Being A Dancer, In Nightclubs, Could Be Dangerous, Or Deadly; Including For Me

Regardless, of which aspects I am trying to describe, of my having been a dancer on stage in nightclubs, which was an extensive chapter in my life, there's so many layers, nuances, twists and turns, and all kinds of characters involved in the picture of what life was like for me during those years. That has made it extremely challenging, for me, to find the most cohesive way to tell all these things. My being 'Stevie' had really been gaining traction, now, in this new career field. I was making the best money I ever made, most of which came from male admirers who tipped me in the nightclubs that I worked in. I also got a weekly paycheck from the club. I was strong, toned, sexy, and turning heads, wherever I went. I received much more male attention than I ever wanted to have, actually. It often just felt like an intrusion in my life. An unwelcome amount of pressure on me, from these males. It got downright oppressive, after awhile. It was something I could never escape from, even when I was off work and away from the club that I danced in, when I was just trying to relax, somewhere, or have some much-needed 'me' time.  I had learned to interact with the customers at the club much better, which had been the most difficult thing for me to learn, about this job, when I got into the business, because (1) I had to be able to talk to every kind of guy imaginable, which was a challenge in itself, and (2) I'd had to 'dumb down', alot, to be able to speak to the majority of them on a level that I wasn't talking over their heads, completely, or intimidating them, because of my being a fairly intelligent and very cerebral woman. This line of work can also be quite dangerous for a dancer. You have to be extremely careful about letting it spill over into your private life. I learned that the hard way.

At work, it was my turn, now, to be in the dressing room, changing costumes, and have some other girl come back there to tell me, "Stevie, one of your regulars just came in and is waiting for you!", to which, I could now honestly reply, "Which one?" Then, "Tell him I'll be right out." I may not be loved, I told myself, but being desirable and in demand is at least kind of fun--- as long as it pays in good tips, anyway. I had no use for male sentimentality toward me anymore.  I had nothing, in my life, to show for that, except disappointment, disillusionment, and despair.  I stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve and wore my tips in my garter. My naivete vanished much more quickly now, getting replaced by some savvy Street Smarts. I liked my Stevie self! She was a strong woman, who was sure of herself, and lived in the real world now rather than in Deborah's Disney-like daydreams. Stevie, was not going to be someone so loyal and loving that she ended up making herself a doormat to some guy who just took her for granted, in her faithfulness, and didn't cherish the depth of her love, which were traits that were very much at the forefront, of my Deborah self. Frankly, after all the heartbreak, it was just really nice to not give a damn for a change. Quality was so lacking in love that I settled for quantity in admirers. Now my mindset was like: Give me something, I need, now, for a change, or I will move on to someone who will. I wasn't on a sentimental journey anymore, with the male sex. I told myself  I didn't need love, because it seemed hopeless by this point to keep expecting that to happen.

There were quite a few men that claimed to love me, during those years, and many, who said they wanted me. I even married two different club customers, both, of which, became abusive toward me in various ways, with the last one being the very worst of all to the point that I refer to him as a Son of Satan. When I had married each of them, God had told me not to; but I did anyway, because I fully believed that no one better would ever come along, for me, now. That this would be as good as it was ever going to get, for me, for the rest of my life. God loves us, so much, though, that His saying "No" to us, about people or things, is His trying to protect us from others, and sometimes, even from ourselves. When humans are in pain, especially from the heartache, of lovelessness, they can become very self-destructive, in ways. Including me. With both of these marriages, I knew that I was settling, for someone, and something, that my heart was not in. But I didn't realize, until I was working on the, several, blog posts about him, that the only man I have ever loved was my second husband, Jim. When I gave him my heart, it must have really been for forever, because it would seem that I've never really had it back in my own possession, to be able to give to anyone else, ever since then. Or, really, even before, I loved him! He was just THE ONE that MY heart TRULY loved. As for the last two (of my four) husbands, I plan to describe them in much greater detail, in later posts. There were other men I met in these clubs who were also a danger to me, though. Not just those I married from there.

At the Backdoor, there was a guy, that was a regular, of Kristal's. She was one of the dancer's that made most of her money outside the club, booking club customers, as her clients, for her own Call Girl gig, where she preferred to give them 'The Girlfriend Experience', as her form of prostitution. After years of her living this lifestyle, though, she wanted out. She wanted the real thing. To be one man's real girlfriend, and then wife; and she wanted to have kids before it got too late, for her, to do that. She, like all of us did, really, deep down, wanted to finally find love. She told me her knees were giving out on her, also, from all the strain on them due to the way that she danced. She had been a classy Call Girl, as far as that went. I knew some of Kristal's club customers who were also her Call Girl clients from them coming into the club and despite their illicit sex life from hiring her as a prostitute they were considered to be successful men in society, with good-paying careers. This regular customer, of hers, named Don, while he had a good job and seemed to be a nice, and stable, man, on the surface, turned out to be seriously, even, dangerously, mentally, and emotionally, unbalanced! Don was a construction supervisor. He was an average-looking, middle-aged, man. Nothing seemed ominous about him, at all, as he came in to the Backdoor Lounge fairly often wearing his jeans and muddy work boots, from the construction site he worked at, to sit with Kristal. As she began to exit the dancer scene, in Omaha, for a chance at a real life as Karen (her real name), somewhere far enough away that her reputation did not, and could not, precede her, and hopefully not follow her, her regulars at the Backdoor were just left hanging, since they came to see her, there. I noticed, that Don was coming into the bar and sitting at a table all by himself as he waited for her time after time, and eventually leaving in silence while looking quite lonely, when she never showed up, to join him. None of us other girls had ever approached him to sit with him because any dancer sitting with someone else's regulars was considered a bitch and was usually dealt with in some less-than-happy way, by the dancer these guys 'belonged to', even though the club management always maintained that all customers were theirs, and therefore, fair game, to whichever dancer could sell drinks for them, by sitting at that table; regardless of which dancer the guy usually sat with.

[I had sat with a dancer's regular, when I was brand new to working at the Bittersweet, without knowing that he was one, because he didn't tell me that he was actually waiting for her when I approached him! Usually, those guys, that are a dancer's regulars, will give you a heads up by saying, "Thanks, but I am waiting for so-and-so", so you know, to leave them alone; he's hers. After all, we were required to go up to guys that entered these clubs, to talk to them and try to get them to buy us drinks, for the business.  Dancers were expected to sell our specified drink quota every shift, by these clubs.  It was money that also paid our hourly wages, among other things. Being the new girl at the Bittersweet, then, I was just trying to do a good job, with what was required of me. When I approached this man, there, he had invited me to sit with him and didn't tell me he was actually waiting for the other dancer to come out of the dressing room, to join him. So, I had no idea, until I felt several, long, sharp, talon-like fingernails digging into my flesh and scratching me from my shoulder down my back stinging my skin as they drew blood, and I turned, and saw her standing there, furious at me for sitting with HER regular! It was just TABOO, to DO, between dancers, that were not bitches; leaving her to assume that this NEW girl, ME, was a BITCH, which she dealt with according to her misunderstanding of the scene. I immediately excused myself from the customer, leaving him to her, and went to wash wounds, wishing the guy had just told me instead of putting me in that position with my new co-worker.]

