Clear Heels ....... A Stripper's Memoirs

Chapter Two

CLEAR HEELS


BY ALISHA ADAMS








CHAPTER TWO


I am on the concrete, NY is dreary, it rained today and the city is gray. I am fuming mad, furious. I left the club totally disgusted with management, and myself because I believed that what I did with Bob is what really happens in the VIP rooms. I did not believe that I had done anything different than the other girls. I did not understand why I was being singled out. What did I do to Jerry to make him turn on me? I cooperated; I did not even fucking look at him! Did I not have the game figured out yet? I searched my brain over and over and over again for where I had made my mistake. Why was I out now without a job with less than twenty dollars in my pocket? High all weekend, rich in cash, only to have a fucked up grey Monday. Alone in the city wandering aimlessly and wondering what I would do next. I was hooked! I liken it to a drug, and I had run out. My dealer was gone and I needed another fix quick. Money was my drug and I had to get more.


I got on the train, buying a God-dammed subway token, going back to Queens empty handed. I sat on the train still searching for my mistake. The only mistake I could come up with was forgetting my sandwich. I paid eleven bucks for it, my appetite was starting to come back and my funds were low. I knew nothing about this business. I had planned to learn it all there. Now I am out and addicted. As the train pulled into my station I picked up my bag wanting to cry, needing to sob, pulling it in, holding it back, walking up the stairs when I felt no one was looking I sobbed and wiped a tear, then putting my game face back on. Going back and forth from crying to mad back to crying again. What was I going to do? I was hooked. I got inside my apartment locked the door and nothing seemed the same. I was robbed, disrespected. A nasty guy basically raped me for a price I thought I had paid. Being betrayed and ratted on, told on, in this way infuriated me. I kept seeing his face. I kept going over in my mind what I coulda, woulda, shoulda done. I wished I had kneed him in the balls and left! At least I would have left with my dignity.I was pissed at myself for not ratting on the bouncer as well, but would it have done any good? Would the manager had believed me. Maybe he already knew. I felt like an idiot. I imagined him grinning and feeling self assured and confident, or both of them laughing at me after I left. My imagination and anger danced with each other.


I picked up the newspaper on my way home. I found the adult section towards the back, I found several ads, I had never noticed these ads before as many times as I had cruised the classified section. Ads read ~DANCERS WANTED~ Night shift great tips. Another said WE WANT YOU!! Exotic dancers wanted immediately, START TONIGHT. I read maybe ten ads then one in particular stood out to me. LOOKING FOR NEW FACES! $1000 + a week !! Club Gunther’s is now hiring dancers and barmaids for evening shifts. Flexible hours and Great pay. Apply in person 48th St and Queens Blvd. I could not believe it!! I live on 48th St and Queens Blvd. I never noticed a strip club in this area. This club is on the corner? Had to be a mistake. I dropped the paper and ran off to the bathroom to freshen my face. I looked frazzled and my day’s makeup was splotchy and undone. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and reapplied my makeup for evening. I re-affixed my wig, squeezed into my favorite pair of black jeans, and hurried out the door. Though the day was still cloudy I had a new feeling of hope. As I approached the corner the club’s sign came into view. I was stunned to see it there. I felt embarrassed that I had been walking by this building for the past two years to a nine dollar an hour job never realizing that the women behind this black door were making one thousand plus dollars a week. Well, better late than never, I told myself as I placed my hand on the door handle and swung that big black door open.


My first reaction was this isn’t a club it’s a bar. Inside it was much smaller than I expected. Topless babes came into view immediately. The bar was a perfect square; the stage was also a perfect square, within the square. The stage was elevated behind the barmaids . Girl’s knees were at the barmaid’s eye level. Its just six pm and I see ten customers around the bar. All bottle beer except one guy with a glass, clear liquid and a lemon floating. I assume vodka or gin is his poison. With no Gestapo type penguin suit at the door I walked straight in and approached the bar. The barmaid offered me a huge smile and said,


“Hi, can I help you”? Finally a friendly face, I had such a bad day and really needed her smile,


“Hi, I am here to apply for a dancer’s position”.


