Sneak Peek #2 "Dancing Into Deliverance"

The Call (PG - Do not read if easily offended.)

I was back in Mississippi for a family event, when my mom’s phone rang. She answered it and then handed the phone to me. I was taken aback to find a collection agent on the other end of the line.

When my husband and I separated, I moved out of our apartment and moved in with some new girlfriends. I was told by him that he paid off the lease. Apparently, that was another lie.

The collection agent informed me I was in default on the lease and told me of all the credit repercussions that were about to befall me. I argued that my ex had paid off the lease. She argued that he had not. Judging from his past, it was more likely that she was right and I was wrong. She let me know she had tried contacting him and he basically just did not care about his credit and was not going to pay. So, the debt fell on my shoulders and on my credit score…about which I DID care. I asked her if we could meet when I got back to Denver and she agreed.

That was the icing on the cake the stripper would ultimately jump out of. There was just no way I could pay off what was owed on the lease, along with the credit card debt, with what I was making at the restaurant. When I returned to Denver, I made an appointment for an audition.

Denver had both topless and full nude clubs so I chose a topless club to audition at since it didn’t seem as invasive or…well…icky. Were the poles cleaned after each set? I didn’t know.

I met with the collection agent and we went over my bills versus my income. The bills were significantly higher than the money coming in, but I told her exactly what my plan was and that I had an audition that Thursday. If I got the job, I should be able to make monthly payments toward the debt. She was kind enough to agree to wait and see what would happen.

Before going into the club, I had decided I must have rules for myself regarding this new adventure:

1. I would not drink alcohol there for at least 6 months. I had to be sure this was something I could do without any assistance from any type of fake courage enhancer.

2. I would be fully aware that at least 99% of everything I heard there was most likely BS.

3. I would never do drugs!

4. I would never date anyone I met there.

I was nervous walking up the steps to the stage, but that quickly faded as Seduction gained access to me and took over. I felt beautiful, admired, wanted…appreciated. Monetarily appreciated. All of it was new.

I was hired and started off working a few days a week. Surprisingly, even working the day shift at the club was much more lucrative than the restaurant job and I was able to strike a deal with my collection agent. During the time I was paying off the lease, she would check in here and there. I initially thought I was in trouble when she would do this.

She called unexpectedly once and I asked, “Did I forget to make a payment?” Her response, “No, I’m just having a really tough day and you’re the only client who’s nice to me. I just needed to talk to a nice person, for once.” My heart warmed as I had never really thought about just how hard her job must have been. It was then that I began looking forward to my collection agent calls.

This was taken about a year after I left the club. I’m still trying to find pics from that era. I didn’t like having my picture taken back then and regret that now.

Stories from the Club (part 1)

I think I was too naïve to be intimidated by the other women at the club. Each of them was absolutely gorgeous and they all had beautiful hearts. Some of those hearts were hidden by pretty big walls as most of us had been extremely damaged in one way or another. Obviously, we all had daddy issues, or we would not have been there. The really good fathers teach their daughters their true value and worth and it has nothing to do with their bodies. We did not have those dads.

I started out working the day shift and the other girls were more welcoming than I would have imagined. I remember Franchesca, absolutely stunning with bangs and long, straight, dark hair cascading down her back, asking me why I decided to work there. When I told her why and the amount of debt I was trying to get out of, she laughed. “You’ll get that debt taken care of quickly, here.”

The women were more supportive and encouraging than you might imagine. I thought they would be catty, hostile, and mean. Not at all. They were quick to offer advice and helpful tips, and even friendship. From what I could tell, most of us had at least two areas of common ground that brought us there…severe financial issues and severe daddy issues. It was easy to bond and, to this day, I am still friends with some of them.

Sonnet is one of those, who has remained an incredible friend and someone I could not have done life without. Sonnet was one of the night dancers and her locker was directly across from mine. I didn’t see her much, at first. However, I was quickly “promoted” from the day shift to the night shift. As such, Sonnet and I ended up bumping into each other a lot. Literally.