So, I continued to see Don come in to the Backdoor, time after time, sitting all alone, watching the dancers, take their turns, on stage; never saying a word, to any of us, or vice versa. When he asked the waitress bringing him his drinks, about Kristal, they would only tell him each time that she was out of town, right now. It got to the point, that I felt sorry for him, because he was being strung along, by the waitress, who didn't want to risk losing her tips, from him, by telling him, that Kristal was actually in an elaborate, extended, process of trying to start a whole new life somewhere else entirely, so she could leave this one behind her--- which included him. As this went on for awhile, I felt it just wasn't right, that he didn't know that Kristal wasn't planning on ever really coming back, if she could help it, so I went over to his table and asked if I could sit with him. He seemed so lonely! Without explaining anything, about where Kristal had gone, or what she was doing (since if she'd wanted HIM to KNOW, SHE would've told him), I let him know that she might not be coming back. I offered to keep him company, in there, but with the mutual understanding that I would only sit with him until, or unless, she returned. (I knew, that she was trying to start a whole new life, in another state, but it was too soon to know, even for her, if she would actually be able to pull that off or whether she would decide to return to work at the club in Omaha. She'd left her options open.) I explained that if/when she did come back that I would, of course, immediately defer, to her, sitting with him, again. He knew, that he was her regular so he hadn't even tried to sit with any of us all those times that she was gone, and he understood that out of respect for his and Kristal's longtime bond that I would not be willing to intrude on that if she were there. He was fine with that, he said, and grateful for someone to talk to, now. Alot of times, the guys that came in were trying to distract themselves from things in their real lives that were not going well for them. These clubs were like their fantasy escape, from whatever that was. I felt sorry for him. I learned two very important things about men, the hard way, while I was a dancer: NEVER involve yourself with a man, on ANY LEVEL, because you FEEL SORRY FOR HIM, whether that comes from pity or compassion for them. I promise you, you will have cause to REALLY REGRET that decision. You WILL only end up BEARING THE BRUNT, of their ISSUES, and DYSFUNCTION, if you do that! And DON'T allow any man into your personal life that you REALLY DON'T WANT THERE. It will NOT GO WELL for YOU.

One evening as Don and I were sitting and talking in the bar between my dance sets on stage, he asked me what I was doing on my day off, and, feeling comfortable with him, at that point, I mentioned that I was going shopping, the next day, to try to find and buy a cookie press. Then, Don offered to take me, to do that, and would not take no for an answer. That, was ANOTHER thing I learned, the HARD way: NEVER TO GIVE IN to men, when they attempt to OVERRIDE MY TRUE WISHES; ESPECIALLY about MY OWN LIFE! I really didn't WANT to spend my day off with a CLUB CUSTOMER. That felt like STILL BEING AT WORK, for me. I was required, to talk to men, at WORK, ALL the time, so, when I was OFF work, I wanted, and needed, a break from that. A man's expectations from us can put a real burden on us. We DO have OUR OWN NEEDS, to attend to, as women! Men are so often TAKERS, much more, than GIVERS, which can feel like their presence, in our lives, is SUCKING THE  LIFE OUT OF US! He had seemed 'normal', still, at THAT point; just really lonely. I was trying to be a friend to him, without leading him on at all. I wasn't trying to seduce him or anything like that at all. I was completely celibate almost all of the time, all those years that I was a dancer, believe it or not, and I was no longer looking for love, in my life. I was still, always, in love with Jim Carlin, from the time that we met at Keesler Air Force Base, only I was not CONSCIOUSLY aware of that, AT ALL, until I started processing my thoughts, and emotions, about my life, and, the people in it, by writing this blog. Even though, I was not aware of that, subconsciously it was affecting my decisions about, and feelings toward, other men, and holding me back from really getting deeply involved with them.

Because Don was absolutely insistent on taking me shopping, even though I really didn't want to do that, with him, I made the grave mistake, of letting him pick me up, where I lived. He had SEEMED like such a nice guy, that I felt safe with him; and at that point we had only talked, as friends, in the bar. He had never come on to me, at all. That day, of shopping, he also seemed very sane and like he just wanted to be helpful. He was kind of annoying though; like having a puppy, always at my heels, wanting my attention, when I, really, needed some 'me' time. I was shocked and scared though the very next day, when I opened my shades, and saw him sitting outside, in his car, instead of being at work, looking up at the windows, to try to see which one was mine! Realizing THIS man was NOW a BIG problem, for me, even for this reason alone, I quickly moved away from the window, before he could see me, got dressed, and went outside, to ask him what he was doing, there! Why wasn't he at work? He said he took the day off, and wanted to spend it with me. UH OH! I was getting REALLY SCARED, now, as well as PISSED OFF. I had made no such plans with this guy. First he had not respected my wishes, about our not going on the shopping trip together, on my day off, pressuring me into it, against my better instincts, and now he clearly wasn't respecting my boundaries, regarding my private life. I also had to work later that night, and I needed SOME time to MYSELF, because this club customer had taken up my whole day off, the day before this. Don, had gotten his foot in the door, of my PRIVATE LIFE, and, was NOW trying to RAM HIMSELF into it--- and I didn't WANT him there!  I told him that I could not spend the day with him, and that he could see me in the CLUB, later.

I was REALLY starting to DREAD dealing with THIS guy, now. But, I HAD to go to WORK; and sure enough, he came in there, later that evening, with a card for me that, ironically, due to my analogy about him from our shopping trip, had a drawing of a lovesick puppy on it, in which he had written that HE LOVED ME! OMG! This guy was REALLY SCARING ME, now! He did not even really know ME! We had only talked together, in the club, except for the one, unfortunate, shopping trip. The two of us DID NOT HAVE a personal, or ROMANTIC relationship, together!  I would have HAD A SAY, in that, and I would have made my part of that obvious, and clear, to him. Only IT DIDN'T EXIST BETWEEN US! We had never held hands, hugged, looked deeply into each other's eyes, dated, NOTHING, to either create, or indicate, a LOVE CONNECTION was developing, or existing, between us. When I pointed all that out, to him, thinking rationally that SURELY, he would ACKNOWLEDGE, this FACT, he literally started SCREAMING AT ME, in full-on ANGER, right in the club, in front of everybody! He was heard screaming at me even over the very loud music, by everyone in the bar, who turned to look at the over-the-top scene he was creating. I was frozen, in fear, from this guy! I got mad, then, because I was so scared by him. We had bouncers in these bars too. I told him, in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS, that I had only started sitting with him to TRY to be NICE, because I had felt bad for him, that Kristal had left town and not even told him that; and that I had NO INTENTION, OR DESIRE, to start ANY personal, or permanent, relationship with him outside of this bar! NOR DID I OWE HIM THAT! He got even angrier at me, for that. But, I alerted the bouncer to the situation and Don backed down and left. As far as I was concerned, I was well RID of him! We had not even been sitting together, at the club, all that long, before this happened, with him. I also had never flirted, with him, or come on to him, or led him on. I hadn't wanted him getting too attached to me, in case Kristal ended up changing her mind, about moving away, for good, and came back, to work at the club. I'd been very careful, with this guy, because of that. I had only tried to be nice to him!

A couple of years later, when I was working at The Twenties, I was sitting alone on a bar stool waiting for customers, to come in, for us to have to start dancing for. Whenever, there weren't, any, which wasn't often, we either gave our high-heeled feet a much-appreciated break, or we would get up on stage and practice some new moves so that we could hopefully perfect those enough, to add to our routines, in the hope that they would get us more tips! On this particular day, the club was just opening, so it was now just after 4 o'clock in the afternoon as we began a shift which would go until 1 AM. The bouncer was nowhere in sight, at the time, because we didn't have any customers yet, for him to need to keep an eye on. Suddenly, the door opened very quickly, and in walked Don, the club customer from the Backdoor Lounge. I had not seen or spoken with him, since I told him to stay away from me, years before. He had really shaken me up back then because we had really only interacted with one another on a fairly superficial level, and for a relatively short amount of time, before he had tried to stake some, crazy, claim on some very personal, romantic, relationship, with me, that was NEVER THERE, BETWEEN US! I had only been friendly and kind, toward this man. I hadn't come on to him, or led him on, or ever hugged, kissed, or done anything sexual, at all, to give him any reason or right to have that impression, in his, definitely deluded, mind. That had been bizarre, back then!  But, it was ABOUT to get EVEN MORE SO, as he spotted where I was sitting, and walked right up to me.