“Oh Good! Go through that door sweetie and down the stairs. At the bottom and straight ahead you’ll see the office. Eddie will be sitting there behind the desk. He will tell you everything you need to know.”


“Sweet, Thank you so much”. I raised crossed fingers up to her, showing my excitement and willingness to work there. She smiled big at me and I began really hoping I would get the job. Empty handed with only my identification in my back pocket the stairs were an easy decent. Plenty of light and the office was just as she said. I saw a humongous guy sitting behind the desk. Humongous I mean four hundred pounds plus. I can not remember ever meeting anyone that overweight in my entire life.


“Hi Eddie”? I said from the threshold of his office.


“That’s me doll face, come on in”. I was all smiles and he was a chipper guy. Whew.


“Hi Eddie, I want to dance here so how ‘bout it.”. He looked up at me and grinned,


“No argument from me young lady. When do you want to start? Tonight?”


“How about tomorrow night”? Ha, hell yea! I am in!


“Have you ever been here before”? He looked at me a little harder.


“No, Eddie baby, but I live right around the corner. I have been stalking your establishments for months”.


We were hitting it off great and I knew I had a new home. We went over the details, while I filled out the application. Girls arrive between 7:30 and 8:30 pm and the last customer is out by 3:50 am. All the girls leave together. All girls are on stage thirty minutes and off stage for thirty minutes, rotating on and off in ten minute intervals. A set of three girls on stage, at all times. The thirty minutes off stage can be used anyway you like, except you cannot leave the building. Most girls sit with the customers and have cocktails and socialize. The customers compensate us by tipping generously while we are on stage. No champagne rooms no table dances. All dances are performed on stage. No physical contact with the customers at all while topless. When receiving a tip we have to come down from the stage and approach the guy from behind the bar. Be courteous of the bartender that is her workspace. Take the tip turn around, do a quick little booty show dance and get back up on the stage. No dancing while sitting or laying on the stage floor, no pubic hair flashing, no touching of the genitals. …. unless in his office or in the dressing room. I laughed at his simple little joke but wondered if he was serious.


No champagne rooms? Well that suited me just fine, I was secretly happy to hear it, but wondered how in the world these girls made 1000+ a week.


“Adding you to the schedule for tomorrow, your stage time will be ten after the hour all night. Meaning be here and be upstairs at the bar ready and waiting to go up by five after eight and every hour till three am. Oh and one more thing, your pay is sixty dollars per night, I will schedule you for Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday, and one Sunday a month, how’s that”?


I was thrilled, “Sounds great Eddie, I really look forward to working with you.”


“Oh you’re not working with me, you’re working with them upstairs. Could you imagine me in a G-string”? we chuckled and I was home.


I ran up those stairs two at a time and was happy as shit when I reached the top. I smiled at the bartender, giving her the thumbs up.


“I will see you tomorrow” I mouthed slowly so she could hear me without hearing me.


I pushed open the door and night had fallen upon my neighborhood. My mind was racing and I could not wait to get in my apartment to smoke a joint and fantasize about tomorrow. Relief was the overwhelming feeling. I was also euphoric and quite satisfied with myself. I charmed him and felt sure he would be a better boss than boss #1. The air outside was cool. Outdoors in Queens New York usually smells like food. Tonight I smelt McDonalds French fries. My stomach was empty yet I was too excited to eat just yet.


I arrived twenty minutes before my stage time. My makeup was done and my wig was fastened securely. Lots of black girls in the business wore wigs but I could always tell it was a wig. The guys did not know but it was hideous to me when girls wore wigs that looked like wigs. I was very careful to choose wigs that resembled hair I might truly have grown. My wig was long and curly down my back. It looked real to me and many of the girls complemented me on having beautiful hair. Because I am biracial many girls and guys were confused about my nationality. That was always the second or third question posed to me on a new introduction,


“So, what nationality are you?” mostly to follow would be there assumptive and incorrect guess,


“Latina?”