I had not bumped into her in some time and hadn’t thought much of it until I ran into her in the bathroom at I-Beam, a normal dance club where you wear clothes, in Denver back in the early ‘90s. Upon seeing me, Sonnet greeted me with, “Look at my new boobs!” and lifted up her shirt to show off her newest acquisition. What a strange, new world I was in where that was an acceptable greeting, but it was the beginning of one of the most valuable relationships I’ve had throughout life.

Sonnet and I sometimes worked as a team and our best money wasn’t made from dancing on stage together. It was from this little bit of ridiculousness, when we would sit and talk with the patrons. We would temporarily forgo our stage names and replace them with “Candy and Bubbles” with the tagline of “She tastes sweet and I go ‘POP!’” It was stupid. Absolutely ridiculous, and the guys would eat it up. (Yes, the pun was intended.)

Sonnet is pretty sharp and she and I had a way of subtly making fun of the guys we would talk to, that left them ripped to shreds…in a way that somehow paid off. It was bizarre! The more we ridiculed them, the more money they gave us, calling us “witty” and “feisty.” I doubt I will ever understand why, but it worked.

There were a lot of things about the psychology behind that job that was astoundingly incomprehensible. For example, how on earth was a 3 minute table dance worth $20? How? Why? This was early 1990’s money, too. A full tank of gas didn’t even cost that much. It wasn’t even a lap dance…this was just a table dance where you had to remain at least an arm’s length apart. Fortunately, at the time, lap dances were illegal in Colorado, or at least in the city where this club was located.

For a stripper, I was something of a prude, I guess. I refused to do anything illegal and most, not all, of the girls were pretty good about protecting each other in the same way. If one of us broke the rules, it put the others in danger of having the guys expect the same from them. The guys had no problem lying about this, though. On several occasions, I would be performing a table dance, when the guy would let me know it was okay to “accidentally” let a boob brush up against him. This never worked! Stupid!

Me: “No, thank you!”

Dude: “Well, (insert stripper name) does it all the time.”

Me: “Well, in that case, you should probably have her dance for you next.”

They never moved on to whoever they had just mentioned and I never did what was requested. On top of that, almost every single one of “those guys” went on to pay me yet another $20 for another dance. Quite often, I would tell said stripper what the client had said about her. Almost, inevitably, I would learn that the same client would try that trick with every one of the girls he would ask to dance for him. No, I am not just talking about one guy. Many thought we were either that dumb or that desperate.

The guys at the club couldn’t see who was really taking their money. They brought Lust into the club with them. Seduction welcomed Lust and Lust ran after Seduction. Co-conspirators in Satan’s plot to steal, kill, and destroy.

The Frat Boys and Bachelor Party Boys who came in were mostly pretty normal guys. Our regulars were a different story. A sad story. Many of them were really kind-hearted men who were just socially awkward in one way or another. So much so, that it seemed like they were paying us to be their friends. I’d be surprised if any of them had friends outside of the club. If they did, they certainly never brought them inside.

Three in particular come to mind. James was one of the sweetest guys you could ever possibly meet. However, he was morbidly obese and flat out told me no one wanted to hang out with him because of it. I can still picture the huge scar along the side of his neck from thyroid surgery that was supposed to help with his obesity. It didn’t. James would sit at the bar all day, but I can’t recall him ever being drunk. He made sure to tip each dancer throughout the day and he was always great for a conversation and a drink when it was slow.

Around Christmas, one year, James was making sure he tipped each dancer $20 as they made the circuit to the stage closest to the bar at which he was sitting. I had been hanging out with him as he did this. As I stepped onto that stage, I saw the dancer before me had accidentally left her Christmas $20 behind. After my set, I found the girl. She was not someone I readily recognized. I handed her the bill, told her it had come from James, and that she had left it behind on stage. Her response was incredulous and filled with gratitude. “Oh my goodness!! Thank you so much! I promise I will NEVER steal from you!”

“Sweet!” I thought, laughing on the inside. How do you even respond to that?

I hope she thanked James. His life there made me feel sad. It seemed like the club was all he had. What kind of life is that? Paying for friends and paying for conversation…

If you would like to help get my book, “Dancing into Deliverance; From Slut Bucks to Slaying Demons” published, you can do that