He very well may have known that I worked there, at The Twenties, now, before he even came in to the club, that day, because there was a large, full-color, photo, of me on stage, along with the photos of some of the other dancers, under protective glass, on both sides of the entrance, as enticements, to draw customers in, to this nightclub; presented for all to see, right out in the open under the banner of 'LIVE ENTERTAINMENT'. There was also a gossip grapevine going between all the Go Go bars in the area, because dancers would quit or be fired from one club, and go to work at another club, and word would get back to former co-workers and customers, where they had gone. Either way, as soon as Don entered the Showgirl room, where I danced at The Twenties, he had looked right at ME. His jaw was set, and his eyes were filled with fury. Then, without hesitation, he walked up to me, knocked me right off of my bar stool, with a very scornful shove, and pushed me, against the wall, pinning me, there, with his hands around my throat. As he started to choke me he was looking right into my terrified eyes, spitting his words at me, through his unbridled, out of control, RAGE! Through a tightly clenched jaw he growled at me, "YOU! RUINED! MY! LIFE! I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU, and YOU REJECTED ME! I WENT INTO A MENTAL HOSPITAL-- FOR SIX MONTHS!-- AFTER THAT! I LOST MY JOB, OVER IT, TOO! YOU. DID THAT. TO ME!" I couldn't speak from fearing for my life as I felt his hands tightening around my neck. I could only look at him helplessly as he started to squeeze my throat with his hostile hands. Knowing that I couldn't have caused all that, didn't help, now.

One of the other dancers had gone to find the bouncer, as soon as she saw Don start shoving me around, so violently, and when he got back there, Don let go of me, and left, after sneering at me, contemptuously, "You're NOT EVEN WORTH IT!"  His hand marks stayed, on my neck, that shift, becoming bruising.  I was extremely shaken up, by all of it! He was banned, from the bar, for that, but I knew, he could always wait outside, in the dark of night, for when I came out of the club at closing time. I was very concerned that he was so out of touch with reality, as he was! So volatile!  And, so emotionally unstable! Now that this physical attack, on me, from him, had come out-of-the-blue, after I hadn't even seen him anywhere around for a couple of years, at that point, I wasn't sure what else he was capable of doing to me. He had behaved in a very irrational manner, toward me, ever since his 'declaration of love', two years earlier, followed by his angry outburst, at me, back then, when I had rebuffed him, for it, which had also been very unsettling. Because he had built up some fantasy relationship with me, in his obviously deeply troubled mind, he was carrying an enormous grudge, against me; apparently for YEARS now!  I hadn't allowed him to force his fantasy into my reality, and he didn't seem to comprehend, at all, that I had any choice or say in the matter. Even when men do not react this extremely to a woman's rejection of their intentions, toward them, many men feel entitled to have whatever it is they want, with women! They see us as being on this Earth merely as objects, often of their desire, that are therefore supposed to yield ourselves, to their whims, and wishes, rather than be free to express ourselves, as the, fully human, beings that we actually are, with minds and hearts of our own, to make choices and decisions, about our lives, independently of whatever these men may want, with us, or from us. That mindset, is the same one that is behind acts of pedophilia, rape, domestic violence, murder, and, all, of the other forms, of abuse, of females!

Luckily, I had moved, to another apartment building, in the years since I had last encountered Don's wrath toward me, at the Backdoor Lounge. So, unless he followed me home after work, at The Twenties, he would not know where I lived now. I was very jumpy for quite awhile after this incident with him. This man was CLEARLY MENTALLY UNSTABLE, and had ATTACHED HIS VOLATILE AND VICIOUS EMOTIONS to ME, making me a Scapegoat to blame for all of his unhappiness in life, which actually had little of anything, at all, to do with me! I was SURE that he hadn't even known me long enough or well enough, for ME to TRULY be the cause of THAT MUCH RAGE AND ANGUISH. He had to have made, some sort of, TRANSFERENCE, onto me; making me his sex-object-scapegoat, for whatever he felt was wrong in his life. That Scapegoat Syndrome* had also happened to me with my own family starting when I was very young, and continuing into my adult life. It would happen to me again with my last husband, a club customer from the Backdoor Lounge, who then began to treat me this way that Don was: First, transference, and then, abuse; making me suffer, as their Scapegoat, for how this world, and their lives, had let them down, or failed them, in some way, with no thought or care, about how unfair, that was, to do, to me, and how frightening, their physical rage, aimed at me, was. Dancers in these clubs have even turned up dead, after being killed, by such men as these.**

I was also at risk of harm, or worse, from the Kansas City mafia***. Twice, even; in my dancer career! Along with my best friend, Neil; the first time, it happened. Neil was the sound guy, for one of the local bands, that was sometimes booked to perform, in the large main room of The Twenties nightclub, where I was dancing, on stage, in the back, in the, smaller, more intimate, feeling, Showgirl room. That was how that nightclub was set up at the time. I remember trying to tell my mother, on a phone call, that Neil and I could, very possibly, end up dead. Be found floating in the Missouri River at the hands of the mafia. Because, at the time it seemed a very real possibility. But, she just dismissed it, like she always did, with, virtually, everything else, I tried, to talk to her about, regarding my life. My narcissistic mother would, typically, do one, of two, things, whenever (against my better instincts, since I well knew how she was toward me)  I would continue trying to have an interactive relationship, with her, in spite of it all. She would either discredit me, or dismiss whatever it was, I was saying to her, as being of no concern, to her, for her to even try to hear me out, or show any care, concern, or compassion, toward me. The mafia involvement, during my dancer career, was luckily short-lived, though; and actually, they handled it really well, the FIRST time. Even kind of classy, considering how it could have gone otherwise. I both appreciated, and respected, that, coming from them. Their showing up in my life was actually related to another assault, on me, that also happened at The Twenties.

Dancers always say things, about other dancers, to other dancers. Especially, if the dancer is getting on their nerves for some reason, on any particular night. Usually, back in the dressing room, when a couple to a few of the girls would end up there at the same time, at some point during the evening. For some reason, which I have never been able to understand, about my life, though, co-workers of mine and others I've known have always held me, individually, to a higher standard than they even hold themselves; and have caused trouble for me, if I 'slip off' that imposed 'paragon of virtue' pedestal which they perched me up on, even ONCE, and say or do anything less than they expect of me. In fact, whenever I fail, to maintain that lofty pose, either accidentally or on purpose, because I'm human just like they are, the retribution toward me--- comparatively speaking--- is usually TWICE as SEVERE for my behaving only HALF as wrongly as THEY typically would, or do, behave THEMSELVES. These same people, that DO THIS, TO ME, know damn well that they don't live up to anything CLOSE to that standard that THEY have set for ME. That doesn't stop them, from doing it, though, which I have both really noticed, and deeply resented, in my life. So, one night, I came in the dressing room and ALL I said, was that I wish the new girl, Pam, would pay some attention to the ACTUAL BEAT of the songs, she was dancing to, so her MOVEMENTS, on stage, would at least line up, with THAT.  I admit, I felt resentful, toward her, because management had put me, personally, and directly, in charge of taking her under my wing, so to speak, and teaching her the business, when they hired her. So now, her progress or lack of it reflected on me in that way. But she was just very inept, as a dancer. Also, she did something, when she was off stage, that put all of our jobs in jeopardy, which had become maddening, to me, too; because, no matter what I said, about it, she continually allowed customers to touch her, when she was sitting at the tables, with them, in ways that could have gotten the liquor license pulled by the liquor commission and our club closed down by the cops and then the city, which would cost all of us our jobs and our money we made there. Still, despite how stressed Pam caused me to feel, about her presence there, the comment I made about her lack of rhythm was ALL that I said, though. All in all, it was the most innocuous observation ANY dancer had EVER been overheard to say about ANOTHER.

