. She had just given me what someone else had left behind, probably for the same reason that I stopped wearing it; making it available then for whoever came along next, which was me. I did make some tips, in it, too! Only, now, I was left wondering what, exactly, I had gotten those for!
One of my first couple of nights working there, I was standing near the back of the main room, watching the dancers on stage, and waiting for my turn, that was coming up in a couple more songs. A busty young woman with long, auburn, hair, came and stood next to me, introducing herself as June. She was very open and friendly and she started telling me that her boyfriend worked there, too, as one of the doormen, but that she couldn't introduce me to him, because he was not there that night. When I asked if it was his night off, her red-painted lips started to quiver, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, as she wailed, "No, he's not off tonight. He's in JAIL!" Apparently he had been arrested, for doing some type of, petty, misdemeanor, crime. I met him, after he got bailed out. June bounced up to me, holding him by the hand, saying to me proudly, "Stevie, THIS is my boyfriend, LYLE!" He seemed like he was a nice enough guy; just really goofy. They were so cute, together, though, because they were so in love! I'd never even known anyone, personally, that had actually been in jail for anything! So, it was just part of this whole new scene I was experiencing, that I had never really been, directly, exposed to, before. Compared to these people, that I worked with, in these bars, I must have lived a more sheltered life. Or else, they had also been naive, like I was, but were now far ahead of me, on the learning curve, regarding the lingo, and the landscape, of what was, for me, at least, such a strange new world. Surprisingly, for the person that I was, rather than being repulsed, by it, I was captivated, and even charmed, by these people. I truly liked them, and I also learned alot, from them. We never do forget our teachers, in this life. Even when they aren't in a classroom.
[There had been this one girl, that I knew of, at the stripper bar back in Biloxi, that I had, finally, figured out, during those few days, that I worked there, must be doing prostitution, out of there, with the management's involvement and/or approval. When she'd kept on disappearing, out of the stage lineup, I had, innocently, asked her where she went, sometimes several times, in the same night. Usually for an hour or two at a time, and while we were (supposed to be?) at work. She, always, simply answered me, that she had 'gone out for donuts', and left it at that. I must have seemed so ignorant, to her, in my naivete, because I kept enthusiastically replying that, I liked donuts, and asked her, if she would bring some back, for the rest of us, next time, since I never saw any other girl leave, during the shift, like that; just her! She was a very pretty, young woman, but also extremely closed off emotionally; and never smiled, so, she always looked so serious. Of course, she never did bring any donuts back with her. That was 40 years ago, now, and only because of my doing the background research for this post, did I Google whether the word "donuts" could ever be used as a, sexual, euphemism; and this is what I found, online, in that search: 'doughnut: slang. A woman a man chooses to have sex/relationship with based on proximity first and foremost; based on a theory that men are lazy and will reach for the nearest doughnut.' Who knew?!? OBVIOUSLY NOT ME! She could also have been referring to me, for asking something she likely saw as being none of my business, however, because, I found this on the internet, as well: "What does a 'donut' mean, in slang? In informal speech, the phrase is used to highlight stupidity, e.g. You Donut means an individual whom is extremely stupid, lacks intelligence and common sense." In these rougher, cruder, types of environments, where I was completely 'out of my element', initially, my total lack of understanding, of how things were, and what people were even, actually, saying, when they talked to me, very likely made me look like a foolish person, to the people that either worked in, or were used to being around, these bars! There were alot of dirty words, and dirty deeds, that I was exposed to, working in the bars, that I had no clue about, when I was new, to the business. Especially, alot of language, which I was wholly unfamiliar with, such as, several, 'street slang' terms, that I couldn't comprehend, at first, until I learned what they meant, from working in these places. I heard some really crude words, that took the decency and dignity right out of the thing that they were referring to in such ways.]
Because I would go back, to the dressing room, in the back hall, to check my hair, lipstick, and overall appearance before going on stage now, I would often stand in that one spot at the very back of the main room, waiting to go up on stage. In between dances, we were encouraged to go sit and talk to the customers, to get to know them, and of course, sell drinks in the process. I had not had any real problems with bad behavior, from the men, there, those first few days, I was new to the scene. They had several bouncers, watching over everything going on in there too, which made me feel like the men would not risk stepping out of line toward me. So I admit that I was completely shocked and even indignant, when I was just standing at the back of the room, waiting, to go up on stage and, suddenly, felt a man grab one of my, thong-exposed-but-nylon-covered, butt cheeks with his whole hand, as if it were a melon he was squeezing at the supermarket! Feeling violated, by that, and still ladylike enough, then, to be affronted by it, too, I jerked my head around, to see who this was beside me, doing this to me. Looking downward, from my 6' tall height, in my high heels, I saw, an almost midget-like man, who looked no more than 5' tall. This very short, older man was looking back--- or rather, up--- at me with a big grin on his face. That is, until, I said, to him, very emphatically, "Who do you think you are?!? Don't you EVER do THAT, to ME, AGAIN!" As I was walking off, then, in an annoyed huff, toward the stage, to dance, next, I passed by one of the dancers, that had seen what just happened, with this 'midget man'. She said to me, as I walked by her, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Way to go, new girl. THAT is Mickey. YOUR BOSS. He owns this bar! So, YOU'RE WORKING FOR HIM."
My heart sank, into my toes, as I stood on the stage to start to dance, all the while wondering if this would be my last dance, there . . . . But, Mickey didn't fire me. He remained, very genial, to me, after that. But, in all the years that I worked, mostly, in his nightclubs, he never, ever, laid a finger, on me, in any way, ever again. Even though, he did, put his arms around, and his hands on, the other dancers, in his bars. That said to me that he never forgot that encounter, with me, anymore than I ever forgot, that incident, happening, with him. He was a Leo, and Leo's do not take kindly to being rebuffed, by a woman, since they see themselves as being the 'King of the jungle', which he was, in his realm, having the best nightclub entertainment, in the area, in that era. (As a side note, when I was very pregnant, with my son, my husband Jim had taken me to Mickey's, in downtown Omaha, one night, to watch the dancers, and we had been seated right up by the stage. I didn't know anyone, who was working there, that evening, although some of those people would become my co-workers, at Mickey's 'Razzle Dazzle', in Council Bluffs. The other bar that he owned. And later, at 'The Twenties' nightclub, the classiest of the bars that he had, where I was one of the first 3 girls, hired, to work there, for him. I had NO idea, when I sat in 'Mickey's', with my husband, with our baby boy, in my womb, that I, would be working, in this business, with these people, a few years later! I am sitting here, shaking my head, at the sheer unlikelihood, of that! But, it happened!) After being hired to dance at the Razzle, I was told that Mickey used to be a gym teacher for a school, or a kids' coach, or such, before getting into the bar business. I was also told things, about him, like he had mafia connections, which, because of things, that happened, later on, I believe it to be true! And, that he was actually the one who killed his wife, to get her out of the way in his life, and had his son 'take the fall' for that murder, going to prison, in place of his father.*** Whichever one, committed the actual crime, both men were there in Mickey's nightclubs, where I worked, because the son went to work for his father, when he got out of prison. I believe I was working at The Twenties, when I finally met him, but I cannot recall that, for sure, now. It was not central, to my own life. However, the few times I did interact directly, with Mickey's son, there was something 'not quite there', about how he looked, and behaved, that was quite unnerving, to me, even apart from my having been told, about the murder of Mickey's wife who was this young man's mother. I knew Mickey's mother, Angie, too, because she was the bookkeeper, for him, at his 'Twenties' nightclub, and did our payroll there.
As for those dancers, that I first worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, they were a great group of very talented girls! I learned alot about who they were, as people (not as sex objects, which is what the men coming in there saw them as, for the most part), and how, and why, they ended up in this business, that was so, extremely, negatively, stereotyped, by both, 'church folk', and 'good people'. I felt blessed to know these girls, who danced on the stage with me every night. Clearly, I have never forgotten them, and that time, in my life, was almost 4 decades ago now. Nikki was a tiny, petite, young woman, who could out drink a sailor, and not even stagger. I've been a size 6 for my entire adult life which is considered to be small, but I looked large next to Nikki. She must have worn adolescent kids size clothing, because she had to be even smaller than a Misses Size 0! She became a dancer, to make good money, which has, almost always, been harder for women to do; to be able to care for their children after her husband bailed, on them all; disappearing, and leaving her to be a single mom to their children, with no income to provide for them. I feel so angry, whenever I see this happen, to women and children, which it does, far too often, because, so many men--- BOYS really!--- are so selfish! She worked hard, wasn't bitter, and never complained, though. That little lady, was actually one big tough broad!
People's passing judgment, on how these women got through the ordeals, in their lives, when these people had never been in their situation, or their shoes, upset me. The crises that I had been through, myself, which were also primarily precipitated by men, in my life, had led me to the same place. I did make, some, different decisions, though, in this environment, than many of the staff did. For the great majority of my years working as a dancer, I basically kept myself clean; especially, considering where I was working, where I was constantly surrounded by the things that people perceive as being temptations to sin, which were often associated with this business. I never was a smoker. There was only a couple of seasons, in my life, during all the time I was a dancer, that I actually accessed the availability of alcohol, in these bars, to drink. I never did drugs. Later, near the very end, I did do prostitution, but that part of the story comes many years later. Now I was just at the beginning, of this long and winding road, at the Razzle Dazzle. From the start, I saw girls doing cocaine in the dressing room, but I never did. As they came in at night to prepare to go up on stage a couple of the dancers would lay a small mirror down on the table, pour out a little packet of white powder, onto that, and use a razor blade, to divide it, in half. Then, they used a short straw, to inhale, their part, of the cut, into their nostrils. For the most part, I live, and let live, as my philosophy on this life, where others are concerned. (Except where I tell them about the love of Christ, for them; because I am Called to do that, as a Christian, and people really need to hear that!) One night, because I have a sense of humor, I came into the dressing room and told the girls, that did the drugs, in there, that I had brought MY 'drug of choice', to share, with them, that night. They were so surprised, since I hadn't ever partaken, of their cocaine, and didn't show any signs of the social habits that many people did, there. As I laid down the mirror, just like they, always, did, and picked up the razor blade to cut it into equal parts, to share with them, they were excitedly asking me, "Where did you get it?!?" I found out, that night, not to mess with people, that do drugs, though, as their curiosity quickly turned to, momentary, disdain, toward me after I pulled out a Snickers candy bar from my bag, and proceeded to cut it, into pieces, for us all to share. Sugar--- sweets--- happened to be 'my drug of choice'! I ate candy, to get my boost. They did NOT appreciate MY HUMOR, however!
