The New York Doll (15 page)

Chapter 21

I remember that August for two very different reasons. First reason is the overwhelming feeling of freedom that made me wake up early every morning with a huge smile on my face, greeting the sun that was filling the whole apartment on the seventh floor, that I could call mine for the next two months. I remember how happy I was to finally put a mask on my face and take a nice bath with mineral salts and aroma candles that Mikky left for me, and not just a quick shower; how excited I was to discover that all stores, nail salons and a subway were all within a ten minute walk from my building. I could finally do whatever I wanted and no one would break into my house, like my aunt Anna used to love to do and make me clean my closet and organize my clothes the way she wanted them to be. No more nonsense $200 phone bills the proof to which I could never see on paper, no more cold water that couldn’t be fixed in months… I was finally free.

The reason number two was a very sad one. Aunt Anna was still holding my little baby Eliana as a hostage and would only give her to me in exchange to $1200 that I “owed” her. There wasn’t a minute for the entire week that I wouldn’t think of my little puppy; it was so empty in the apartment without her… The worst part was that I still had her food and her dishes and her potty pads, and it was all just standing there, bringing tears to my eyes every time I looked at it. R. was missing my little baby girl too, as she got very attached to her daddy, and he offered me money just to pay that bitch off and bring our little baby back. I didn’t want to do it for two reasons: first, I didn’t want to take it from him, and second, Anna didn’t deserve a penny from me, so we had to think of some alternative ways of how to get our puppy back. R. told me that he could ask his detective friend for help, so he would go to her house and make her return all the stuff she took from me. The problem with that was that knowing what a snake my aunt was and how she was capable of the meanest and lowest things when it comes to money, I was afraid that she would sell my puppy to someone else just to get her fucking twelve hundred. I didn’t care about the clothes at that point, or a digital camera that she borrowed from me and never gave it back, or my iPhone; all I was thinking of is the safety of my precious fur ball.

Finally, when I couldn’t stand the fact that I had no idea how was my Eliana doing without me, what aunt Anna was feeding her and if she was feeding her at all, I called Coconut and made him come to the club and bring me the money. Unlike R., from whom I still feel guilty accepting money for my needs, I felt absolutely fine stripping Coconut from all the cash he had on him. It’s funny how strippers divide men: I can’t ask him for money because I love him, but if it’s a customer who you don’t care about at all, he’d better be generous, or he’ll have to deal with such an attitude he has never seen in his life.

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The very next day I called aunt Anna and told her I’ve got the money for her. She sounded very happy about this news and told me that she’ll bring Eliana and my bags in a couple of hours. I was so nervous that I made myself a nice tall glass of Red Bull - vodka and prepared for the battle. I wanted to give her $800, since she still had my iPhone and my camera, but as soon as she pulled up next to my building and I saw her fake smiling face, I got so disgusted by her and by everything she’s done to me, that I decided to just pay this last price to buy my freedom and never have to talk to her again. I took my shivering puppy from her back seat, my suitcases from her trunk, stepped inside the cool hall and locked the door behind me. I’ve never seen her since then, and never spoke to her. One more person crossed forever out of my life, right after my father, Ari and Michael. And as the funny internet quote says, some people entered my life and made it great, and some walked out and made it fucking fantastic!

R. and I were finally enjoying our little family nest. Mikky didn’t have a TV, so we stayed up till five in the morning, having crazy kinky sex and just talking to each other. We were buying food at Stop & Shop right next to us and tried cooking, but when we both realized how hopeless I was, we started ordering in and going out again. R. had friends who owned restaurants, and several times a week, when I wasn’t working, we were just hanging out with them, drinking and having fun, as none of them would leave us till midnight.

We were taking walks on Emmons Ave, taking pictures of ourselves and gorgeous swans swimming in the canal. But this is pretty much where the peaceful part was over: R. loved putting me through all kinds of crazy situations that you can possibly imagine. He made me ride the Cyclone in Coney Island and after I thought that I would die if not from falling out, but from a heart attack for sure, he fed me with famous Nathans hot dogs, which made me feel much better. To make it up to me even more, R. went to the shooting ring and effortlessly won the first prize – a huge purple doggie with the cutest puppy eyes; to my question where did he learn how to shoot that well, R. just gave me one of his winks which made me laugh. I didn’t want to know! When we would drink with his friends and he would drive like a maniac, doing 90 on the Verrazano Bridge, and we would get pulled over by the cops, he had so many shields and cards, that they would always let us go, saying: “Just try to drive carefully, sir”.

- I’m on the both sides of the tracks, - my crazy R. would smile at me after I asked where he got so many shields. – Don’t tell nobody.

We were sneaking on the beach at night and make out in the lifeguard’s chair till the helicopter started circling around us with bright lights, and then we would run away and jump the fence like two little kids. We were walking puppy around the block and make fun of her when she was getting scared of black garbage bags rattling in the wind. When she was getting too hot and started sticking her tongue out, we would splash her from a water bottle that we always carried with us. We were a little family, the three of us, and we had the whole world for ourselves. One thing bothered us both though: R. wanted me to quit dancing and promised me that after New Year I’m going to quit. There was nothing that I wanted more than to quit, and so we shook hands on that.