Even so, one of the dancers, that was in the dressing room, at the time, in this group of about four of us, Erin, who was also kind of the prankster, and, generally, the jerk, in this group, just couldn't wait to run tell Pam that Stevie said that about her. Whatever she told Pam about it--- which may, or may not, have been exaggerated, or even lied about, by her--- caused the girl's feelings to be hurt, so deeply, apparently, that she went to Faith, the bartender, in tears, about it; then actually left work, for the rest of the shift. No other dancer had ever done that before in similar circumstances. >sigh!< It was what it was, now. Faith, happened to be one of Mickey's original club dancers at 'Mickey's', his first Go Go bar, in downtown Omaha (which was where my husband Jim had taken me on one of our nights out several years earlier when I was very pregnant, with our son, Jay. I recalled seeing Faith dancing there, after I met her, later, at The Twenties, only I didn't actually know her, back when she danced). When she felt that she had aged out of dancing, she had started bartending for Mickey, instead (after he closed Mickey's downtown; although he still had the Razzle Dazzle in Council Bluffs, Iowa, and The Twenties, in Omaha). She still wasn't old, by any means, though. Faith was a well-built, and fairly pretty, woman. She was also, widely known, as being, "Mickey's girl". His favorite, who 'had his ear', and, most likely, at least one or two more of his body parts, than that, according to the gossip.

Faith was no saint, herself, to be sure. I hesitate to diverge too deeply, here, into any detailed description, of her, because the thing that I am trying to explain right now is how it came to be that I got onto the radar, of actual mafia members, who came after me, for a short time, which was extremely anxiety-producing for both me and Neil, who was only included because of his 'guilt by association', by the mafia, simply because HE was MY BEST FRIEND, back then. To give you some idea, of who Faith was, as a person, though, so you can see better, who I was dealing with in this situation, that developed between the two of us (over Pam, that Erin set in motion) I will give you one example of how Faith's mind computed decisions that she made--- one of which I became a victim of; in this instance I am telling you about, regarding the mafia: Faith had gotten pregnant by one of the men she slept with, and didn't want the baby. So, her solution to this problem was to keep snorting so much Cocaine, that she would cause herself to miscarry the baby, which is exactly what happened. She told me this herself; very casually, and without compunction. Before I ever even knew she had been pregnant, though, I used to see her, and her co-bartender, on the busy weekend nights, divide the Cocaine into two lines, right out in the open, on the back counter of the bar, and bend over and quickly snort that into their nostrils. I even saw Denny, Mickey's manager at The Twenties, do a line with them once. One night, he was screaming, at them, after the club closed, accusing them both, of being so high, that they were barely functioning in their bartending duties. I recall wondering, as I went, from the ladies room, to the dressing room, to get dressed to go home, that night, and walked past them, while they all three slurred and snarled at one another, behind the bar, why people describe doing drugs as getting a great high that feels really good, to them, when these three, who did drugs, all, sounded so angry, and unhappy, while under the influence, of the Cocaine.

So, this same Faith, had now turned on me, because of that one comment I had made, in the dressing room, about Pam's lack of rhythm, when she danced; which Erin repeated. Because Pam got her feelings hurt, and cried, when Erin told her whatever she told her, that I had said, about moving her body to the actual beat of the songs she danced to, on stage, Faith had put me into the BITCH category now (even though she was one herself) which in her mind meant that some kind of repercussions needed to be dealt out to me according to the 'Street Justice' mentality, that bar folks often adhered to, due to their skewed moral sensibilities. Out of all the dancer comments I EVER heard MADE about one dancer by another dancer, that was on the negative, critical, side, my comment was MUCH GENTLER than ANY or ALL, of those others! There wasn't even any NAME CALLING in it. Still, the new girl, Pam, had cried to Faith about it, and then left work early that night, with most of the shift still to go, in a pity party pout about it. So, now, Faith was determined to deal with me, on Pam's behalf. Near the end of the night, during the last song, I decided to go to the ladies room. I recall, that I didn't really have to pee, that badly, but for some reason, I just decided to still go ahead and do it. I felt vaguely uneasy, simply from knowing Faith was not speaking to me anymore, when we had always conversed together, prior to this, current, situation regarding Pam. I couldn't get a feel for whatever it was that was coming, from that, although I sensed that something surely was. I had seen how this stuff went down, in these bars. Pam wasn't there, to settle it with, and I didn't really think I had done anything really wrong. I had made one accurate observation about Pam's complete lack of rhythm. It wasn't even a criticism as much as it was just an honest observation that anyone in the Showgirl room of The Twenties might well have made, about her. Yes, I said it, out loud, to other girls, in the dressing room. Just like other comments had been made about every one of us, in there, at times. But MINE, about Pam, was as TAME, a comment, as any dancer had ever made, about another, including what was said to, and about, me, when I was the new girl and learning the ropes at the Razzle. I had also spent several weeks, by that point, personally doing everything, that I could, to help Pam learn and adjust to the business, because Mickey's mother, Angie, had tasked me with that direct responsibility when Pam was hired. No one else. Just ME. Now, ONE statement, about her lack of beat-keeping movements, on stage, and ALL that was, completely, ignored by her, and Faith. I was some BITCH, now, to be dealt with for it.

The ladies room in the Showgirl was right off the room where the stage was. It was very small, and only had one toilet and sink, so we tended not to lock the door, because other girls, many of whom were drunk, would just start pounding on it trying to get in, even though they couldn't even use the toilet while someone else was still sitting on it. They would, usually, just stand by the sink, and chat about how the night was going. I had just gone in, and was starting to cover the toilet seat with paper, to prepare to sit on it, when I heard the door open behind me. I said, "You can go first if you have to go badly!", to whoever it was, that had just come in there, right after I did, but there was no answer from them, so I turned and looked behind me, to see who  it was. It was Faith. We had always gotten along before this incident with Pam and I had been blown up into something way out of proportion, by Erin, who was always the one that seemed friendly enough to your face, but in reality was often just looking for some way to start trouble, just because, she was bored, and drama really amused her. Because Pam had cried, about it, Faith had made it clear, that she was mad at me, for that, although I had hoped she would get past it because what I had said was critique, more than criticism. But she didn't. She'd walked in to the ladies room right behind me, after she had apparently been watching and waiting, for this moment with me, when she could come out, from behind the bar, and confront me one on one. We were all alone in this room, just the two of us, with the extremely loud music booming just outside the door. The door, that she was blocking, now, when she grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head down toward the toilet first. I managed to 'keep my head above water', as they say, so she then tried to hit my head against the wall. All I could think of was, DO NOT FIGHT BACK! DO NOT HIT HER, OR LEAVE A MARK, ON HER! PRAY THAT SHE DOESN'T CUT, OR BRUISE, HER HAND, AS SHE BEATS THE CRAP OUT, OF YOU, BECAUSE THIS HAS NO WITNESSES! SHE, COULD SAY THAT YOU, STARTED IT, WITH HER! THIS--- IS-- MICKEY'S--- GIRL!!! DO NOT TOUCH HER, AT ALL, IN  FEAR  OF  YOUR  LIFE! So, as she then began punching me in the gut, I still did not do one thing, to fight back. I didn't even cry. I just took the beating, from her, as best I could, knowing that, because, it was Faith, and I also worked for Mickey, I really had no choice. Dancers, got into 'slap downs', with one another, at times, in these clubs, and there were even some physical attacks on one another, every once in a while, especially where egos, drinking, and drugs were involved, but it was almost always at least a fair fight, where they both, threw their punches, and had their say, and that was that. But, THIS, was NOT THAT! THIS was FAITH--- 'MICKEY'S GIRL'! So I DARE NOT touch her!