Penny, was at the opposite end, of the physical spectrum, from Nikki! Penny, was large-boned, and tall. She made my 5'9" and 128 pounds look small in comparison. When she stood next to Nikki it made me smile, because it looked like a Great Dane standing next to a chihuahua who had no inferiority complex whatsoever! Penny did this move up on stage, where she bent over, backwards, and her belly ended up being like the tabletop in this pose. I guess you could even say, that she, literally, bent over backwards to do her show, for the customers! The trouble was, her falsies would POP OUT, of her costume top, when she did this; landing on the stage, if she was lucky, or onto some, shocked, customer's lap, when she wasn't so lucky. Her 'special skill', to me, though was something that I had first observed her doing back in the dressing room the first night I met her. As Nikki was dressing me, this extremely tall girl with long, black, Cher-like hair, came bursting into the room, due to running late, and having to hurry to get ready on time. Greeting Nikki with a warm, quick, "Hi", and me with a "Hey", that acknowledged she had seen me, too, but didn't have time, to wonder who I was, right then, she quickly changed her clothes, then knelt down beside the full-length mirror, to get close enough, to it, to work on her makeup. The thing, that amazed me, about her, was, she had a cigarette, in her mouth, this entire time! Despite all of her rushing about the room, and even more so in spite of all that she was saying to Nikki, at the same time, this cigarette simply sat, and stayed, like some, ostensibly obedient object, on her lower lip! The whole time she was doing all these things, to get ready, she didn't ever take it out, of her mouth, knock it out, of her mouth, or drop it, off of her lip, Most amazing, about this, of all, Penny was the Queen of the F-bomb****, with a rather hard edge, to how she carried herself, that even so didn't fully conceal the actual heart-of-gold which was underneath what was very apparently her pain, from living this life with all its heartaches. As she rushed to get ready, she had been talking, nonstop, to Nikki, about what this week's asshole had done to piss her off. So, hot with anger at being let down by, another, one, in an endless succession of jerks, she was saying the words "FUCK" and "FUCKING" about every other word, while all the while that cigarette stayed put; as if it were somehow glued to her mouth! I just stared, at such talent as that, in sheer wonderment! If only Penny had been able to train her falsies to stay put.
Kelly, was the 'Showman' of the group. She loved to strut, around the stage, especially wearing her favorite costume of an emerald green 'top hat, and tails', with her walking cane in her hand. She, was the classiest, of the dancers, on stage. Kelly was a very open, and friendly, girl, too. I really liked her! I could sadly see why she had ended up supporting herself by dancing though. Although she did it so well, moving with smooth, and sophisticated, gracefulness all around the stage, entertaining the customers, with her 'Class Act', she also had a severe stutter, whenever she tried to speak. Every single word, out of her mouth, was exhausting agony! Both for her to, finally, get out of her mouth, after she expended much effort, and some flying spit, as she tried, to talk, and for you, the listener, to hang on, and wait, to hear, what she was struggling so hard to say, if she was speaking to you, while witnessing her mighty struggle. I cannot imagine what other jobs she could have been hired to do, where she could make the kind of money, that she did, dancing, given the strong speech impediment, that she had. She had several trunks of the finest costumes. Most of those with some theme, like 'nurse' and others. Sooner, or later, all of us that had become dancers aged out of it, if we were still in the business by then because we had never found, who, or what, we were wishing for, or dreaming of, as a better alternative, for our lives. I have often wondered, what became, of these girls, that I worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, all those years ago. Especially, Kelly. She was so very talented, as a performer; but, in this business, as well as in many other settings, women are often simply treated as disposable objects, once we begin to show signs of aging, or even just of the toll that life has taken, on us, that, visibly, weighs us down, stoops our posture, and causes us to look older, than our, actual, age. Every girl, including me, that climbed up on that stage, and danced, was living with, some kind, of, real, heartbreak, haunting them in their lives. I admired every, single, one, of them, for that, and appreciated, how kind they were, to me, in the midst of their own problems, and pain. They dressed me, taught me the ropes, and let me into their lives, and hearts. I owe them alot!
Since boys will, forever, unrepentantly, be boys, however, it wasn't always so gratifying, getting to know the club customers. Sometimes, the guys, that worked there, were jerks, too. Even, at my expense. I'm a very cerebral person. I am fairly intelligent, was in the chess club, in school, and studied philosophy, in college. I have very eclectic interests and enjoy conversing in depth, and in detail, about all manner of subjects. I also love lifelong learning. This is me; this is who I am; or rather this is who 'Deborah' is, in me, as opposed to who 'Stevie' is, in me, which is that other, opposite, side of me, that learned, how to speak, act, and even think, in those ways that are appropriate for, and even expected from, a stage dancer, working in a Go Go bar. Because of my leading with my brain, and not, my body, especially, before I created, and developed, my dancer alter ego, 'Stevie', I had a great deal of trouble, trying to sit and talk to the customers in the bars, in the beginning. I have always been a purposeful person. The name "Deborah" even means "industrious; busy as a bee". I, really, dislike making small talk. I prefer not to chitchat. I enjoy delving deeply into conversations, especially on subjects of mutual interest, because, for me, that makes a more meaningful connection, with someone. However, all that being said, we dancers were required, to find some customer(s), to sit with, between our sets on stage, and to talk, with them. I quickly found out, though, that many males, that come into those places, want to talk about, or ask you about, things like, "What size are your nipples?", "Do you shave 'down there' into a heart-shape?", and other inane topics, such as these. It is unbelievable to me, that males spend their, entire, lives, being so concerned with, and consumed by, female anatomy! I am shaking my head again typing that statement. Unless they're gay it never gets old for them.
I had to really try, very hard, to, in effect, 'dumb down', to be able to even talk with, or relate to, the club customers, at all, for the most part! It took, a long, time, for me, to get the hang of that, and even once I did, it felt insulting, to me, to HAVE TO do it. It was part of my job, though. So, it had to be done. When I first started, at the Razzle, I would, sometimes, simply give up trying to talk to these guys, in there. I did not know about this, going on, at the time, but the manager, Dick, would send over some of the, regular, customers that he knew, to talk to me. They would sit down and introduce themselves, and then, both of us, would live to regret it, as I would lead with my intelligence, in order to be my best self, to converse with! So, they would talk for a few minutes, then, and leave, because deep subjects, and intellectual conversations, with a mostly naked woman, was not why they were in this place. I had no clue at the time, though, that men often seem to prefer operating on such a low level, socially! I had actually been trying, my very best, to be respectful toward them by--- apparently wrongly--- assuming they were more highly evolved, than they were, by my 'rising to the occasion', of conversing with them, when the only thing that they were focused on rising was their dicks, by asking me things like 'Did I enjoy oral sex?'. Watching this, going on, from across the room, without hearing the conversations taking place between me and these men, including the ones he had sent over to talk to me, Dick was confused, about why, this was happening. I was not physically unattractive, and he knew that I was a nice person. So, Dick began to ask them why they didn't stay and talk to me longer, and he came to understand, that, I was working their brain, way too hard, by making them use it, to talk to me, and they didn't want that part of them to be engaged in there. They had high hopes, that their OTHER, smaller, but more powerful, 'brain' might even, shall we say, 'come into play', in there, instead. Who alive has not heard the statement--- apparently of fact!--- that men think with their dicks. So, especially because of the price of drinks in these places, which customers had to pay, for their own beverages, as well as those for any dancer, sitting with them, I wasn't worth their time, or their money, as far as what they came into that place to experience. While I was not required to drink alcohol, in these bars, which the great majority of the time, I didn't do, the price, of my drinks, was still steep; even for a soft drink or fruit juice, for me. The glass was also heavily filled with ice by the bartender, leaving little room for the actual drink in the glass. I believe that's why most of the customers ordered bottles of beer. When Dick learned that I was running them off, from me, he started laughing about it, I found out later. Just to amuse himself, then, he would deliberately send some uninitiated guy over to talk to me just to watch the 'poor guy's' face when he was suddenly tasked with trying to make real conversation, with this girl in a thong bikini, that had great legs, pretty eyes, long, brunette, hair, flowing down her back, and a real brain, to go along, with all of that, when he'd only wanted to ask me if I like to suck cock.
One guy came in, after I had been there about a month, that did talk to me in an intelligent way, and I was so excited, to be able to use my brain, as I sat and talked, with him, for hours, during that evening, in the bar! He was a 'tall, dark, and handsome' Staff Sergeant, from the Air Force base, in Bellevue, and at the end of the night, he tipped me, during my last dance. When I saw what the bill was, though, as I removed it, from where he had folded it lengthwise and then slid it into the waist of my costume bottom, I felt so bad about it. This was a one hundred dollar bill! Minimum wage was $3.35 an hour, back then, so that was around a week's pay after taxes, for me, when I had worked at the hospital just prior to this. That was my very first time ever getting that large of a tip from a customer. I didn't know people even did that, for dancers, then. Also, I couldn't imagine, as a new and not-yet-very-proficient Go Go dancer, my having done anything on that stage, even a month into this new gig, that had deserved such compensation, as that. I thought, that he must have given it to me by mistake, as he had reached into his wallet, in that dark room, because I had heard stories about, and even complaints from, customers, who had mistakenly tipped employees too much of their money. That such mistakes had been made, at times. Especially, with people drinking, while they're in there. So, I ran, to catch him, before he went out the door to leave, to give it back, to him, thinking that he would be relieved to not find that, unexpectedly, missing from his billfold later on. He looked quite surprised, when I held the hundred dollar bill out to him, trying to give it back. But I was more surprised when he said that he knew, what amount he had tipped me, and that he had enjoyed talking to me, that evening! So, he had actually WANTED me to have it! Then, he asked me out, and thinking the evening had gone so well and he seemed to really like me, I agreed to go out with him. We lasted for a very short time, though. He turned out to be just another jerk, only alot smoother operator than all the others I was used to dealing with in my life, before him. This guy was a complete player.