I was always proud to represent for the black girls and ALWAYS told the truth, often to my own detriment.


The girls were pleasant; I met a Chelsea, a Dominique, Heather, and a Gabrielle. All these girls were special in their own way and I would do well to make a friend of any or all of them. This dressing room was very nice. The same typical lighted dressing room mirrors with ashtrays and empty drink glasses. Napkins with scribbles, some crumbled up with men’s phone numbers on them. No lockers though. With ten dressing tables there was enough space to pick a table and mirror and claim it for the night.


I spoke up, “No lockers ladies?”


Gabrielle said, “ no need, see that camera right there?”


Sure enough there was a camera up above in the right corner that was panning out left to right very slowly and capturing every move we made.


“Very cool” I said, liking the idea that I could just claim a spot and it was being monitored by Gunter surveillance. No keys needed.


Chelsea chimed in, “Yes it’s a good and bad thing. Nothing will be stolen but nothing is a secret either.”


“Are we wired for sound too?”


“Oh yea!” They cackled out simultaneously.


“Just like I said, no secrets at Gunter’s.”


This club had a homey feel to it and the girls were all seemingly eager to make me feel at home. A huge change from where I had come from and I had high hopes of settling in. Going up on the stage, I was nervous at first and all eyes were on me. I assume the girls were all checking me out to see what stage skills I had and if I was going to be competition or not. I smiled and whirled around the pole. The customers seem to take extra notice. It was a small place and anyone could see me from every corner. The tips started pouring in. I received tips from the other dancers as well. Like a welcome wagon they all offered up their dollars and my nervousness vanished in a flash. Thirty minutes went by quickly and I was sweaty and pumped. When my last song ended I scooped up all my cash and headed straight for the dressing room. Two girls followed right behind me with big smiles.


“Hey summer, you did great”.


“Thank you guys” I said sincerely, “I really appreciate the support and your tips” !


In the dressing room I counted fifty five dollars. A great start for my first hour and I began counting up what I might make by the end of the night. I had a new home, maybe even some new friends and I was happy as a lark.


Gallaghers had a homely feel and added with its convenience to home I loved it there. Nights turned into weeks and weeks into months. Weeks netted me between a thousand and fifteen hundred and I stabilized and finally had some financial, security. We were a family, I looked forward to work and never thought of leaving. One night, it was a typical Saturday, and I was on stage. Everything seemed normal. Suddenly Gabriella exploded through the door that lead down to our dressing room with screams on her lips and tears in her eyes. She was panicked. The music played on and she tried desperately to speak. Several customers ran to her, holding her up and wanting to help her. She could only point back towards the door in horror. As I jumped down from the stage my mind raced. Was it a burglar downstairs or maybe a big city rat. In a split second our peace was shattered. Other customers had already approached the door and opened it. Their faces showed the same grief as Gabby’s. The music stopped and customers began descending down. Calls for an ambulance echoed up the stairs. When I finally got my own glance I saw a pair of feet on the bottom step. It was Eddie!! On his back, eyes wide. He was gone. Panic was my first reaction. Oh No! Oh God! Wild blinking did not erase the facts my eyes saw. We all knew he was over weight but none of us considered his eminent death a reality. We loved him. He was a great man to work for and he loved us too. He did not judge us, he was one of us. He treated us like women, not like property. He kept out the riff raff and he made this a home for all his employees. We were devastated. Paramedics arrived but there was no hope. The coroner arrived thirty minutes later and they struggled bringing his lifeless body up a flight of stairs. We cried when they put him in the ambulance. I had a triple shot of vodka and went home by myself. My thoughts were of his family and how unexpected and unprepared we are for death. I cried myself to sleep. The funeral was uneventful, but crowded. Many people came to show their respects. Gunter’s had been closed for five days in remembrance of Eddie. Flowers and teddy bears were placed at the doorway of the club. There was a definite ache: We missed him.