It had long been rumored, that Mickey not only had mob connections, but that he had actually murdered his own wife to get himself free of his marital relationship and responsibilities, when he stopped coaching, kids' sports, and got into the Go Go bar business. I had even heard that he had promised his son alot of money, to take the fall, for the murder of his mother, and go to prison, in his father's place. How much of that was TRUE, of those whispers that I had always heard, about Mickey, I had NO IDEA. But, I wasn't going to risk harming 'Mickey's Girl' in ANY way, especially because of those rumors, and because I worked for him, too. So, I stood, and took it, as Faith beat the crap out of me, in the ladies room, that night, until I finally sank to the floor, so beaten up by her that I thought I would pass out, from the pain. Once I went down, to the floor, she started kicking me, with her sharp, pointy, high-heeled shoes. Again, and, again, and, again. She kicked me in the abdomen, and finally, in the teeth. After saying to me, with a self-satisfied sneer, "That is for PAM", she left me, lying on the bathroom floor, and went back out. Struggling to get onto my knees, I weakly pushed the ladies room door open, and the first face I saw was Erin's, who had caused the situation, and this beating by Faith, that I just took, by running to tell Pam, what I'd said, about her needing to try to focus on the beat of the song, when she danced--- or perhaps, even something, way worse, sounding, that she embellished, for effect--- making Pam cry, which made Faith come after me. As our eyes met, Erin saw me kneeling, on the floor, with blood coming from my nose, and mouth, and barely the strength in me to push open the door, as I said, weakly, to her, "Help me!", but she just stayed where she was, sitting at a table, with a smug smile on her face when she saw me. She might have even chosen that spot to sit in to have a ringside seat, to what Faith went into the ladies room to do to me. Even so, believe it or not, Erin was never an enemy to me, personally, in any way. She just didn't give a damn, about anyone else, and she loved to stir up drama, any time, any way, and with anyone, that she could; just to watch the crap that unfolded, from that, and know that she had instigated it all. She genuinely enjoyed doing that! It made her day. Some people, are like that. I have NO idea WHY; what makes them like that. Perhaps Erin was a narcissist. God knows, I seem to get victimized by those, in my life. The bottom line though, with her, was that SHE JUST LIKED TO START TROUBLE. Whether that was from her own insecurities, or from her just being a bitch, or whatever, I can't say, for sure. She just did that. Whenever she could. She once tried to pull a long wig, I wore one night, right off my head just before I was going up on stage to dance, as she sat at a nearby table with some guy, behind where I was standing. I heard her say, to him, "Watch this!", and then I felt a hard tug, on my wig. Luckily, I had pinned it securely to my hair so that it didn't budge. Erin was simply an opportunistic JERK. If she saw a chance to trip someone, ANYONE, just to cause them to fall, she was that kind of person, for whatever reason. And now, because of that, I was left to slowly struggle, to pull myself up from off the floor; badly beaten, and bloody, and she was thrilled, she had created this much drama.

[NOTE: This, August, post is Part One of a Two Part post that I have written for this blog on this specific subject matter, about the dangers of being a dancer. This post is twenty paragraphs long, and I have an equal number of paragraphs for the post next month, in September, in order to fully finish covering this one particular aspect of my dancer experience. By no means have I--- even yet, after several posts, now--- covered all there is for me to say and share, here, about those years that I worked in the nightclubs, and how that career affected my life! Therefore, I will continue on with this, in the next post. Thank you, for taking this journey, with me, through my life and all its memorable experiences. I am glad you are here with me! Please feel free to Comment under any posts that you may wish to. I would love to know your thoughts, or about some of your experiences, that may be similar, or even different. I have readers in 33 countries now, and as I see you are reading what I have written about my life, here in my blog, I often wonder what your lives have been like. Especially, during this worldwide pandemic that is affecting all of us on this Earth. God bless you! - Love, Deb]

* Scapegoating is the practice of singling out a person or group for unmerited blame and consequent negative treatment.

** This is just one example, from many, sadly, of what I am referring to: "Lakewood man charged with killing strip club dancer found dead in motel bathroom - Investigators first considered Hector’s death suspicious, but an initial autopsy couldn’t determine the cause of her death. The medical examiner found faint abrasions on her neck, but couldn’t confirm if she had been strangled. There were no signs of a struggle and Hector was found naked, according to the autopsy report. Later tests confirm that she had been strangled."  https://www.denverpost.com/2019/04/24/lakewood-homicide-strip-club/

*** Kansas City Crime Family:
Founding location Kansas City, Missouri, United States
Years active 1912–present
Territory Kansas City metropolitan area and the entire states of Missouri, and Nebraska, as well as Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Oklahoma and Washington, D.C.
The Kansas City mob still has some gambling and loansharking with some extortion involving drugs and the strip club industry'  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansas_City_crime_family

My Evolution, Or Devolution, Into 'Stevie'

When Dick had originally hired me, at the Razzle Dazzle, for my first Go Go dancer job, he had said, that I was 'the greenest thing, he ever saw, but he thought he could make a dancer out of me'! (https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2020/04/and-so-i-became-dancer-on-broadway-and.html). Now, that I was working for him, once again, at the Backdoor Lounge, I evolved so much as a dancer, and my skills improved so greatly, that I became one of the better dancers in the business, at the time. Dick would have never told me this, himself, because he always had to act so macho, as a part of his persona. But, one night, a customer, sitting with me, told me, during our conversation, that Dick had told him, I was one of the best dancers he had now; and that he thought I was extremely talented! I beamed, at hearing that, considering where I had started out from in that journey. Not to diminish my achievements, in my day, as a dancer, but now, girls can do really amazing moves--- especially, on the poles--- that I never did in my day. I did learn some basic pole work back then but we didn't even have pole dancing, at all, when I first started learning to dance this way, so it was a secondary skill for us, that we learned on our own. There was no one to really teach us, because we were all new to it when the clubs began to add these poles onto their stages. Now women that are not nightclub dancers and are never even planning to be can enroll in classes specifically to learn pole moves; even to an advanced level. Dancers can take those classes now, too, if they like, to improve on their stage skills (and therefore, also their tips), but they can still learn watching one another, on stage, at work, just as we learned, how to do the moves, on stage, in my day. Pole dancing is the skill that is truly at the forefront, of exotic dancing, now, though. (From the internet: "[pole dancing]  is about sexual  stimulation of  men. The whole idea is for men to go into strip clubs  and watch women dance  and strip around a pole. The pole is a metaphor for the  phallus. Essentially,  the  women  are  simulating  coitus  on  stage  for  the  largely  male  audience.")  It was in the 80s  and  90s  that pole dancing became associated with strip clubs.  I also related to the pole, in how I interacted with, and caressed it, as it being a phallic symbol.

We, also, had pull up bars, above the stage, and I was much better on those! I could hang up there, even by one arm, for most of a song (which averaged about 3 minutes), using my other arm to stroke my body, as I maneuvered myself, in various ways, while suspended, above the stage and the heads of the customers that sat right by the stage. Sometimes, Mickey, the club owner (of The Twenties, and the Razzle Dazzle), would come into the 'Showgirl' room to see how it was going, with his bar business, when I would be performing, on stage. When he saw me, hanging from the pull up bar, grinning down at him, from over the heads, of several, of his customers, who were staring up at my crotch, he would smile back at me, approvingly, since I was keeping his paying guests happy! I had one move where I would suspend myself with my legs open, 'manspread'* style, and my knees bent, right above a guy's face, and then, I would lower myself, closer and closer toward his face, until I was just a few inches, at the most, from sitting my crotch on his face. I would linger briefly, at that point; then, pull myself back up, and away. That move took confidence. Especially during my period. It was important to stay clean, fresh, and leak free, up on that stage!  I admit, that I was making my money as a professional pricktease, now, but after all that men had put me through, in my life, just because they could, and get away with it, it felt good to have the power over them, for a change. One night when I worked at The Twenties a guy standing by the stage grabbed my leg and was trying to pull me down, from the pull-up bar, which would have injured me, from that height, for sure! Pissed, at his taking my safety so lightly in his determination to show what a jerk he was, I took my other leg, and with the very pointy toe of my over-the-knee boot, I kicked him hard right under his rib cage, causing him to immediately release my leg to tend to his own pain.  As Stevie, I learned not to put up with idiots, jerks, or assholes; for even a second. I had NO TIME, for these fools!