He led me to believe that we had something special, and real, going on, between us, and were a couple. One evening, I was over at his place, and it snowed so hard I couldn't get my car out of the pile of snow, that it got covered in, and had to call in, to work, that night, spending it with him, instead. After that, he had me come over and stay, at his apartment, while he was at work, at the base. We were together so much, that I was shocked, when I went over to his place one night after I had gotten the night off to surprise him, and when he answered the door there was another woman lying in his bed, whom I could see over his shoulder, as he opened the door to find me there. He did not invite me in. He basically told me he had been humoring me and that she had just had an abortion, of his baby, earlier in the day which he had paid for; and that she was sleeping it off, after that procedure. I had been a little fling, for him, a fill in while they were at odds with one another over his baby being inside her, and him wanting her to abort it; which she had obviously just done, for him. As he was telling me all this, suddenly being truly honest, with me, I felt like he was physically punching me, in the gut, with each of these things, he was saying to me now. Something in me changed, over that, and I started to see the big bill that he had tipped me, the night that I had met him, in the club, as having MUCH MORE VALUE, than HE had; which became the beginning of my developing a dancer mindset, from then on. It was like I had, finally, just turned off the switch, for that place in my heart that had dared to believe I could, and would, be desired, due to my being lovable, as a person, and I turned on the switch, that challenged myself to make the best tips I could possibly get, from club customers' billfolds. My attitude changed. My goals changed. My focus changed. I packed the 'Deborah' part of me away, completely, and started to allow the 'Stevie' side, of me, to rule, and reign, the rest of the time that I worked as a dancer. I carefully calibrated and calculated everything, about me, now. I threw out that simple sincerity, which had, always, been at the heart of who I was as a human being. I tossed it, like trash, right out the window, of my soul! I changed. The way that I walked. Dressed. Even the tone, of my voice; along with what I said, and how I said it. I learned, slowly but surely, to speak to club customers in nuance and innuendo, which seemed to be what they wanted, from me, and made me much better tips, which is all, that I wanted, now, from them. It became all about, power, prick-teasing, and prosperity, for me, . . . as I learned to say, from the other dancers at the Razzle, "FUCK THESE ASSHOLES!" I never wanted to open my heart up to another man, again, in my life. It was never worth all the heartache and betrayal and misery, they gave me, in exchange for my giving my heart to them. My opinion of men got, and stayed, really bad. As much as I had needed some man to give me evidence to the contrary, there only seemed to be more jerks, driving a nail into the coffin, of my opinion about people with penises.
When I had first started dancing, I had, still, brought to it, my highest forms of integrity, honesty, and excellence in my overall work ethic--- all of which created problems for me, in my job, now. It went beyond just the usual cycle, that I felt that I was in, in my life: trying my best, but always believing that my best just was not good enough, somehow, to make things turn out right. I still strived to do my best, in this job, though, diligently seeking ways to do more than was asked of me to show that I was supportive of this establishment that I now worked in. My doing that had the completely opposite effect, of what I had intended, by all that, though. It wasn't met with the appreciation that I had expected, when I stepped up and showed initiative, going out of my way to be (what I truly had thought was) helpful. I had to learn, what the actual priorities were, here, for this, new, social, landscape, in order for it to start going smoothly, for me. The dancers were told to take turns, cleaning the very large mirror, on the back wall of the stage, to keep if free of greasy smudges, caused by sweat, and hand lotion or body oils. This meant that we, generally, had to do that chore while some other dancer was up, on stage, doing their thing, to make their money, for those few minutes, that their song(s) lasted. It never took very long, for the mirror to go from being shiny clean, to a largely non-reflective surface, as it quickly became increasingly clouded by hand prints, over much of its surface, as the dancers rotated on stage through their individual sets, in the night's lineup. Because I was the new girl, and wasn't occupied, by sitting with any 'regular' customers, who came to the club, just to see me, as yet, I took it upon myself to do my co-workers a favor, and keep the mirror clean, myself, by jumping up quite often to go up on stage and clean it, for us all, so that no one else would have to get up, to go do that. But, unbeknownst to me, rather than appreciating it, the girls had begun going up to the manager to complain about me distracting from their dances, by being up there, on stage, with so many, of them, so often, rather than any of them coming to me, directly, and simply telling me to knock it off, themselves. I believe that they handled it, this way, from a good-hearted place, toward me, though, as they had all liked me, as they met and got to know me, because they could see that I was supportive of them, cared about them, and respected them! So, I think they'd wanted me to stop doing that, but they just didn't want to hurt my feelings, by telling me directly; especially since, it was as clear--- as I was keeping that mirror!--- that I was really just trying to be helpful.
So, Dick, the manager, called me over, to him, where he was sitting, by the front entry door, on the barstool where he had been the day my friend Debbie had dragged me in there to audition; and from where he kept his eye on the goings on, in the room. He began to speak to me about my cleaning the mirrors, and glad that he seemed to have noticed my good efforts, which were meant to show everyone, there, including him, how grateful I was, to have this new job, I knew, that a compliment, was coming any second, now! That never happened, and it really threw me off. He was speaking in a normal voice, to me, because he was used to being in there with the extremely loud music, so he didn't even attempt to talk over it. People, working in there, simply learned to, either, eventually hear one another, in spite of the music booming, so loudly, or lip-read; or both. I, still, struggled though, with both hearing, and speaking, over what seemed like noise that was equivalent to a jet engine next to me, in there. I had also learned just enough of the lingo to be dangerous, to myself, as I was just about to learn the hard way. There were alot of unspoken nuances, to be learned, by me, about how to communicate oneself, at this level of social interaction, among, what was, for me, rougher-talking-and-acting bar folk, which I did not fully understand, at this point. I guess, you could say, that, rightly or wrongly, I still did not really grasp 'the lay of the land', as yet, in this whole, new, world, which all, of this, was, to me! I was continuing to learn how to fit in, with this unfamiliar environment, now that I worked in this club. Everything the dancers ever said, that I heard, was, liberally, peppered with the 'F-bomb'****. I hadn't really been exposed to that word, in my life, before coming to work here. But now, it was the thing that was most often in my ears, there, penetrating them, and therefore, my mind, and because of that, it was coming out of my mouth. It had seemed, to me, to be the accepted way, of expressing oneself, in this particular place, and I'd wanted to reflect the culture. So to speak.
As I realized, that the manager was describing, to me, that the other girls were upset, about my being in the way, on the stage, because of my coming up there, so often, during their dances, I felt hurt. It hadn't even crossed my mind, that they would feel this way, about it, because, when they had been taking turns cleaning the mirror they had also been up on the stage during other girls' performances. Including mine. There were just more, of them, coming up there, to do this chore, before it had become only me because I had been trying to relieve them of having to do it. Besides, when it was left up to them, they had, usually, let the mirror get so grimy that it was rather gross, to have to look at, as the backdrop, for us girls, when we were dancing, up on the stage. I felt both, misunderstood, and unappreciated, for trying to make it better! My feeling like my very best efforts are, somehow, never good enough, has been a thread running through my life, bringing me one disappopintment or even heartbreak, after another; so this was just a part of that feeling, for me, however small, this incident actually appeared, compared to some of the things that had happened, in my life. Over the years, I had become very reactive, to things that caused me to feel like this, because I had suffered so much let down, and loss, in my life. Now, between my still tending to yell over the very loud music and my feeling upset that the girls had not appreciated my doing, all, the mirror cleaning chore myself, I replied, to the manager, that 'I was just fucking trying, to do my fucking best, in this fucking job!'. I liked these people, I worked for, and with, now, which had surprised me actually, given how very different they seemed from me. I was not very much like them, in so many ways, in the beginning. I was trying, my best, to figure out how to fit in with them, although, my cerebral conversations, multisyllabic words, and genteel mannerisms, often didn't mesh well, with the often rude, and crude, behaviors, of those around me, there, and these things didn't exactly help me to blend in, to this group. I shake my head, now, and even laugh at myself, a little, as I just typed that response from me to my boss.
At the time, though, I, really, was clueless, as to how Dick could suddenly get so angry, at me! I watched his face go from kindly inquisitiveness to complete shock at my reply, as his eyebrows shot up to the top of his bald head in sheer disbelief, at what I had just said, to him. Seeing this reaction, I knew that I must have crossed a line, with the F-bomb usage, that I clearly shouldn't have. Although, everyone else there, including him, said that word routinely. I think that he was taken aback, because, not only was he my boss, I was saying that word to, but Dick had never heard me say that, or anything like that, before, which made it have more of an emphasis then, when I said it, rather than just being considered as normal, like it was when anyone else, there, used that word. But, before I could backtrack, explain myself, or apologize, he went from being benign to ballistic. The next thing I know he was screaming at me to "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! NOW! YOU'RE FIRED!" Even in his, momentary, anger, with me, I think that Dick could tell, from my reaction, to him firing me, that I had not, in any way, intended to even seem as if I were mouthing off to him as a subordinate hireling, or disrespecting my job he had hired me to do. But, still, it was too late to turn this thing around, because he had to save face as the boss, and, my just being fired--- something that I had never had happen before that--- left me feeling that it was too late, now, for me to try to fix this. This had happened in the main room, near the entry door, in front of everyone, although the loud music probably drowned much of it out, and most eyes were on the stage.
Working her way down the page, with all these things in mind, Debbie eventually said, to me, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money plus tips. No experience needed!" When I asked what kind of dancers she went on reading from the Help Wanted ad. "It says 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot! I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." She looked at me from over the newspaper she was holding, as I responded from where I was still lying down on the floor, "I could NEVER do that!" I said that, to her, because those few days in Biloxi, Mississippi when I had been an actual stripper were not fun or fulfilling, for me. There was nothing, about that experience, that I wanted to repeat. Now or ever! There was no rapport there, with any of the other strippers or staff. The patrons were completely voyeuristic, which I suppose one must expect in such an establishment, but were not socially engaging at all, aside from wanting to put their sweaty hands on me when I had to sit with them, in the dark, on hard, sticky-feeling chairs, in between my dance sets. I'd used so much peppermint breath spray to try to ease some of my discomfort in being that up close with strange men, that one, nearly, keeled over off his chair, after he'd asked me to join him, and I breathed out that strong scent while introducing myself, as I sat down, next to him; as was required of me. I had felt humiliated doing my striptease, on that stage, even though I was far removed from the tables the patrons sat at, there. The contrast, between how distant from everyone, and impersonal, that had felt, for me, and my being completely naked, while I was on the stage during my 3-song-striptease in the most physically vulnerable way possible, except for my high heels, and a feather boa, was something that I couldn't reconcile, about it, in my emotions. Rather than my feeling classy like Gypsy Rose Lee had seemed to me to be, I felt like, what I was doing, there, was, at best, only some disgusting display in a dingy dive. I couldn't do that again. I couldn't feel like I had felt there about me, and where I worked, again.