All the dancers were offered a job at our sister club in Corona. Most accepted. This club was five times larger than where we had come from. This area of Queens was remote and Gunter’s II was as competitive as the first place I worked in Manhattan. These girls resented our arrival. They did not know Eddie. They did not care about what brought us there and they surely snubbed their noses at us. Corona was impossible to reach by public transportation. I was back to taking cabs but not because I could afford it. My set schedule changed. The bonds created at G1 were now broken and we reassembled ourselves with these new women who were a lot more rigid than what I had grown to appreciate at G1. It was not all bad. There was an allure of this bigger club with it’s two good sized stages. There were seven women on stage at all times. Friday and Saturday nights were always filled to capacity and we did have many fun times. I drank heavier at this place, a lot heavier. I was covering my insecurities. Liquid courage I heard it called. With this new elite set of dancers I was challenged to look better and dance better. I spent thousands of dollars on stage outfits and five inch heels, wigs, fingernails, eyelashes and jewelry. I bought razors and shaving cream in bulk and did everything I knew to compete and collect those dollars as well as any other girl.


It was not long before I had my first true “regular”. His name was Ron. He was at the club every night that I worked. Every night he spent at least a hundred dollars. That was not considered a lot of money but on a consistent basis it certainly added up. Ron did not talk much about his life. He avoided my superficial concern and always kept the conversation about me. We drank a lot together, looking back, I realize Ron had his own pains he was covering. He was shocked to hear that I had never seen a Broadway play. I should have been shocked too but I was an inner city kid lacking any culture or artistic interest. Ron surprised me one night with an offer to see the musical Cats. Interesting, but he would be my date. I’d known him for five or so weeks and sized him up as harmless. I agreed to be his date. I gave him my address, I was reluctant to but he had worked hard to get me, I felt he deserved this small piece of intimate knowledge. When he arrived I was horrified. He did bring me flowers and a big bag of marijuana, but he was wearing the ugliest out of date too small suit you could imagine! The suit was brown polyester. The suit was fucking joke and I was a wreck inside. I could imagine people’s stares, looking at us as we walked in, assuming that he had paid for my time. I did go to the play with him but I was so uncomfortable I could not enjoy the show at all. When it was over and the lights came on I wanted to bolt out of the theater and into the dark of night where no one would notice us. He wanted to hold my hand and walk slowly. It was excruciating for me. I believe that was one of my most shallow and immature moments of my life. We waited several minutes for a cab and when we finally got one I shrank into the backseat quickly. He never had a clue. He was as happy as any idiot could be. All he cared about was that I was his date and that he must have appeared to be the luckiest guy in the world to others who saw us. When we approached my apartment I encouraged him to keep the cab and continue home. He insisted on walking me to my door. As if it was a real date. As if he was not somehow paying for my time. As if I actually liked him and would in reality want to be his girlfriend. At my door he was still forcing us to hold hands. I was kind and gentle with him but I was not going to tongue kiss him! I kissed him on the cheek, thanked him for an exciting show, and quickly unlocked the door, jumping inside and locking it. I breathed and for the first time grinned. He was pathetic and I was glamorous. I decided I felt sorry for him. I called a friend and laughed with her about my evening.