I acquired not only the sexy moves, but the subtle ones; finding out that, in certain cases, and for specific songs, 'less is more', as far as my movements. The front stage, of  the two, at The Backdoor, was so small. There wasn't much room, to do anything, on it. And, it didn't have the advantage of having the large wall mirror to work off of that was at the back of the main stage; behind it. Sometimes, we had both stages, to ourselves, for our dance, when it wasn't packed. But on busy nights they would have us dancing two girls to a song with one on the front stage and one on the back stage, at the same time.  When two friends, were up there, like Peaches, and I, who trusted one another not to take a positional advantage, we would switch, back and forth between the two stages, during the song, in order to be accessible to the customers that wanted to tip one of us, in particular, since tables were all around the stage, on three sides, of it. That time up on stage was your chance to make your money from the room rather than just getting tipped by the customer(s) you were sitting with, in between, your dances. It could be a daunting thing to be on the front stage for your entire dance since there wasn't much space to do alot of anything, there, if you were up there with another dancer who was utilizing the back stage and mirror fully in her routine and was getting tips for all the moves she had the room to do, right behind you. Often, the girl, on the front stage, lost out, because she was so confined.

Determined to turn this disadvantage into an advantage, somehow, because it was somewhat discouraging, if not humiliating, to be onstage with another girl who was getting all the tips, for her gymnastic ability, all over the main stage just behind me, while I could barely move at all, I eventually developed this tiny little movement--- almost imperceptible--- of just one of my hips, that was like what I've heard described by men, in country or cowboy shows, who were in awe of it, as a female having 'a hitch in her get along'** (while, normally, an expression of someone having an issue with their gait while walking, when used in this way it was paying tribute to the specific way that a woman walks, which men find extremely alluring***).  It was such a minute movement, that it amazed me, what an effect it had, on the men, watching this! I simply stood on the stage, smiled, and spent the entire song, basically, rotating, one hip-hitch, at a time, to the right, increment by increment, for 360 degrees. There was apparently something powerful, about that, visually, to men, because when I was stuck on the front stage, that is all I would do, while the girl on the back stage began to feel insecure, because I got 'beaucoup bucks'**** off that one very small and simple move of my hip and pelvis. There is really no explaining that. It just worked! I turned a limitation around, in my favor, so successfully that other dancers hated to land on the back stage, right behind me, because I was raking in all the money, off that one ultra-feminine little 'twitch'! It's mind-boggling to me, how little it takes, to turn men on sexually.

I made some good money, when I was a dancer, though. The best money I ever made, in my life! It was easy money, too. That money gave me financial freedom, paid the bills, and it was recession proof! I paid all my medical bills, like for doctor check ups and dental visits, in cash, at my appointments. I didn't even need to arrange payments. I was able to live in some luxury apartments and in prestigious locations. I bought lots of sexy clothes that went with my Stevie image, which I had to maintain now. Not just at work, but out and about where club customers also saw me. Especially, in the Old Market. Everyone, comes to the Old Market. It is the main 'Go To' location, in Omaha. Other men, noticed me, too, of course, and would approach me. I would then invite them to come to the club, to see me dance, which intrigued them, about me. My goal was to get them to be new club customers; and tippers! It excited me that my income had increased so much since becoming a dancer compared to what I had made as a Certified Nursing Assistant, or live-in Nanny. I had lived just barely getting by for years. Now, if I liked a pair of pants, or a top, I would buy it--- in every color! If I wanted a pair of shoes, but I couldn't decide if the 8 1/2, or 9, medium was most comfortable, because my feet bore the brunt of my being a dancer, and they tend to shrink, or swell, at times, I bought those shoes in both sizes.

Bob, the handsome, dark-haired, UPS driver on my route, when I lived in my loft apartment in the Old Market, knew my daily schedule very well, because I'd get constant catalog deliveries. He deliberately worked his delivery schedule around my daily routine in order to show up with my deliveries, at my apartment, just when it was time for my bath. Because I had to get ready for work, 6 days a week, but was still trying to fit in an actual personal life into each day, I had to stay on a very strict schedule, to be at work on time. Therefore, I was always undressing at 3 PM, to take a shower, and start getting ready for work, in order to be clean and fresh for up-close encounters, with the club customers. Because of this, Bob made all his deliveries to me then, when he knew I was going to be home for sure after my often being out and about; and while I was wearing nothing--- but a bath towel. He had it timed perfectly, after awhile, and he made it clear, with his big grin at me, that it made his day. I knew that, but it didn't even phase me, by that point.  Because of being a dancer, I had become extremely comfortable, and very casual, in my own skin. I was quite used to exposing most of it! Especially, around men, from always having very little on me at work. After all, I made my living in a very scant thong bikini! Being in nothing, but a towel, to take UPS deliveries, at my apartment door, felt no different to me than how I felt on stage; only I was much more covered in the towel, than in the costumes.

I was pampered, at the salon, by my hairdresser---   a young, handsome, man, that eventually asked me out on a date, then ruined our relationship and lost me as a client, when he pitched  a fit at the end of the night because I had no intention of sleeping with him. That subconscious assumption, that all dancers are promiscuous or 'hoes' isn't correct. While I did do prostitution, near the end of my dancer career, in ways and for reasons that I will eventually describe, here, in another post about this era of my life, I was completely celibate for 99.99% of the time that I was a dancer, believe it or not, which spanned a couple of decades! I sublimated my sexuality, through my dancing on stage usually six nights a week. That was my relief valve. I have never liked to have sex just for sex sake. Especially because of all my background traumas. But also because in my experience, most men do not have the talent for it, to make it worth my time! In other words, they aren't skilled enough as lovers, to do anything for me, that I can't do, myself, without them; and I am nobody's sexual sacrificial lamb. Club customers often said, whenever they would come on to me there, "I would be the BEST you EVER had!" to which I would reply, "Maybe you would, and maybe you wouldn't, but men have said THAT before, to me, and then SUCKED, in bed, so I'm not using my body to prove you right or wrong, about that! Also, some guys THINK they are good in bed when they're NOT. Only a COUPLE of men, in my entire life, have EVER been REALLY GOOD in BED. The others were average to awful! You could ALSO have some STD. You might even have AIDS, and [NOTE: back then, especially before medical advances] could KILL me, with that! NO WAY, are you talking me into having sex, with you! So, drop it. You are talking to the WRONG girl if that is your goal! I am not intrigued; or interested."

I always ate out, during these dancer years, or got it "To Go", and took it home to eat, which is much more expensive, than cooking is; because I had a fast-paced lifestyle, then. My shifts at work were 9 hours long. Sometimes longer depending on where I was dancing. Whether I was purchasing my food, or it was being bought, for me, by the various guys that I went on lunch or dinner dates with, I had no need, to keep any food, at all, in my apartment, for months on end! I, literally, had an empty refrigerator much of the time. I love to shop at arts and crafts festivals, and whenever one was approaching, I would pick up an extra shift or two at work, just to have several hundred dollars more, to spend there, buying unique artwork, jewelry, and home decor items, from there. I blew through hundreds of dollars almost every weekend, on food, fun, and entertainment. My 'weekend' was, usually, just one day off a week, as I was typically on stage, BEING the ENTERTAINMENT, for OTHERS, six nights a week. >sigh!< Sometimes, I felt a bit burned out, by it all, and longed for a 'normal' life; but not often. I was having too much fun!  It was party time. I basically got myself whatever I wanted, that money could buy. Because it felt like this party would last forever I made the mistake of not seriously saving much of my money.

I lived to really regret that, later on. I kept spending money, that I should have been saving, for the, inevitable, career transition, into something else (I had NO idea WHAT, though!), when the party was over. I knew that the day had to come at some point. I also knew that nothing else, I could do, was going to pay me this much money! Even so, I continued, to live at the full extent of my dancer income, and I just kept on, spending the money. I didn't smoke, or do drugs, so it was not anything like that I was buying. I shopped alot, though! Mostly for clothing, furnishings, and makeup, to fill the emptiness in my soul. From living such a superficial lifestyle, for so long. For not feeling truly known or deeply loved by any human being on the planet. I avoided facing the reality of what was coming, for as long as I could; and then some. In the end, it was almost like I was just trying to make some kind of dismal deal with the devil and even he wouldn't help me, to stay on the stage. It is a good thing I have remained the same size 6 that I have always been, as an adult, because my closet is still full, of the stacks of jeans, tops, and other clothes, that I bought, back then; which, at least I can still wear, although I have 'aged out' of some of it.