However, my friend, Debbie, unclouded in her judgement by the emotions I was feeling about all this, saw my getting a job right away where I could make some good money now as a real necessity for me rather than as just an option which I could afford to choose to ignore. In fact, after covering the entire Want Ads section of the newspaper, with me, it seemed, to her, to be my only option! Literally pulling me up off the floor she hauled me outside and to her car, then drove me across the bridge, over the Missouri River, and into Council Bluffs, Iowa. It was late afternoon, when we pulled up, in front of 'Mickey's Razzle Dazzle', one of those bars with live female entertainment, which is often euphemistically referred to as a gentlemen's club. It was not far over the bridge, from Omaha, Nebraska, where I lived. It sat right along Broadway, the city's busy main drag. I did not want to go in! I was determined, not to go inside, actually. But, Debbie persisted, prying me out of her car and then pulling me toward the door, saying that it wouldn't hurt, just to go in, and see what it was like! As I continued to refuse, she then took it upon herself to, literally, drag me toward this rather ramshackle Go Go bar. I lost this struggle with her, when she pulled my hands away from gripping the outer doorframe, of the entrance, in a last ditch effort to try to keep her from pulling me through that door. She was determined, to help me; even in spite of me! So, she did, eventually, manage to get, both of us, inside the door, of this dilapidated structure. She had ignored my protests and overrode my attempts at evasion. To see her physically pulling me into this Go Go bar, by force, onlookers might have thought that what was going on was, actually, a kidnapping of me, due to my resistance, to it!
As we entered, this very dark room, and were standing, just inside the door, it took a moment, for my eyes to be able to see well, after coming from outside in the bright afternoon sunshine. Some sexy-sounding song was booming, in my ears, and I heard Debbie, talking to someone over the loud music, assertively announcing about me, that, "SHE WANTS A JOB!" Since my eyes were adjusting now, I was able to see small, white, lights, blinking continually all around the floor of the stage which extended out into the center of this cramped room, that was filled with small tables. I turned to look at whomever Debbie was speaking to about me, and saw a large, intimidating-looking figure with his bald head and his black suit. I guessed that he must be the doorman, but he actually turned out to be the manager of this bar! He had been sitting, perched on a bar stool right by the entry door, watching the room, when we had walked in (or, rather, Debbie had walked in, dragging me, with her!). Although this guy was a little unnerving to me, because of his sheer size, and a seemingly thug-like toughness, I retorted, to Debbie's statement to him about my wanting a job there, with "NO I DON'T." Then I turned back toward the door to try to exit as fast as I could, but my friend grabbed my arm, to stop me, and just as she did this menacing-looking man, we were speaking to, stood up from his seat, blocking the door now with his large frame. His body almost eclipsed the door so I had no escape. He said to me, very curtly, "Get up, on the stage, on the next song, and let's see, what you've got." So, between Debbie and this guy, I was left with no choice it seemed, but to get through this thing.
The stage was completely edged with very-close-sitting tables, except where the large mirror was attached to the back wall of the stage. Because of the seating arrangement, some of the bar patrons were easily within distance of being able to actually reach out and touch the girls on stage. There were tables packed in as tightly as possible throughout the room; not just up by the stage, and a long bar at the back of the room with several bar stools for customers, as well. The only other part of the club, I could see, at the time, was a somewhat separate room, slightly partitioned off, from this main room with the stage, which had a pool table inside. The bar had a completely different look and feel from that actual stripper bar I had worked at for a few days, several years earlier, back in Biloxi. This place wasn't set up at all like that bar, had been. This one was, and felt, very up close and personal. As the jukebox playing the 45 RPM records changed those out, there was a gap, of silence, as it rotated to the next one. With my exit blocked, by both, my friend, and the man standing in front of the door, I knew that I would simply have to humor them, to get through this, and then just never come back, once I, finally, got myself out of there! When the song ended for the dancer that was performing up on stage the manager motioned, to me, with the hand holding his cigar, for me to get up on stage, next.
I stepped up over some of the blinking floor lights to stand up on the stage, which wasn't very high above the floor at all; feeling completely ill at ease, as the song started. I don't recall the song. I only remember feeling like I was lost, in a panic mode internally, and just trying to get this ordeal over with, as best I could; and leave! I didn't know how to move my body, the way that I had seen the dancer, on stage, doing when we came into the club. It was very sinuous, and nuanced. Actual dancing, rather than just 'strutting her stuff', like I had basically done, in the strip joint, as I'd traipsed around the stage, and bent over, and such, much in the style of Gypsy Rose Lee. There, the primary focus had been on just doing a striptease, which meant getting those few clothes off myself during my set on stage and ending up nude, while doing strategic strutting, and stretching, in the process of that. This Go Go bar had bikini-clad girls, working here, which did real dancing, with no nudity, although the bikinis that they each wore all had a thong bottom, exposing each of their behinds fully, except for their butt crack. I was not sure how to do this type of dancing during my audition on stage. It wasn't stripping so the focus was not on actually taking off any of my clothing although I later learned that there was sometimes a, legally limited, degree of that, done, during the dancers' performances. Go Go dancing seemed to be much more about the skill of the dancer. I really had no experience to draw on for my audition as far as this particular style of dancing, and that really showed now.
I did the best I could, which, I admit, wasn't very good. Plus, my heart wasn't in trying to do it. All I wanted was to just get through this and leave. I stayed back by the large mirror covering the back wall of the stage, for most of the song, trying not to look at the customers who were sitting there sipping their beers looking at me. As soon as the song stopped I quickly hopped off the stage, and stood in front of this man, who was still blocking the door, hoping he would say that, I sucked, at it, and could leave, now. Moving aside, to allow that to happen! Instead, he regarded me with a look of slight amusement, across his, otherwise, emotionless face, as he puffed on his cigar, looking me up and down, as if he were taking total stock, of me. Then, breathing out cigar smoke, in my face, as he spoke, he said, to me, "You're the 'GREENEST' thing I've EVER seen, but I THINK I can make a DANCER out of you!" There was something about that--- what he said to me, or perhaps, the way that he said it, or even that slight smirk, of bemusement, on his face, that caused something to rise up, in me, almost as if I had been given--- not an ultimatum but--- a challenge. A challenge that for some reason I found myself suddenly wanting to actually accept. He told me to return the next night to start working there and Debbie and I left. She was smiling from ear to ear with an ecstatic, satisfied, grin, as she drove me home and dropped me off. "I TOLD you I'd find you a job!" she said to me. To her it was that simple; and I really did need this job, I realized, on the way back, to my apartment. I didn't see another way, to survive, and not lose my apartment, without this kind of immediate income that dancers make; especially from customer tips. At least, I hoped that I would make money, as 'green' as I was. . . . I would need to do well enough for the guys to want to tip me. There was alot to learn in my upcoming on-the-job training to become the Go Go girl 'Stevie'. [Please refer to my blog post dated 10-30-19, for how I selected that dancer name of 'Stevie': https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html]
I really didn't know, what I was getting into, at the time. I just needed a way to survive; alone. My heart was still broken, from the divorce from Jim, and the transfer of our son's custody to him; and to his second wife. Pouring my heart out, for patients in the hospital, had been very therapeutic for me, but once I was no longer able to do that, the despair had settled back on me, overwhelming and nearly suffocating me. God knows, I needed someone, or something, that could capture my heart, again, to carry me through some of the dark days into hopefully better ones, at some point along the way. I never would've expected that becoming a dancer would replace being a Nursing Assistant as my favorite job. It's said that God doesn't give us what we want, but what we need. All of these colorful characters, that were about to become part of my life in the entertainment business, would cause me to fall in love . . . with them all! Well, with most of them. There were a few bitches, along the way. And, of course, some real assholes, also. But, none of them were in my path, for too long, to make my life permanently painful for me. One of the worst parts of it, though, was when I became one of those bitches, myself, for a short time. But, I get ahead of myself with that, here. That would be years down the road. I am just going to describe the very beginning of this career change for me, now. It will take me several posts, to share everything there is to say, about all the different aspects, involving my work, relationships, and lifestyle when I became a dancer. This was going to be quite a big transition, for me, to make! Even a culture shock. Going from my being a hospital caregiver, with an altruistic mindset, to a nightclub dancer, with the confidence and even ego needed to be able to handle this type of job and do it well, meant that I was about to embark on a, long, journey, clear across the expanse of my own soul; to the other side of myself! My alter ego was waiting, there, in my subconscious, for me to unearth it, and breathe life into it.
Later that evening when I was alone, I drove myself to a nice, quiet, bar, the night before my life would change, as I stepped onto the stage, as a working Go Go girl; to have a drink, and ponder whether my dreams, of finding and having real romantic love, would ever happen for me, again, now. I had never been completely in love with any man, until, and except for, Jim, whom I had set free, by divorcing him, when it was obvious, that he would never choose me, over his parents, over the opinions of his co-workers, over his own doubts about us together; married, or otherwise. I knew there were alot of strong stereotypes, associated with girls that worked as dancers, which I felt would only make it more impossible for me to experience the loyal and lasting love that I always longed for, with one, good, man, in this life! Strictly based on those assumptions, made about people, I felt that no good man would ever want me now. There were already too many strikes, against me, from the failures in my life, that brought so much heartache to my existence on this earth. It's said that women want love and men want respect. But, I've always wanted respect more than love, if I had to choose, between the two, from someone, and I was very well aware, that respect isn't something normally extended to nightclub dancers. There was still, at this time in my life, which was my late twenties, a small hope, lingering, deep, in my heart, that Disney movies weren't lies, and that my prince would come, and I would live happily ever after with him. It just seemed impossible now because of my new job which I was about to start. I had always had very high standards, for myself, and therefore, for others, as well. So, I could not imagine meeting any guy, that came to ogle me, and the other girls, dancing, in the Go Go bar, and thinking that he had the values, character, and integrity that I was now starving to see in any man I would ever know. For me men were the single biggest let down in my life. Pure disappointment and disillusionment for me. Still, I thought, there must be someone, who fit my image of what a good man would really be like! How else was I even able to see that so clearly in my dreams? My Disneyesque dreams. . . .
There was no one in this upscale neighborhood bar, located in a strip mall, in the suburbs, of Omaha, that evening, other than a male bartender, and one lone male customer sitting at the far end of the bar, from where I sat, as I came in. I really wasn't 'a bar person', by personality, so when the bartender asked me what I wanted to drink, I told him I really had no idea, so he concocted something he called an 'Elk Creek Springwater' with shots of gin and vodka, some 7-Up, I think, and a squeeze of lime (or, something similar, to that). As I sipped it, through the straw, from the tall glass in front of me, he made the usual, bartender, small talk with me. The man at the other end of the bar sipped on his drink in total silence. As I finished the second of these drinks, I opened up about what I was feeling that night as I sensed my life was about to change drastically, by the next evening, and that my new job would make my heart's desire to really be loved, by someone, even more impossible for me than it already felt. I told him that I couldn't even find someone who liked to actually talk about things, the way that I liked to do. I am an Aquarius which are known for that. I doubted that any man I would meet at my new job would have any interest at all in having a real conversation with me, either in or outside of the Go Go bar they met me in. Sensing my deep loneliness, and grief, the bartender set a refill in front of the man sitting at the far end of the bar, and then he said, to both of us, two obviously very lonely and sad people, "Why don't you two talk to one another?" The customer had been sitting and listening to me tell the bartender that I couldn't even find a man that could or would carry on a conversation with me, so, as he picked up his drink, and came over to sit by me, at the bar, he introduced himself, and said to me, "Good evening, Ma'am. I can talk to you about politics, religion, philosophy, or the subject of your choice!". I liked that response, from him, so we talked from then on, until the bar was closing for the night, in what was now the wee hours of the morning. We went, and sat, together, in one of our cars, and with the help of our drinks, for liquid courage, we began to make out, like two starving people, that hated to even have to come up for air. He seemed like a really nice man! A good man. Right there. With me. It could have been magic, for both of us; the start of something real, and romantic, together. But there was no way, that it could take root, or survive, in the soil of our separate sadness, in our lives.