I meet many characters at Gallaghers. After a few weeks, Ron’s attention became an annoyance. I began to dread seeing him. I would take his tips and after my stage set I would kill time in the dressing room with the girls to avoid spending my entire half hour break with him. He and I ran out of things to talk about. It was the same robotic hug and kiss. I would take a stool at the bar next to him and he would with his right hand sip his drink, light my cigarette, and then place his hand on my left knee under the bar and squeeze. Then cut his eye towards me with that silly sneaky grin on his face as if we were getting away with something. His insecurities I sensed constantly and they bored me. I told myself to be grateful, grin and bare it, but some days were harder than others. I got accustomed to being faker around him as long as I benefited. He mentioned to me one night at the club that he had a new Ikea credit card and I fawned on him while telling him “I love that store”! He told me we would go, and sure enough he picked me up early one Sunday morning and we drove to Jersey. I put twenty five hundred dollars on his card and he paid three hundred in cash. It was getting too easy to use him. After shopping I allowed Ron to load all the new things into my place AND put all the shit together. He and I smoked some weed and I feed him a home cooked meal. He supplied me with plenty of weed. So much that I had three ounces in my freezer. I never cared how he afforded all the things he gave me. He was married and worked on commercial air conditioning systems. He was respectable, basically harmless. The only harm I felt was the pain of boredom and the necessity to perform. When Ron completed the construction of my new furniture I suddenly tired and needed to be alone. At the door he did ask for a kiss. I felt sorry for him. I smiled gently and kissed him softly on the lips. He could not mask his glee. His eyes brightened and at that moment he got his twenty eight hundred dollars worth of attention. It is crazy to me how intimately deprived human beings feel. I felt sad for him. Not sad enough to push him away however. Why shouldn’t I receive the gifts he enjoys giving me? He felt pleasure when I thanked him; why shouldn’t I give him such moments?





I met another winner. Though I can not remember this guys name he was memorable. Let’s call him Steve. Steve was in a great mood when he motioned for me to come get his tip. He was in tan slacks and light blue shirt and the classic navy blazer with loafers. He had a great smile and I felt a connection. I took the twenty dollar tip when most were giving their obligatory single dollar. I promised him I would join him after my set for a cocktail. He was fun and easy to talk to at first. We did a few shots of tequila and quickly hit it off. My next set on stage he gave me a twenty dollar bill three separate times. Ron, of course was there so during the last song of my set his favorite bartender showered me with two hundred dollars in singles. Holding the stack of one dollar bills, the bartender shuffles the singles of the top of the stack onto the stage at my feet. A two hundred dollar shower of money always draws attention. I smiled graciously and acknowledged Ron by winking at him and blowing him a kiss.


When my set was over I used a champagne bucket to cram all my tips into. I moved quickly to the dressing room, smiling and gracious. I locked up my bucket of tips in my locker after a quick makeup touch up. I had no time now to stack my money so it would wait till later. I quickly freshened my face and wiped sweat from my skin all over, Victoria secret body spray and I was immediately back on the club floor. I found Steve first and I pleaded with him not to leave while I spent a little time with the “other” guy. He obliged saying he was having a drink with Loren. Loren was known for having been paid five thousand dollars to give a guy head here in the club at some vip tables we have near the satellite stage. I did not actually believe the story but unfortunately it is what I thought of any time someone mentioned her.


“Fine, do enjoy Loren’s company but do not fall in love” I said winking and pinching his arm.


I ran off to find Ron on his usual stool looking like his usual self. He kissed me right on the lips which normally would make me uncomfortable, however, his thin lips were poked out so much, and his eyes were closed; he looked like a little boy anticipating his first kiss. He looked so pathetic that he was funny. To make him seem normal to others that were watching, I smiled, closed my eyes, and puckered up too, exaggerating the motion. Giggling with him; instead of at him.


On stage in front of us was a dancer named Chloe. Chloe was NOT cute at all. She was older and you could see it. I am guessing she was thirty-five, which is pretty fucking old for a dancer. She had an athletic body. I took her for being a mid west chick whose parents own a horse farm or raise chickens or both. Very boring looking but Chloe could do amazing things on that pole. I loved watching her. She never spoke to me, or me to her, but I admired her. The men loved her. She was mesmerizing. She was so strong. She did fantastic pole tricks. She was awesome to watch and everyone knew she was the best. She didn’t have to be beautiful. She noticed Ron and I admiring her. I offered up an extra smile to her and five singles I took from Ron‘s stack of money aside his drink., She always made great tips and she deserved them. I noticed Steven and Loren seemingly having a nice time too. Turning back to Ron, who I viewed now as an intrusion. His tips are nice but I want to meet other people. I caught Steven’s eye and smiled. Coyly I asked,


“So what time are you turning in tonight”?