On an emotional level, I refused to accept the reality that all this had to come to an end, by the time I was still on stage in my early forties. Even though I always looked younger than my age, I still looked older than the girls in their early twenties that were just starting in the business. As I'd watched other, older, girls, ahead of me in the business, age out of it, and leave--- MOST of them BEFORE it reached the point of TRUE HUMILIATION, for them--- I told myself then that I needed to do that same thing. To get out, before the clubs closed their doors, in my face, while welcoming the, much younger, faces that would fuel their bar business going forward. It was a conveyor belt, of wanting you up on their stage until your collagen started to collapse. As soon as something sagged, it was all over.  We were supposed to be fantasy fodder, for men, of all ages, but we could only be that if WE looked YOUNG. I still cringe when I remember a twenty-something club customer, at Lipstix in Council Bluffs--- the very last club I danced in--- tipping me on stage, and saying, to me, "I give you PROPS, for being up THERE, at YOUR AGE!"  It was, and is, a very painful reality for females on this Earth, including in businesses other than dancing. I also experienced ageism in retail sales, near the end of that career, which is what I got into when dancing was over for me. But, that is another chapter, to share in another post.

I had basically bought myself whatever I wanted. I never got love, though; the one thing that I still wanted the most; back then. I had all kinds of male attention and adoration as Stevie, but men didn't want to love me.  They wanted to have me!  Rather, to have Stevie. That persona, that they saw me as being. So, it just felt empty, getting all that constant focus from them, on me, as it underscored my heartache, hidden beneath the sequins and fringe, on stage, that I wasn't loved.  They would give me their money, but not their heart.  There came a saturation point from all this lust of theirs that just left me feeling a void inside. I remember many nights that I would come home, from work, and sit and eat my take-out dinner, alone, about 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning by then. After that I would turn my over-the-knee, sexy vixen-style, boots upside down, if I'd worn them to dance in that night, and literally pour all the tips out of them, which I had removed from my bikini bottom and bra top, where guys had folded them in half, lengthwise, and placed them, when I was dancing on stage or sitting with them at their table. Then, I would start by sorting them into their denominations: ones in a stack, fives in a stack, tens in a stack, twenties in a stack, and on a really good night, hundred dollar bills as well. It had been an ego boost--- even a thrill-- as I became a better and better dancer in every way including how I moved on stage, and how I interacted with the guys, especially off stage. My tips increased, as a result of that. But, I couldn't remember, what a sincere hug even felt like. Just an ass grab. One customer I'd never met before even grabbed my crotch, as I'd walked  up to his table, and I slapped him. Hard. He actually apologized to me when I came back out from the dressing room, after that, where I had immediately gone, to pound on the wall, with my fists, and scream, out of the rage that I felt, about that. The music was so extremely loud,  in these nightclubs, that no one could hear me doing that. I had to do it, to keep myself from crying, as I do when I'm very angry, because I wore alot of makeup to work, and I didn't want  to ruin all that, by my crying, just because of some asshole. I had to look good, for the crowd.

That original costume I bought, that Lee had made for me, when I was just starting out, in the business, at the Razzle, cost about $15.00, and was so plain, and unappealing, that it wasn't even worth that! I'd simply had to have something, to wear, on stage, though, so I took what I could get, back then. Lee was new to the business, sewing costumes for the dancers, when I was just becoming a Go Go girl.  And, just as I did, she also grew, in her skills, to become an amazing seamstress. She created elegant and expensive dancer outfits that were well worth whatever they cost!  Eventually, I was able to buy costumes, from her, that cost up to several hundred dollars, apiece, that had padded push up bras, stitched right into them (I was only a 34B), and intricate beading, sequins, or fringe; and, included the thong bikini, a sexy, ruched, dress cover up, and gloves, that matched. On one phone call with her I ordered costumes in every color, that I did not yet have, because she knew my measurements by heart, by now. I could afford to do that, then. I still have several of those costumes, stored away. I sold some when I got out of the business, but I kept some. Perhaps, as a reality check, since looking at those, touching their fabric, and holding them, assures me that those years weren't a dream, but that I actually did become Stevie, one of the best dancers, in Omaha, at the height of my career, and that I had been part of the live entertainment on the stages in several nightclubs, from the near-dives, to the classiest ones around. Sometimes, it can all just seem to me like more of a fantasy, than a memory. Especially, since I am (mostly!) back to living as Deborah, since then, although, I still let Stevie out, to speak her mind, when I feel fed up with peoples' bull crap. There is both good and bad to being either one. Deborah or Stevie. A blend's best.

I also was getting 'regulars' now, who came in just to see, and sit with, me. There were some colorful characters! I hadn't really had any, at the Razzle Dazzle. I started getting them at the Backdoor, though. One was a short, heavyset, black guy, who wore a fedora and sunglasses (in this near-pitch dark bar!) with gold chains around his neck, and a suit on. He looked for all the world like some stereotypical pimp. He was a perfect gentleman to me; never trying to do more than put his hand on my leg (and I wore pantyhose rolled down at the waist and pinned into my my costume bottoms, so he was really just touching nylon. Not skin). The whole time we sat together, he kept folding one dollar after another, of a stack, he brought in with him, to come see me, and placing them one at a time, inside my costume top and bottom waistband. When there would be no more room for any more and/or I had to get up to do my next dance,   I had to pull all those out, and lock them in my locker, in the dressing room; then, he would fill my costume up, again! I don't really know what his deal was. Maybe he just wanted the other guys in there to think that he was some high roller, or big shot. As I've said in a previous post about my dancer days, everyone--- and I mean everyone--- who was in those bars had some angle, they wanted to bring to its best conclusion, if they could. Whatever it was, for them. At The Twenties, one big, protective, giant, of a guy, who went by the name, 'Snake'  (hopefully, just a nickname, and not what was on his birth certificate, from his parents!), was my regular, for awhile. He was covered, in tattoos, from head to foot. As much, as I could see, outside of his biker outfit. He was a perfect gentleman toward me, too. I felt safe, with him--- something that did not happen for me, with men, very often!--- and I loved to be able to actually relax, at work, by leaning myself back, against his chest, and just feeling his big, strong, arms, around me, as we watched the show on stage. He never tried to make a grab for me. Not even once.

He brought me a very confusing gift one night, though. Sometimes guys would give me actual presents. One had even brought me a turtleneck sweater from the Victoria's Secret catalog at Christmastime. A practical gift, to be sure, which I actually still have and wear, to this day. But, such an unusual present, to choose for a dancer. From that seller, especially! Perhaps he was just a very practical person and seeing me sitting in the club wearing only a very skimpy thong bikini, when there was snow piling up outside, caused him concern, that I might be cold (LOL). Anyway, 'Snake' brought me a Mickey Mouse watch, one evening! I truly did not know HOW to TAKE that gift!  'Snake' was SO SWEET, AND SO GENTLE, despite EVERYTHING, about his APPEARANCE (and, his NAME), but I just couldn't get past all that, and when I had to tell him that (as gently as I could, to try to let him down easy, rather than lead him on which he did not deserve from me), I never saw him again. Regulars, usually were regulars for a reason--- they REALLY like you and want a RELATIONSHIP with you; of some sort. Whenever the day came that, they felt, they had invested enough, of their time, tips, and tokens, trying, to win you over, they would make it clear to you exactly what their end game was. For me, since I still believed in love, and wanted that for myself, and didn't feel that, toward any of them, this usually was a conversation that led to their letdown, after which, I would never see them in the club again.  I was genuinely fond of some of these men I met in the nightclubs, though, and I did miss them, when they were gone. I just couldn't give them something with me, that I didn't feel, with them; and I respected them too much to play games with their head or heart by leading them on with false hope. I tried, to handle their hearts as carefully as I would want someone to handle mine, but it was difficult to do. There were so many men, and so few of us dancers, and the pressure on us could feel overwhelming as we sat with one guy after another that each, and all, wanted to get into our actual private lives, for whatever reason. It was easy, to tell those, that were just really jerks, to "Fuck off!", and be done with them, on the spot; but the nicer guys, that were so deeply appreciated, and cared about, by us dancers, because they treated us well, and did us no wrong, were alot harder to handle, because we had actually become really fond of them on some level. We just did not love them, or want them, or intend to sleep with them. Sometimes, trying to 'let them down easy', was impossible, to do! Hurt was going to happen. To good guys.