He was an Air Force officer--- a captain I believe. Because I could tell that he definitely wasn't any jerk, and because he had been a gentleman, from the start, and, because I trusted him, I agreed to follow him back to his home, in my car, because he lived closest, and he needed to get home to check on his children. It turned out that he had 2 young sons living with him after his divorce. His wife had left him and the boys, because she simply couldn't handle the death sentence hanging continually over their two beloved sons. Both boys had Cystic Fibrosis and weren't expected to live, to see adulthood. His ex-wife was racked with guilt, because of their having children, since this was an inherited, genetic, condition, that had been thrust upon her babies, and always considered fatal, up until the 1980s, which is when all this was happening in this family. It was chronic, progressive and required daily, energetic, chest percussion to be done, on both boys, to help clear their airways. Although there have since been great medical advances making the prognosis so much better, and longer, for Cystic Fibrosis patients, back then, about half of the people, with this infirmity, did not live to see their 20s. It was certainly a sad situation, for this family. Unable to cope with the grief and the guilt, the mother had exited the picture, leaving the boys motherless and this devoted dad with his hands full as the single parent, and, an active duty officer, in the U.S. Air Force. I liked him. He literally was 'an officer and a gentleman', and very similar to the real-life prince that I had always wished I would find. Only, we just wouldn't work out, because we were both drowning in our sorrows over our own children, and simply could not take on the additional heartache, from one another's situations.
I had told him all about my deciding to let go of, my own son, Jay, leaving him, with his father, and stepmother, to have a two-parent home, and a better life, than a struggling single mother could give him. This, of course, hit a nerve, with him, because of his wife leaving their picture, with their boys, although the motivations were much different for us two women. With my son, it was only due to having his best interests at heart. Also, I made sure he was in a stable, two-parent, home, because I believed that it would be the healthiest, happiest, home life he could have, growing up. Many people feel, very emotionally, that, a mother, should not or could not, 'abandon' their own babies, birthed from their own bodies, under any circumstances. But that doesn't always fit with the realities, of the relationships involved, when other choices must be made. I interacted with his boys well, but I also could not cope with getting attached, to them, and watching them wasting away toward death, which would be, another, horrible loss, in my own life, as well; if I let them in, to my heart! My heart was, already, so shattered, from losing my own son, from my life, that I just couldn't do it. This was a great guy; and he always made me great grilled cheese sandwiches, with Velveeta, every time that I went over to their house to visit them because he mostly needed to be at home, near his boys, to care for their needs. Knowing that, given the situation, I just couldn't cope with getting more attached to him or the boys, I parted ways, with him, before we would start to fall in love, and add more pain, to one another's lives, that neither one, of us, needed, or could deal with, now. Because I'd told him, about my new job starting, he showed up, there, one night, in Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, to see me. He sat at the end of the bar, just as he had been sitting the night we met at the other bar, weeks before, and I went over, to speak to him, as soon as I saw him. I just couldn't go there, emotionally, though, and I never saw him again after that night. I pray he found healing love. I never did. But, I know that he really deserved to have that, in his life. He was so loving! There just seems, to me, to be too few, of these, really, good, deserving, men, like him, in this world.
My first night, going to work, at the Razzle Dazzle, I had no idea what to expect. Dick had told me to just show up and what I needed, to get started as a Go Go girl, would be waiting for me. After seeing how tiny those thong bikinis were which the girls wore I had shaved off almost all my pubic hair, and put on, what I thought was, plenty of makeup, before I left home for the Go Go bar. When I walked in, one of the bouncers called one of the dancers over, and told her to take me back to the dressing room, that she shared with a few of the other girls and now also me because the manager had assigned me to that room as well. As we headed to the back of the bar, and down a dark hall, toward this dressing room, she introduced herself as Nikki, and explained to me that there were a few different dressing rooms tucked away in out-of-the-way places throughout the bar; each having several girls in them who had to share that very small space, as they got themselves ready to go out on stage, to do the show. As we were about to pass by, a larger room, with its door open, I saw a big desk, and the manager, Dick McGinnis, who had hired me the day before, sitting behind it. He called out for me to come in there for a moment. (People in the bar later told me that he was the spitting image of a wrestler who was nicknamed 'Mad Dog' Vachon*. So much so in fact, that many people actually insisted that he was him! In size, appearance, gruffness, even menacing attitude, etc., Dick was, definitely, an intimidating person, to be around! As I got to know him, there were many times that it seemed he definitely lived up--- or down--- to the name Dick.) Going into the office, I saw that an Asian woman stood off to one side of the desk. Her name was Lee and she was there asking to sew costumes, and bring them in, to sell directly to the girls there. He asked her to look at me, and asked if she could sew something for me because I was just starting in the business. She said she could, and would bring something in for me within a couple of days for me to buy from her. Dick told me if it cost more than I could afford, that I could take a draw against my base/hourly pay to be able to purchase that from her. That was such a nice perk, of working in these clubs that I danced in! If an employee ever needed quick cash, to pay a bill, or purchase something, and was short on funds, they could just take a cash draw against their pay usually on the spot.
Then Nikki took me on back to our dressing room and told me that, before I came in, Dick had asked her to find me something, that I could wear, to dance in, that night. She picked up what looked like two skinny pieces of fake fur, and handed them to me. I stared at them, wondering what they even were, before I realized that one small piece was a tiny top, like from a bathing suit, and the other little piece tied, on both sides, making it into a slender, thong, bikini bottom. Somebody had simply cut them out of furry fabric. There was no sewing involved. No lining or elastic. Nothing, but the fur. I got the top on. Then Nikki tied it much tighter on me, for support, and told me to bend over at the waist, and pull my breasts upward, and inward, to make them look bigger, by creating cleavage. It was so tight, I could barely breathe! Then she handed me a package of brand new, nude-colored, seamless, pantyhose. She told me it was an Iowa law at that time that dancers were required to wear pantyhose underneath their costume bottom. I had no idea at all how to do that, because once I pulled on the pantyhose they came up to my waist and the costume bottom did not, sitting further down on me, along my hip bones. I could not even figure out, which part, of the costume bottom, was the front, and which was the back, because either way, the fabric covered so very little of me! Nikki had to show me. Then, taking safety pins she rolled the pantyhose down from my waist until they were hidden just below the top of the costume bottom and pinned them in, all around, to hide the fact that they were even on me. Nikki basically dressed me, for the first several nights that I worked there! I brought my own high heels, so I was as ready to go on stage as I was going to be for my first night there, I thought, until she also darkened my eyeliner, to make it more dramatic, because the room with the stage was so dark. Even the walls were painted black. When the seamstress, Lee, brought the costume she made for me, it was so plain, basic, and not very well sewn (the seams came apart, and I had to mend it!), or professional looking, but it was a start. At least, I had a change of costume, now. Both Lee and I were clearly both new, to being around this business, and we both had alot to learn, about it. Nikki sold me a pretty purple costume, with white lace trim, that she had owned, and it was the prettiest, of my 3 'starter' costumes. I was wearing that one, the night that the sweet man, with the 2 sick boys, I had briefly been seeing, stopped in, to see me. I was glad that he hadn't shown up one of my first few nights, working there! Those went badly.
Not only was I struggling to learn to dance this way, when I first started, and studying the other girls' moves, intently, as they did their routines on stage, but I also had what would, now, likely be referred to as humiliating 'wardrobe malfunctions' wearing that fake fur costume, those first couple of nights I was working there. At the time, I was such a sweet girl (even still quite naive, almost innocent, in alot of ways) that when I went in the restroom and saw and read the graffiti on the walls, I honestly didn't really know what it meant! The drawings, or the words. I was just a very decent human being by most standards. Too much so, for where I was now, I would say. So, in the beginning, I looked, and felt, like a fool, at times, as I tried to learn the culture of this, basically, other world, that I had entered! Especially, in those early days, I sometimes felt like I was Alice, in Wonderland, in the Razzle Dazzle, and had fallen through, the looking glass, into some strange, new, world that was topsy turvy. . . . So, I figured out why the girls had so easily parted with that, fake fur, costume, simply giving it to me, when I started working there; though no one warned me, about it. (Maybe they thought it would help my tips!) I had to find out about that costume in the worst way. Due to the pantyhose underneath the costume bottom being so slick, the bottom slid, over the nylon, shifting to the side, completely exposing my private parts, through those very sheer, nude-colored, pantyhose, underneath. I was on stage doing a leg lift as I had seen some of the other girls doing, right over the head of a customer that was right by the stage. He said something to me then, but I couldn't hear his words over the extremely loud music, and my own pounding heart, from being up there on stage, so close to these men, who were watching me. When I shook my head, that I didn't know what he said to me, he stood up, to get closer to my ear, and even when I finally heard his words, I didn't know what they meant. He said, to me, "DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE 'SHOOTING BEAVER?' " ** When I got down from the stage, I asked one of the girls what that even meant, and she told me, it meant, that I was exposing my crotch! I was mortified. I didn't do any more leg raises wearing that costume, and as soon as I had a couple more to wear I never wore that thing ever again, nor did I give it to another dancer, as some 'rite of passage'. Nikki had not given me that to be bitchy. She had dressed me for the first week that I worked there, and was always supportive, helpful and kind. She had just given me what someone else had left behind, probably for the same reason that I stopped wearing it; making it available then for whoever came along next, which was me. I did make some tips, in it, too! Only, now, I was left wondering what, exactly, I had gotten those for!