He was definitely getting intoxicated. I used that to send him home.


“Honey, you should go soon. You are driving. I worry about you”.


“I know you do babe”. He slurred


“Will you call me when you get home so I know you are safe”?


He agrees and I walk him to the door. He will be fine. A quick visit to the mirror in the dressing room and off to spend some time with Steven. I saw him still sitting with Loren. As I approached them she was kissing him goodbye. Bravo! Great timing. I slid into the seat next to him and he immediately called for the bartender. Alcohol consumption is a given. We were expected to drink. If he’s drunk and a fool I should be drunk and a fool too. So I always obliged.


“Vodka Cran please”


We talked and drank and talked and drank. I had two more sets before the end of the night. My first set I danced while the room spun. Not sure how I made it but I even collected a hundred and fifty in tips for my thirty minute set. I was recently in awe of my own self. It was an excessive amount of compensation for letting drunk guys see my tits. Drinking and working is delicate, and for me, it’s considerably daunting. Though the more I drank the more I made because I became a warm-outgoing-spunky-fun-loving gal. I begun to understand my strengths. I knew how to make them feel better about themselves. This guy Steven seemed so “normal”. During the break before my last set we are sitting together and I am pretty lit. Out of no where this guy whips out a stack of Polaroid pictures, maybe twenty-five of them. Of course without hesitation and with complete naivety I grab the pictures up to delve into his crazy secrets. Little did I know that this guy was quite the sexual enthusiast! The pictures were shocking to me, but I managed a wink at him to mask my interior knots. In the photos he was wearing leather chaps with thorny rose stems tightly spun around his penis. He was in a damn wig! He was wearing lipstick that looked intentionally smeared. The pictures were graphic. Close ups of his swollen red member. I was feeling sickened and fascinated. Why in the hell would someone be so proud of photographs like these that he carries them around and shares them with other people? A whole sexual subculture existed that I knew nothing about. I was fascinated but my mood turned bad quickly because of the alcohol. I gave him his pictures back and excused myself immediately after seeing the last picture in the stack. The images and the buzz swept me off to the dressing room. I had a few minutes before my last set and I was not having a good night. I was sitting in front of a mirror and I began to cry. I was feeling dirty for the first time since Penguin suit. I cried and moaned; most of the chicks ignored me. Suddenly Chloe slams her hand on the table in front of me and belts,


“What the fuck is wrong with you girl”?!


“This job sucks”! sobbing, “why the fuck do we do this shit”? More sobbing, “Get me another damn drink”


Laughter is in the background. Girls are listening to me. I try to stop crying but I cant. I looked right at Chloe and I said “ I had a guy tonight show me some really sick photos! The world has all gone fucking crazy”!


“Pull your fucking self together bitch! What the fuck do you think we do here? This aint fuckin’ daycare! Get your ass out there on that floor and be whatever the fuck he wants you to be and take every damn dollar in his pocket for your time, , and consideration! The money is for you to enjoy because you put up with their crazy shit. If you can not deal with it, give the money back” !


She lightened up a bit because I offered no argument.


“Girl you have to suck it up. Grow some skin. This place is full of all types. He wont be your last odd ball. Get with it.”


She turned around and walked straight out the door. She was done for the night and she had said her piece. Looking back, that was great advice, she was right. There was no room in this world of sexual erotic nightlife for maternal sensitivity. Those pictures are only the tip of the iceberg leading into a vast world of submission and dominance that I had only limited experience with, as I will tell you about in a later chapter. My last set lasted only 15 minutes and all the customers were out. I was ready to go. Jeans and a taxi. I accidentally left a jewelry box in the dressing room that night. Accidentally or drunkenly. It was never turned in. Had my mom’s wedding ring in it.