Every kind of man that you can imagine came in those clubs. Judges, lawyers, businessmen, cops--- both undercover, and off duty. College students, pimps, drug dealers, gang members, newspaper  reporters, TV and radio news anchors, Hollywood movie stars, bankers, dentists, pastors  (Yes, ministers!).  Shy, and awkward.  Outgoing, and rambunctious.  Quiet guys, and talkative guys. Handsome men. Homely men. Tall. Short. Older, younger. Single; and married. Civilian. Military. White, Black, Latino, Asian, Indian. Any, and all, males, that you can think of! Some were horny.  Some, were lonely. Some were misogynists.  Some, thought women were actual goddesses, on Earth. Some were bitter. Some were sad. Some, were grown ups, while others, were extremely immature.  Some were stoned. Some were sober.  Some smoked and some drank. Some, did both, while others, didn't do either. Some were polite, and some were rude. Some were alot of fun, and some were really boring. Some were so sweet! Some, were game players, liars, or real assholes. Some were sane but some were most definitely not!  As dancers, we had to go up to any and every guy, that came in to these clubs, and try to sit and talk with them, to sell drinks for the bar and try to show them a fun evening in the club so they would want to be regular customers. That is why, I have said, after logging so many hours, of conversations, and interactions, with this vast array of men, who covered the entire spectrum of male personality types, and behaviors, that I earned my unofficial PhD in Male Psychology. However, whenever I encountered a guy, that turned out to, truly, not be sane, it really scared me! Some of the men that came into the nightclubs were definitely mentally ill, which could be dangerous. I even ended up marrying one of those! I refer to him as a Son of Satan. There is, still, a great deal more, to tell, here in my blog, about my years, and experiences, as a dancer.

 * Manspread - Manspreading definition is the act or practice by a man of sitting with the legs spread wide apart. "What does it mean when a man spreads his legs? Leg spreading, according to human behaviour expert Vanessa Van Edwards: any time a man tries to spread himself out to make room for their genitalia he's giving you the come on. ..."

** Hitch has several meanings. However, in the expression: “hitch in your get-along” Or “hitch in your gitalong” Or “hitch in your giddyup” (note, these mean the same thing.) “hitch” = a problem, an obstacle, an impediment, something that gets in your way. The expression comes from way back in the 1800’s, and was used in Western shows. When used about a woman's walk, however, it can often be a compliment, referring to the specific allure, of the way that a woman moves her body, as opposed to a man.

*** alluring - powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating; seductive.

**** (US, informal) Much, many, a lot of. Example: That costs beaucoup bucks!

Additional Background Information About Becoming/Being An Exotic Dancer In The Nightclubs:

Cristina Villegas: Showing how to audition at a strip club (11:05 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGJNWmsJAWw

A dancer posted an accurate VLOG "A Night With Me At The Strip Club", showing exactly what a dancer's life is like, including going to work, preparing to go on stage in the dressing room, being on stage, how dancers interact with one another, and more. This is the real deal. This is what it is like behind the scenes. (26:04 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MIhwl59OwY

Liv posted a VLOG showing what it's like behind the scenes including footage in the dressing room, a peek at the club DJ, dancer's counting their tips, etc. JUST HOW IT IS. (19:44 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrELrrMGV08

Bella describes what goes on when there's a slow night (= bad-to-no tips), an on-the-job injury, and other things about what life is like for a dancer, behind the scenes, who is really just a regular girl, with a life that is very separate from her job as a dancer in the bars. (9:08 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7emfLb1i-g

This video shows "Freestyle pole/floor work dance at strip club" and is the closest to exactly how the nightclubs looked (lighting, stage, and such) that I worked in as a dancer. It also shows a real interaction between the dancer on stage and a customer tipping her, who eventually slips the (typical, folded in half lengthwise) tip into her costume bottom. IMO she worked WAY too hard for that tip (should've gotten it from him sooner, and moved on for more tips). I HOPE it wasn't a ONE DOLLAR BILL after she put in TOO MUCH EFFORT to GET that tip. Sometimes, though, if it's a really slow night, in the club, this guy MIGHT be the ONLY CUSTOMER THERE. THEN, THIS makes sense, doing your whole dance, for him, because he might tip MORE, and he might ask you to come sit with him, when you come down from the stage, and buy drinks (dancers usually have to sell a nightly quota, of those), and possibly--- hopefully!--- TIP EVEN MORE, sitting with you at the table. Other girls are working, too, so if you can keep him interested in you, his wallet empties into your costume bottom, not into theirs. In some ways, it IS a COMPETITION. You're in there to MAKE YOUR LIVING, make some money, after all. It is what it is. (2:46 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfCWc8bzhGc

Lucia Lazebnaya is doing a pole dance, while wearing a costume very much like one I wore, including the over the knee, spike-heeled, boots (my boots did not have the large platform sole, though, that her boots do, which the vast majority of dancers now consider to be required dancer footwear. I wore basic heels, partly for better balance = for safety reasons. Platform shoes can be much more unsteady, especially when the heel is also very small, tall, and spiked.) She does some (but not all) of the moves that I did on stage, and her size/body shape are very similar to mine, also. This video is a very close approximation, on the whole, to what I looked like, up on stage. (4:05 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IT4WEFw72Qc

This 'Pole & Exotic Dance Freestyle' to "Voodoo" by Godsmack shows Heather West doing the exact style of dancing that the girls did in the clubs that I worked in. Of course, there were variations, to this, depending on each girl's personality (some were more shy, more sensuous, more subdued, more of an uninhibited exhibitionist, etc.), and her self-expression, creativity, talent, or skill, and even athletic ability. The costume bottoms, we wore, in the Omaha area nightclubs, were thongs, though, so both of our butt cheeks were completely visible, just not the butt crack itself, in between them. (4:54 Minutes Long)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaQ2pL7CyDM&has_verified=1

While I didn't travel the world as a Go Go Dancer, and some of these descriptions aren't exactly what dancing was like, for me, there are enough generalities, to how it was, that I wanted to include this article: "10 Things Go Go Dancers and Performers Want You to Know".  From the article: " . . . they do their best to bring a sense of fantasy and awe through visual entertainment. . . . While we may have things that we complain about, at the end of the night we get paid good money to do what we love." (http://thedepartmentofdance.com/2018/02/10-things-gogo-dancers-and-performers-want-you-to-know/)

And So, I Became A Dancer, On Broadway. And No, I Do NOT Mean THAT Broadway!

I had first met my feisty friend, Debbie, while in the Certified Nursing Assistant program that we graduated from, together, at the local community college. We were the top two students, in our class, and I had just barely beat her out as the Honor Graduate, by my pulling off a 4.0 GPA to achieve that. Although we went our separate ways, after graduation, due to our finding work in different medical facilities from one other, we had remained friends over the years. My being a CNA had eventually injured my lower back due to doing all the patient lifting, which had begun to be an ever-increasing problem, as I needed to work full-time to be able to support myself in what was then a barely-above-minimum-wage job. Now, not only was I losing work hours due to having to recover each time my back went out but the pain and weakness in my lower back also prevented me from being able to fully and safely perform all of my nursing duties with the patients, on the medical/surgical hospital floor that I worked on. This type of injury happens to many people in this career field. With my tall, slender frame at 5'9" and 128 pounds I suppose that it was surprising it hadn't become bad enough to end my medical career sooner than this.

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. 

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.

Mickey's RAZZLE DAZZLE, on Broadway, in Council Bluffs, Iowa