One of my first couple of nights working there, I was standing near the back of the main room, watching the dancers on stage, and waiting for my turn, that was coming up in a couple more songs. A busty young woman with long, auburn, hair, came and stood next to me, introducing herself as June. She was very open and friendly and she started telling me that her boyfriend worked there, too, as one of the doormen, but that she couldn't introduce me to him, because he was not there that night. When I asked if it was his night off, her red-painted lips started to quiver, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, as she wailed, "No, he's not off tonight. He's in JAIL!" Apparently he had been arrested, for doing some type of, petty, misdemeanor, crime. I met him, after he got bailed out. June bounced up to me, holding him by the hand, saying to me proudly, "Stevie, THIS is my boyfriend, LYLE!" He seemed like he was a nice enough guy; just really goofy. They were so cute, together, though, because they were so in love! I'd never even known anyone, personally, that had actually been in jail for anything! So, it was just part of this whole new scene I was experiencing, that I had never really been, directly, exposed to, before. Compared to these people, that I worked with, in these bars, I must have lived a more sheltered life. Or else, they had also been naive, like I was, but were now far ahead of me, on the learning curve, regarding the lingo, and the landscape, of what was, for me, at least, such a strange new world. Surprisingly, for the person that I was, rather than being repulsed, by it, I was captivated, and even charmed, by these people. I truly liked them, and I also learned alot, from them. We never do forget our teachers, in this life. Even when they aren't in a classroom.
[There had been this one girl, that I knew of, at the stripper bar back in Biloxi, that I had, finally, figured out, during those few days, that I worked there, must be doing prostitution, out of there, with the management's involvement and/or approval. When she'd kept on disappearing, out of the stage lineup, I had, innocently, asked her where she went, sometimes several times, in the same night. Usually for an hour or two at a time, and while we were (supposed to be?) at work. She, always, simply answered me, that she had 'gone out for donuts', and left it at that. I must have seemed so ignorant, to her, in my naivete, because I kept enthusiastically replying that, I liked donuts, and asked her, if she would bring some back, for the rest of us, next time, since I never saw any other girl leave, during the shift, like that; just her! She was a very pretty, young woman, but also extremely closed off emotionally; and never smiled, so, she always looked so serious. Of course, she never did bring any donuts back with her. That was 40 years ago, now, and only because of my doing the background research for this post, did I Google whether the word "donuts" could ever be used as a, sexual, euphemism; and this is what I found, online, in that search: 'doughnut: slang. A woman a man chooses to have sex/relationship with based on proximity first and foremost; based on a theory that men are lazy and will reach for the nearest doughnut.' Who knew?!? OBVIOUSLY NOT ME! She could also have been referring to me, for asking something she likely saw as being none of my business, however, because, I found this on the internet, as well: "What does a 'donut' mean, in slang? In informal speech, the phrase is used to highlight stupidity, e.g. You Donut means an individual whom is extremely stupid, lacks intelligence and common sense." In these rougher, cruder, types of environments, where I was completely 'out of my element', initially, my total lack of understanding, of how things were, and what people were even, actually, saying, when they talked to me, very likely made me look like a foolish person, to the people that either worked in, or were used to being around, these bars! There were alot of dirty words, and dirty deeds, that I was exposed to, working in the bars, that I had no clue about, when I was new, to the business. Especially, alot of language, which I was wholly unfamiliar with, such as, several, 'street slang' terms, that I couldn't comprehend, at first, until I learned what they meant, from working in these places. I heard some really crude words, that took the decency and dignity right out of the thing that they were referring to in such ways.]
Because I would go back, to the dressing room, in the back hall, to check my hair, lipstick, and overall appearance before going on stage now, I would often stand in that one spot at the very back of the main room, waiting to go up on stage. In between dances, we were encouraged to go sit and talk to the customers, to get to know them, and of course, sell drinks in the process. I had not had any real problems with bad behavior, from the men, there, those first few days, I was new to the scene. They had several bouncers, watching over everything going on in there too, which made me feel like the men would not risk stepping out of line toward me. So I admit that I was completely shocked and even indignant, when I was just standing at the back of the room, waiting, to go up on stage and, suddenly, felt a man grab one of my, thong-exposed-but-nylon-covered, butt cheeks with his whole hand, as if it were a melon he was squeezing at the supermarket! Feeling violated, by that, and still ladylike enough, then, to be affronted by it, too, I jerked my head around, to see who this was beside me, doing this to me. Looking downward, from my 6' tall height, in my high heels, I saw, an almost midget-like man, who looked no more than 5' tall. This very short, older man was looking back--- or rather, up--- at me with a big grin on his face. That is, until, I said, to him, very emphatically, "Who do you think you are?!? Don't you EVER do THAT, to ME, AGAIN!" As I was walking off, then, in an annoyed huff, toward the stage, to dance, next, I passed by one of the dancers, that had seen what just happened, with this 'midget man'. She said to me, as I walked by her, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Way to go, new girl. THAT is Mickey. YOUR BOSS. He owns this bar! So, YOU'RE WORKING FOR HIM."
My heart sank, into my toes, as I stood on the stage to start to dance, all the while wondering if this would be my last dance, there . . . . But, Mickey didn't fire me. He remained, very genial, to me, after that. But, in all the years that I worked, mostly, in his nightclubs, he never, ever, laid a finger, on me, in any way, ever again. Even though, he did, put his arms around, and his hands on, the other dancers, in his bars. That said to me that he never forgot that encounter, with me, anymore than I ever forgot, that incident, happening, with him. He was a Leo, and Leo's do not take kindly to being rebuffed, by a woman, since they see themselves as being the 'King of the jungle', which he was, in his realm, having the best nightclub entertainment, in the area, in that era. (As a side note, when I was very pregnant, with my son, my husband Jim had taken me to Mickey's, in downtown Omaha, one night, to watch the dancers, and we had been seated right up by the stage. I didn't know anyone, who was working there, that evening, although some of those people would become my co-workers, at Mickey's 'Razzle Dazzle', in Council Bluffs. The other bar that he owned. And later, at 'The Twenties' nightclub, the classiest of the bars that he had, where I was one of the first 3 girls, hired, to work there, for him. I had NO idea, when I sat in 'Mickey's', with my husband, with our baby boy, in my womb, that I, would be working, in this business, with these people, a few years later! I am sitting here, shaking my head, at the sheer unlikelihood, of that! But, it happened!) After being hired to dance at the Razzle, I was told that Mickey used to be a gym teacher for a school, or a kids' coach, or such, before getting into the bar business. I was also told things, about him, like he had mafia connections, which, because of things, that happened, later on, I believe it to be true! And, that he was actually the one who killed his wife, to get her out of the way in his life, and had his son 'take the fall' for that murder, going to prison, in place of his father.*** Whichever one, committed the actual crime, both men were there in Mickey's nightclubs, where I worked, because the son went to work for his father, when he got out of prison. I believe I was working at The Twenties, when I finally met him, but I cannot recall that, for sure, now. It was not central, to my own life. However, the few times I did interact directly, with Mickey's son, there was something 'not quite there', about how he looked, and behaved, that was quite unnerving, to me, even apart from my having been told, about the murder of Mickey's wife who was this young man's mother. I knew Mickey's mother, Angie, too, because she was the bookkeeper, for him, at his 'Twenties' nightclub, and did our payroll there.
As for those dancers, that I first worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, they were a great group of very talented girls! I learned alot about who they were, as people (not as sex objects, which is what the men coming in there saw them as, for the most part), and how, and why, they ended up in this business, that was so, extremely, negatively, stereotyped, by both, 'church folk', and 'good people'. I felt blessed to know these girls, who danced on the stage with me every night. Clearly, I have never forgotten them, and that time, in my life, was almost 4 decades ago now. Nikki was a tiny, petite, young woman, who could out drink a sailor, and not even stagger. I've been a size 6 for my entire adult life which is considered to be small, but I looked large next to Nikki. She must have worn adolescent kids size clothing, because she had to be even smaller than a Misses Size 0! She became a dancer, to make good money, which has, almost always, been harder for women to do; to be able to care for their children after her husband bailed, on them all; disappearing, and leaving her to be a single mom to their children, with no income to provide for them. I feel so angry, whenever I see this happen, to women and children, which it does, far too often, because, so many men--- BOYS really!--- are so selfish! She worked hard, wasn't bitter, and never complained, though. That little lady, was actually one big tough broad!
People's passing judgment, on how these women got through the ordeals, in their lives, when these people had never been in their situation, or their shoes, upset me. The crises that I had been through, myself, which were also primarily precipitated by men, in my life, had led me to the same place. I did make, some, different decisions, though, in this environment, than many of the staff did. For the great majority of my years working as a dancer, I basically kept myself clean; especially, considering where I was working, where I was constantly surrounded by the things that people perceive as being temptations to sin, which were often associated with this business. I never was a smoker. There was only a couple of seasons, in my life, during all the time I was a dancer, that I actually accessed the availability of alcohol, in these bars, to drink. I never did drugs. Later, near the very end, I did do prostitution, but that part of the story comes many years later. Now I was just at the beginning, of this long and winding road, at the Razzle Dazzle. From the start, I saw girls doing cocaine in the dressing room, but I never did. As they came in at night to prepare to go up on stage a couple of the dancers would lay a small mirror down on the table, pour out a little packet of white powder, onto that, and use a razor blade, to divide it, in half. Then, they used a short straw, to inhale, their part, of the cut, into their nostrils. For the most part, I live, and let live, as my philosophy on this life, where others are concerned. (Except where I tell them about the love of Christ, for them; because I am Called to do that, as a Christian, and people really need to hear that!) One night, because I have a sense of humor, I came into the dressing room and told the girls, that did the drugs, in there, that I had brought MY 'drug of choice', to share, with them, that night. They were so surprised, since I hadn't ever partaken, of their cocaine, and didn't show any signs of the social habits that many people did, there. As I laid down the mirror, just like they, always, did, and picked up the razor blade to cut it into equal parts, to share with them, they were excitedly asking me, "Where did you get it?!?" I found out, that night, not to mess with people, that do drugs, though, as their curiosity quickly turned to, momentary, disdain, toward me after I pulled out a Snickers candy bar from my bag, and proceeded to cut it, into pieces, for us all to share. Sugar--- sweets--- happened to be 'my drug of choice'! I ate candy, to get my boost. They did NOT appreciate MY HUMOR, however!
