Diana was always running late, and this evening was no exception. At first, I didn’t think that she was coming, but she finally showed up. The Ruby Garter club was about thirty-five miles away from where I was living. Before I knew it, we had arrived at my future place of employment. The fact that I was about to enter the building that I had seen so many times before seemed almost surreal.
Not knowing what to expect, we parked as close as we could to the front of the building. Diana and I walked through the large, gravel parking lot toward the club. Four weather-beaten concrete steps led up to a pair of huge glass doors that were covered with life-sized photographs of scantily clad women dressed in wicked looking black leather ensembles. I pulled open one of the large glass doors. We walked into the foyer. The inside of the building was a lot bigger than I had imagined and resembled a movie theater. We were immediately approached by a tall, middle-aged man, clad in a beige leisure suit. The slender stranger smiled at us, revealing a perfect set of napkin white teeth. He asked us if he could be of some help. I nodded my head yes. Diana remained silent while I did all the talking. I told the man that I was looking to speak to the manager in regards to employment. He asked me if I was a dancer. I answered, “Yes.” The man extended his long slender hand to shake mine. “I’m the manager here,” he said. I noticed that his handshake was somewhat lingering. “My name is Casey.” An insincere smile graced his face. I introduced myself as “Sathen Black,” which I had intended to use as my stage name. Sathen was the name of a witches cat, that was burned at the stake with its owner in the mid 1600s.
The manager asked me to come into his office for an interview and politely requested that my girlfriend wait for me at the bar. As we walked to the office, Casey rambled on incessantly about the Ruby Garter club claiming that it was the most infamous strip club in the Chicagoland area. “Do you want to know why this club is such a success?” he asked me. Not really, I thought to myself. “It’s a success because I made it a success. That’s why.” I realized at this point that this man was on some type of a power trip. I wasn’t interested in or impressed with anything that he had to say. I just wanted a job.
His so called office was located in the lower level of the building down a dark claustrophobic hallway. As soon as we walked in, Casey flicked on the light and quickly closed the door behind us. The fact that he had locked the door made me feel extremely uncomfortable. The very first thing that I noticed about the office was that there was what seemed like two hundred nude photographs of naked women plastered all over the walls. I ordinarily wouldn’t have found the pictures offensive, nor would I have been shocked to see this type of material hanging up in the office of a strip club. The thing that concerned me though, was the fact that all the women’s heads and breasts had been deliberately cut from the photographs. I found this to be rather odd.
The manager invited me to sit down on a popsicle-pink colored love seat. Casey sat directly across from me on a red furry couch. He asked me a plethora of questions…my age, where was I from, where did I live, my marital status, and last but not least, my measurements. I answered all of his questions truthfully except for the one about my measurements. I lied and made up a number that I thought up just to get him off the subject.
Casey began to make small talk with me, but I managed to guide the conversation toward the topic of salary. He told me that the dancers made $75 a night plus commission. The word “commission” concerned me. When I asked my potential employer to explain how the commissions were earned and how much they would be, he became rather defensive. He skirted around the issue by insisting that the waitresses would explain it all to me on my first night of work. His answer aroused my suspicions. I got the distinct feeling that he was hiding something, but I let it slide. I figured that I would find out what was going on soon enough.
A few moments later, Casey asked me if I was prepared to audition. According to him auditions were mandated before any hiring decision could be made. I really hadn’t anticipated having to go up on a stage and strip that evening, but I agreed to the audition anyhow. Casey and I left the office and walked back upstairs. He led me down a small scarcely lit hallway that was reminiscent of a cave. Life sized black silhouettes of nude women were painted on the walls of the small corridor.
I could hear the sounds of women’s voices in the not so far distance. A carelessly hung red curtain covered a doorway that was at the end of the hall. Casey walked up to the red drape and pulled it aside. “Here’s the dressing room,” he announced. I have to admit that I was mortified at what I saw. I guess I was expecting to see some lavish dressing room with mirrors lit up with movie star lights and impressive vanities. Instead, I was introduced to a cold damp room, laden with cigarette smoke, and the smell of last week’s perfume. Approximately eighteen semi-nude women sat slumped around an old L-shaped formica counter that was utterly filthy and in a state of disrepair. The women were engaged in brazen conversations. Most of them were smoking cigarettes or putting on their makeup. The large mirrors that were mounted on the walls behind the formica counters were broken and cracked. Worn-out red carpet, taped up at the seams with silver duct tape, served as a host for a vast assortment of glitzy spiked heels, garbage, and liquor bottles. Dirty g-strings were strewn all over the floor. A dilapidated garment rack stood in the far corner of the room. Beneath it was a pile of dusty records. The manager instructed me to choose four songs from the pile of records and give them to the bartender.
“You’ve got to be totally nude by the fourth song,” he reminded me as he walked out of the dressing room. I could feel the eyes of all the dancers on me as I stooped down to sort through the pile of records.
“There’s more in that black garbage bag over there,” a very pretty auburn haired woman said. I had no intention of sifting through a garbage bag to look for records. I randomly grabbed four 45’s from the pile on the floor and quickly left the dressing room. I walked out to the bar and presented the bartender with the records that I had chosen. I noticed that the manager and Diana were sitting down at the far end of the bar engrossed in some sort of conversation. The entrance to the stage was located in the corner of the dressing room, hidden behind a pair of dusty pink velvet drapes. I returned to the dressing room after delivering the records to the bartender and stood behind the drapes anxiously waiting for my music to begin. A few minutes later, my music began to play.
Without hesitation, I pulled the heavy drape aside, walked up to the stage, and never looked back.
My performance went smoothly. Although I appeared to be calm, cool, and collected, inwardly I felt very sad. It bothered me to think that I was incapable of doing anything else for a living but strip. I wasn’t especially nervous nor did I connect the act with anything sexual. Choosing to become a stripper was a decision that I had made solely based on monetary gain, nothing else.
As soon as my audition was over, I put my clothes back on and walked over to the bar where Diana and the manager were sitting. “Great job,” Casey said, as he looked me up and down. “You have an extraordinary body,” he remarked. “Stick with me and you’ll make a lot of money,” he commented as he slid his sweaty hand lightly down my exposed outer thigh. I ignored his comment along with the unwelcome caress. I got right to the point, and asked him if I could start work the following night. Casey patted me on the behind and instructed me to be at the club the following evening by 7:00 p.m. I shook hands with my new employer and left.