Penny, was at the opposite end, of the physical spectrum, from Nikki! Penny, was large-boned, and tall. She made my 5'9" and 128 pounds look small in comparison. When she stood next to Nikki it made me smile, because it looked like a Great Dane standing next to a chihuahua who had no inferiority complex whatsoever! Penny did this move up on stage, where she bent over, backwards, and her belly ended up being like the tabletop in this pose. I guess you could even say, that she, literally, bent over backwards to do her show, for the customers! The trouble was, her falsies would POP OUT, of her costume top, when she did this; landing on the stage, if she was lucky, or onto some, shocked, customer's lap, when she wasn't so lucky. Her 'special skill', to me, though was something that I had first observed her doing back in the dressing room the first night I met her. As Nikki was dressing me, this extremely tall girl with long, black, Cher-like hair, came bursting into the room, due to running late, and having to hurry to get ready on time. Greeting Nikki with a warm, quick, "Hi", and me with a "Hey", that acknowledged she had seen me, too, but didn't have time, to wonder who I was, right then, she quickly changed her clothes, then knelt down beside the full-length mirror, to get close enough, to it, to work on her makeup. The thing, that amazed me, about her, was, she had a cigarette, in her mouth, this entire time! Despite all of her rushing about the room, and even more so in spite of all that she was saying to Nikki, at the same time, this cigarette simply sat, and stayed, like some, ostensibly obedient object, on her lower lip! The whole time she was doing all these things, to get ready, she didn't ever take it out, of her mouth, knock it out, of her mouth, or drop it, off of her lip, Most amazing, about this, of all, Penny was the Queen of the F-bomb****, with a rather hard edge, to how she carried herself, that even so didn't fully conceal the actual heart-of-gold which was underneath what was very apparently her pain, from living this life with all its heartaches. As she rushed to get ready, she had been talking, nonstop, to Nikki, about what this week's asshole had done to piss her off. So, hot with anger at being let down by, another, one, in an endless succession of jerks, she was saying the words "FUCK" and "FUCKING" about every other word, while all the while that cigarette stayed put; as if it were somehow glued to her mouth! I just stared, at such talent as that, in sheer wonderment! If only Penny had been able to train her falsies to stay put.
Kelly, was the 'Showman' of the group. She loved to strut, around the stage, especially wearing her favorite costume of an emerald green 'top hat, and tails', with her walking cane in her hand. She, was the classiest, of the dancers, on stage. Kelly was a very open, and friendly, girl, too. I really liked her! I could sadly see why she had ended up supporting herself by dancing though. Although she did it so well, moving with smooth, and sophisticated, gracefulness all around the stage, entertaining the customers, with her 'Class Act', she also had a severe stutter, whenever she tried to speak. Every single word, out of her mouth, was exhausting agony! Both for her to, finally, get out of her mouth, after she expended much effort, and some flying spit, as she tried, to talk, and for you, the listener, to hang on, and wait, to hear, what she was struggling so hard to say, if she was speaking to you, while witnessing her mighty struggle. I cannot imagine what other jobs she could have been hired to do, where she could make the kind of money, that she did, dancing, given the strong speech impediment, that she had. She had several trunks of the finest costumes. Most of those with some theme, like 'nurse' and others. Sooner, or later, all of us that had become dancers aged out of it, if we were still in the business by then because we had never found, who, or what, we were wishing for, or dreaming of, as a better alternative, for our lives. I have often wondered, what became, of these girls, that I worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, all those years ago. Especially, Kelly. She was so very talented, as a performer; but, in this business, as well as in many other settings, women are often simply treated as disposable objects, once we begin to show signs of aging, or even just of the toll that life has taken, on us, that, visibly, weighs us down, stoops our posture, and causes us to look older, than our, actual, age. Every girl, including me, that climbed up on that stage, and danced, was living with, some kind, of, real, heartbreak, haunting them in their lives. I admired every, single, one, of them, for that, and appreciated, how kind they were, to me, in the midst of their own problems, and pain. They dressed me, taught me the ropes, and let me into their lives, and hearts. I owe them alot!
Since boys will, forever, unrepentantly, be boys, however, it wasn't always so gratifying, getting to know the club customers. Sometimes, the guys, that worked there, were jerks, too. Even, at my expense. I'm a very cerebral person. I am fairly intelligent, was in the chess club, in school, and studied philosophy, in college. I have very eclectic interests and enjoy conversing in depth, and in detail, about all manner of subjects. I also love lifelong learning. This is me; this is who I am; or rather this is who 'Deborah' is, in me, as opposed to who 'Stevie' is, in me, which is that other, opposite, side of me, that learned, how to speak, act, and even think, in those ways that are appropriate for, and even expected from, a stage dancer, working in a Go Go bar. Because of my leading with my brain, and not, my body, especially, before I created, and developed, my dancer alter ego, 'Stevie', I had a great deal of trouble, trying to sit and talk to the customers in the bars, in the beginning. I have always been a purposeful person. The name "Deborah" even means "industrious; busy as a bee". I, really, dislike making small talk. I prefer not to chitchat. I enjoy delving deeply into conversations, especially on subjects of mutual interest, because, for me, that makes a more meaningful connection, with someone. However, all that being said, we dancers were required, to find some customer(s), to sit with, between our sets on stage, and to talk, with them. I quickly found out, though, that many males, that come into those places, want to talk about, or ask you about, things like, "What size are your nipples?", "Do you shave 'down there' into a heart-shape?", and other inane topics, such as these. It is unbelievable to me, that males spend their, entire, lives, being so concerned with, and consumed by, female anatomy! I am shaking my head again typing that statement. Unless they're gay it never gets old for them.
I had to really try, very hard, to, in effect, 'dumb down', to be able to even talk with, or relate to, the club customers, at all, for the most part! It took, a long, time, for me, to get the hang of that, and even once I did, it felt insulting, to me, to HAVE TO do it. It was part of my job, though. So, it had to be done. When I first started, at the Razzle, I would, sometimes, simply give up trying to talk to these guys, in there. I did not know about this, going on, at the time, but the manager, Dick, would send over some of the, regular, customers that he knew, to talk to me. They would sit down and introduce themselves, and then, both of us, would live to regret it, as I would lead with my intelligence, in order to be my best self, to converse with! So, they would talk for a few minutes, then, and leave, because deep subjects, and intellectual conversations, with a mostly naked woman, was not why they were in this place. I had no clue at the time, though, that men often seem to prefer operating on such a low level, socially! I had actually been trying, my very best, to be respectful toward them by--- apparently wrongly--- assuming they were more highly evolved, than they were, by my 'rising to the occasion', of conversing with them, when the only thing that they were focused on rising was their dicks, by asking me things like 'Did I enjoy oral sex?'. Watching this, going on, from across the room, without hearing the conversations taking place between me and these men, including the ones he had sent over to talk to me, Dick was confused, about why, this was happening. I was not physically unattractive, and he knew that I was a nice person. So, Dick began to ask them why they didn't stay and talk to me longer, and he came to understand, that, I was working their brain, way too hard, by making them use it, to talk to me, and they didn't want that part of them to be engaged in there. They had high hopes, that their OTHER, smaller, but more powerful, 'brain' might even, shall we say, 'come into play', in there, instead. Who alive has not heard the statement--- apparently of fact!--- that men think with their dicks. So, especially because of the price of drinks in these places, which customers had to pay, for their own beverages, as well as those for any dancer, sitting with them, I wasn't worth their time, or their money, as far as what they came into that place to experience. While I was not required to drink alcohol, in these bars, which the great majority of the time, I didn't do, the price, of my drinks, was still steep; even for a soft drink or fruit juice, for me. The glass was also heavily filled with ice by the bartender, leaving little room for the actual drink in the glass. I believe that's why most of the customers ordered bottles of beer. When Dick learned that I was running them off, from me, he started laughing about it, I found out later. Just to amuse himself, then, he would deliberately send some uninitiated guy over to talk to me just to watch the 'poor guy's' face when he was suddenly tasked with trying to make real conversation, with this girl in a thong bikini, that had great legs, pretty eyes, long, brunette, hair, flowing down her back, and a real brain, to go along, with all of that, when he'd only wanted to ask me if I like to suck cock.
One guy came in, after I had been there about a month, that did talk to me in an intelligent way, and I was so excited, to be able to use my brain, as I sat and talked, with him, for hours, during that evening, in the bar! He was a 'tall, dark, and handsome' Staff Sergeant, from the Air Force base, in Bellevue, and at the end of the night, he tipped me, during my last dance. When I saw what the bill was, though, as I removed it, from where he had folded it lengthwise and then slid it into the waist of my costume bottom, I felt so bad about it. This was a one hundred dollar bill! Minimum wage was $3.35 an hour, back then, so that was around a week's pay after taxes, for me, when I had worked at the hospital just prior to this. That was my very first time ever getting that large of a tip from a customer. I didn't know people even did that, for dancers, then. Also, I couldn't imagine, as a new and not-yet-very-proficient Go Go dancer, my having done anything on that stage, even a month into this new gig, that had deserved such compensation, as that. I thought, that he must have given it to me by mistake, as he had reached into his wallet, in that dark room, because I had heard stories about, and even complaints from, customers, who had mistakenly tipped employees too much of their money. That such mistakes had been made, at times. Especially, with people drinking, while they're in there. So, I ran, to catch him, before he went out the door to leave, to give it back, to him, thinking that he would be relieved to not find that, unexpectedly, missing from his billfold later on. He looked quite surprised, when I held the hundred dollar bill out to him, trying to give it back. But I was more surprised when he said that he knew, what amount he had tipped me, and that he had enjoyed talking to me, that evening! So, he had actually WANTED me to have it! Then, he asked me out, and thinking the evening had gone so well and he seemed to really like me, I agreed to go out with him. We lasted for a very short time, though. He turned out to be just another jerk, only alot smoother operator than all the others I was used to dealing with in my life, before him. This guy was a complete player.
He led me to believe that we had something special, and real, going on, between us, and were a couple. One evening, I was over at his place, and it snowed so hard I couldn't get my car out of the pile of snow, that it got covered in, and had to call in, to work, that night, spending it with him, instead. After that, he had me come over and stay, at his apartment, while he was at work, at the base. We were together so much, that I was shocked, when I went over to his place one night after I had gotten the night off to surprise him, and when he answered the door there was another woman lying in his bed, whom I could see over his shoulder, as he opened the door to find me there. He did not invite me in. He basically told me he had been humoring me and that she had just had an abortion, of his baby, earlier in the day which he had paid for; and that she was sleeping it off, after that procedure. I had been a little fling, for him, a fill in while they were at odds with one another over his baby being inside her, and him wanting her to abort it; which she had obviously just done, for him. As he was telling me all this, suddenly being truly honest, with me, I felt like he was physically punching me, in the gut, with each of these things, he was saying to me now. Something in me changed, over that, and I started to see the big bill that he had tipped me, the night that I had met him, in the club, as having MUCH MORE VALUE, than HE had; which became the beginning of my developing a dancer mindset, from then on. It was like I had, finally, just turned off the switch, for that place in my heart that had dared to believe I could, and would, be desired, due to my being lovable, as a person, and I turned on the switch, that challenged myself to make the best tips I could possibly get, from club customers' billfolds. My attitude changed. My goals changed. My focus changed. I packed the 'Deborah' part of me away, completely, and started to allow the 'Stevie' side, of me, to rule, and reign, the rest of the time that I worked as a dancer. I carefully calibrated and calculated everything, about me, now. I threw out that simple sincerity, which had, always, been at the heart of who I was as a human being. I tossed it, like trash, right out the window, of my soul! I changed. The way that I walked. Dressed. Even the tone, of my voice; along with what I said, and how I said it. I learned, slowly but surely, to speak to club customers in nuance and innuendo, which seemed to be what they wanted, from me, and made me much better tips, which is all, that I wanted, now, from them. It became all about, power, prick-teasing, and prosperity, for me, . . . as I learned to say, from the other dancers at the Razzle, "FUCK THESE ASSHOLES!" I never wanted to open my heart up to another man, again, in my life. It was never worth all the heartache and betrayal and misery, they gave me, in exchange for my giving my heart to them. My opinion of men got, and stayed, really bad. As much as I had needed some man to give me evidence to the contrary, there only seemed to be more jerks, driving a nail into the coffin, of my opinion about people with penises.
When I had first started dancing, I had, still, brought to it, my highest forms of integrity, honesty, and excellence in my overall work ethic--- all of which created problems for me, in my job, now. It went beyond just the usual cycle, that I felt that I was in, in my life: trying my best, but always believing that my best just was not good enough, somehow, to make things turn out right. I still strived to do my best, in this job, though, diligently seeking ways to do more than was asked of me to show that I was supportive of this establishment that I now worked in. My doing that had the completely opposite effect, of what I had intended, by all that, though. It wasn't met with the appreciation that I had expected, when I stepped up and showed initiative, going out of my way to be (what I truly had thought was) helpful. I had to learn, what the actual priorities were, here, for this, new, social, landscape, in order for it to start going smoothly, for me. The dancers were told to take turns, cleaning the very large mirror, on the back wall of the stage, to keep if free of greasy smudges, caused by sweat, and hand lotion or body oils. This meant that we, generally, had to do that chore while some other dancer was up, on stage, doing their thing, to make their money, for those few minutes, that their song(s) lasted. It never took very long, for the mirror to go from being shiny clean, to a largely non-reflective surface, as it quickly became increasingly clouded by hand prints, over much of its surface, as the dancers rotated on stage through their individual sets, in the night's lineup. Because I was the new girl, and wasn't occupied, by sitting with any 'regular' customers, who came to the club, just to see me, as yet, I took it upon myself to do my co-workers a favor, and keep the mirror clean, myself, by jumping up quite often to go up on stage and clean it, for us all, so that no one else would have to get up, to go do that. But, unbeknownst to me, rather than appreciating it, the girls had begun going up to the manager to complain about me distracting from their dances, by being up there, on stage, with so many, of them, so often, rather than any of them coming to me, directly, and simply telling me to knock it off, themselves. I believe that they handled it, this way, from a good-hearted place, toward me, though, as they had all liked me, as they met and got to know me, because they could see that I was supportive of them, cared about them, and respected them! So, I think they'd wanted me to stop doing that, but they just didn't want to hurt my feelings, by telling me directly; especially since, it was as clear--- as I was keeping that mirror!--- that I was really just trying to be helpful.
So, Dick, the manager, called me over, to him, where he was sitting, by the front entry door, on the barstool where he had been the day my friend Debbie had dragged me in there to audition; and from where he kept his eye on the goings on, in the room. He began to speak to me about my cleaning the mirrors, and glad that he seemed to have noticed my good efforts, which were meant to show everyone, there, including him, how grateful I was, to have this new job, I knew, that a compliment, was coming any second, now! That never happened, and it really threw me off. He was speaking in a normal voice, to me, because he was used to being in there with the extremely loud music, so he didn't even attempt to talk over it. People, working in there, simply learned to, either, eventually hear one another, in spite of the music booming, so loudly, or lip-read; or both. I, still, struggled though, with both hearing, and speaking, over what seemed like noise that was equivalent to a jet engine next to me, in there. I had also learned just enough of the lingo to be dangerous, to myself, as I was just about to learn the hard way. There were alot of unspoken nuances, to be learned, by me, about how to communicate oneself, at this level of social interaction, among, what was, for me, rougher-talking-and-acting bar folk, which I did not fully understand, at this point. I guess, you could say, that, rightly or wrongly, I still did not really grasp 'the lay of the land', as yet, in this whole, new, world, which all, of this, was, to me! I was continuing to learn how to fit in, with this unfamiliar environment, now that I worked in this club. Everything the dancers ever said, that I heard, was, liberally, peppered with the 'F-bomb'****. I hadn't really been exposed to that word, in my life, before coming to work here. But now, it was the thing that was most often in my ears, there, penetrating them, and therefore, my mind, and because of that, it was coming out of my mouth. It had seemed, to me, to be the accepted way, of expressing oneself, in this particular place, and I'd wanted to reflect the culture. So to speak.
As I realized, that the manager was describing, to me, that the other girls were upset, about my being in the way, on the stage, because of my coming up there, so often, during their dances, I felt hurt. It hadn't even crossed my mind, that they would feel this way, about it, because, when they had been taking turns cleaning the mirror they had also been up on the stage during other girls' performances. Including mine. There were just more, of them, coming up there, to do this chore, before it had become only me because I had been trying to relieve them of having to do it. Besides, when it was left up to them, they had, usually, let the mirror get so grimy that it was rather gross, to have to look at, as the backdrop, for us girls, when we were dancing, up on the stage. I felt both, misunderstood, and unappreciated, for trying to make it better! My feeling like my very best efforts are, somehow, never good enough, has been a thread running through my life, bringing me one disappopintment or even heartbreak, after another; so this was just a part of that feeling, for me, however small, this incident actually appeared, compared to some of the things that had happened, in my life. Over the years, I had become very reactive, to things that caused me to feel like this, because I had suffered so much let down, and loss, in my life. Now, between my still tending to yell over the very loud music and my feeling upset that the girls had not appreciated my doing, all, the mirror cleaning chore myself, I replied, to the manager, that 'I was just fucking trying, to do my fucking best, in this fucking job!'. I liked these people, I worked for, and with, now, which had surprised me actually, given how very different they seemed from me. I was not very much like them, in so many ways, in the beginning. I was trying, my best, to figure out how to fit in with them, although, my cerebral conversations, multisyllabic words, and genteel mannerisms, often didn't mesh well, with the often rude, and crude, behaviors, of those around me, there, and these things didn't exactly help me to blend in, to this group. I shake my head, now, and even laugh at myself, a little, as I just typed that response from me to my boss.
At the time, though, I, really, was clueless, as to how Dick could suddenly get so angry, at me! I watched his face go from kindly inquisitiveness to complete shock at my reply, as his eyebrows shot up to the top of his bald head in sheer disbelief, at what I had just said, to him. Seeing this reaction, I knew that I must have crossed a line, with the F-bomb usage, that I clearly shouldn't have. Although, everyone else there, including him, said that word routinely. I think that he was taken aback, because, not only was he my boss, I was saying that word to, but Dick had never heard me say that, or anything like that, before, which made it have more of an emphasis then, when I said it, rather than just being considered as normal, like it was when anyone else, there, used that word. But, before I could backtrack, explain myself, or apologize, he went from being benign to ballistic. The next thing I know he was screaming at me to "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! NOW! YOU'RE FIRED!" Even in his, momentary, anger, with me, I think that Dick could tell, from my reaction, to him firing me, that I had not, in any way, intended to even seem as if I were mouthing off to him as a subordinate hireling, or disrespecting my job he had hired me to do. But, still, it was too late to turn this thing around, because he had to save face as the boss, and, my just being fired--- something that I had never had happen before that--- left me feeling that it was too late, now, for me to try to fix this. This had happened in the main room, near the entry door, in front of everyone, although the loud music probably drowned much of it out, and most eyes were on the stage.
Because I had just been fired, losing my job, I liked and needed, I began sobbing so hard that I was physically shaking. Having this very large, and intimidating, man, get that angry, at me, shook me up too. I rushed back to the dressing room, to put on my clothes, over my costume, and get my belongings. Crying, hard, the whole time. Adding, to the humiliation and fear, that I felt from all this, Dick even sent Mike, one of the bouncers, to stand outside the dressing room door and then escort me, out of the building, over to my car, and off of the property! Mike was a handsome, hot-tempered, Mexican man and former Marine, whom I had once seen almost kill a man, in the bar, that got out of line, by jumping on top of him, and choking this guy, until the other bouncers pulled Mike off of him. That was truly terrifying to me! At the time that all of this happened, with me getting fired and being escorted off the property, I was so shaken up, by it, and felt, so ill-matched, to this bar environment, that, I assumed, that I would never, again, work in or even enter, this or any other Go Go bar, in my life! I would, get a job, in another field, for awhile, after this, becoming a Nanny. Something more aligned, with my nurturing, nursing, side, and skill set. But, as it happened, I would be back, again, someday. To work at Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, and even for the manager, Dick McGinnis. But not both, at the same time, again. As Beatle John Lennon, once said, "Life is what happens to you while you're planning on doing something else." That, sums up, the twists, and turns, in my life, pretty well!
* Interestingly, 'Mad Dog' Vashon, who so many people swore that Dick McGinnis actually was, before retiring from wrestling, died, November 2013, at age 84 . . . . in Omaha, Nebraska! So, I don't know . . . ! Maybe he was; maybe he wasn't . . . ? They could have been twins, though! https://www.wwe.com/superstars/mauricevachon
** 'Shooting beaver': The slang meaning is a sexual term about furriness (and as such most obviously refers to 'pussy'); the female pubic hair, the vagina, esp. in commercial pornography; a beaver shot is a pornographic photograph graphically displaying the 'beaver' (i.e. external female genitalia.)
*** https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31580553/son-charged-with-urder-lincoln-star-6/ ; https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31579807/sparano-accused-in-stabbing-death/
**** F-bomb - used as a euphemism for the word “fuck”, with reference to the latter's (taboo) status, and potential to shock, or offend.
** 'Shooting beaver': The slang meaning is a sexual term about furriness (and as such most obviously refers to 'pussy'); the female pubic hair, the vagina, esp. in commercial pornography; a beaver shot is a pornographic photograph graphically displaying the 'beaver' (i.e. external female genitalia.)
*** https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31580553/son-charged-with-urder-lincoln-star-6/ ; https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31579807/sparano-accused-in-stabbing-death/
**** F-bomb - used as a euphemism for the word “fuck”, with reference to the latter's (taboo) status, and potential to shock, or offend.
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| Mickey's RAZZLE DAZZLE, on Broadway, in Council Bluffs, Iowa |