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Several girls left “Velvet” after the summer season, and all for the same reason: they all started their new life of good housewives with the men of their dreams. It was so funny that we started calling “Velvet” a perfect match-making club to meet your future spouse. Our flexible yoga addict Sonya, who was able to put both her legs behind her ears, got snatched up by a wealthy New Jersey plastic surgeon, who was always sitting right next to the stage and putting bills all over Sonya’s gorgeous body. They are still married and are very happy together.

Evelyn left “Velvet” when her regular customer sold his car to buy her a ring, and even though they never got married, she found herself in the fashion industry.

Lexi, tall pretty girl from Siberia, who would only drink Cognac with customers and talk serious matters, also got engaged to her regular Kevin, who was also R.’s friend and the president of some company. He proposed to her after four months of dating inside and outside the club, and soon she moved from Manhattan, where she used to share an apartment with a very respectful Japanese boy, to Kevin’s apartment in New Jersey. R. and I were at their engagement slash Lexi’s birthday party, and were very happy for them both. I never mentioned to Lexi that before she started working in “Velvet” I was dancing for her future husband a couple of times, even though after her engagement Lexi got a very annoying habit of teaching me, Mikky and some other girls about life and how to deal with men. R. was getting annoyed by it too.

- If she caught Kevin on the rebound, when he just broke up with his whorish girlfriend, who was by the way a very good friends with my nutty ex Denise, doesn’t give her any rights to tell you, girls, what to do.

I shrugged… I wasn’t a confrontational person at all, so I just kept all our communication with Lexi on a minimum level, liking her posts on Facebook and Instagram, texting her on New Years and her birthday, and polite chit-chatting with her if we accidentally met at the club.

Some new girls came to “Velvet” in place of those who quit, and that’s how I met Emily. Emily became my great friend and my “dancing partner” when Mikky decided to work in one of the clubs in Manhattan, even though I didn’t like Emily at first.

I never or very rarely liked new people when I just meet them; I don’t know why, and I’m really trying to fix that. But anyway, Emily seemed a little too tall for me, a little too pretentious on stage…and I honestly don’t even remember how we started talking at first, but Emily is such a sweetheart, that she makes people fall in love with her right away.

Emily was a Romanian girl who only spoke Russian, and who came to New York a couple of years ago, just like me, but for one year she was working and living in Connecticut. She told me that she got sick and tired of the owner who made girls work five days a week and who was also renting them a house for some crazy price. So Emily moved back to New York and started working at “Velvet”.

She was dancing beautifully and I always admired her on stage. She knew how to use every single part of her body in a slow, sensual dance; she knew when to flip her long, dark hair from side to side; she climbed the pole so graciously, that it almost looked like art. Very rarely I like new people, but once I like someone, we’re going to become the greatest friends ever.

Chapter 22

It’s funny how almost ninety percent of strip club visitors leave early to be on time for a family dinner with three kids and a golden retriever. It’s even funnier, that sixty percent of them are wearing their wedding bands in the club. Girls won’t judge them of course, they don’t care about a customer’s marital status as long as he pays cash.

But some girls are not that understanding. I worked with a girl for a couple of months, who strongly disapproved of guys cheating on their wives, and to her going to a strip club was cheating as well. She would post something like this the next day after she would finish her shift: “So this asshole takes me to the room and asks me for my number. I’m asking him: “How would your wife like it? I see you’re wearing a ring”. So his response is: “Why should she know?” He didn’t leave me a choice; I rubbed my finger on my lips and put all that lipstick right on his white collar of his shirt, while he was grabbing my ass. Hope it’ll be a good lesson for this jerkoff!”

Terri, the cheater-hater, was a very young girl, a medical student, and dancing was the only way she could afford her education. She was amazing on a pole, it was almost an art to her, and she always put her standards as high as she climbed it.

“Three things disgust me: drugs, sex for money and girls who go with married men. Understand it, one day, hopefully, you’ll be a wife, and how would you feel to find out that your husband is cheating on you with some stripper?” Her Facebook was her diary and her way to address some people. I always told Terri that she should have a blog. Honest to the bone, I love that bitch.

As for my customers, I never even asked them about it. Married or not, that was his business, not mine. And after all, I always felt like “who am I to judge?” I don’t know their situation and what makes them go to a strip club instead of getting some flowers and Godiva candies and hurry to the woman who they promised to spend the rest of their life with. I knew that most of them were simply lying and cheating bastards, who wouldn’t be satisfied even if they would be married to the most gorgeous woman on Earth. They didn’t evolve too much, and even though they walk straight, they still act like primates, who have to fuck as many female species as they can. Pardon my French.

But some of them were married to real bitches, who were making their married life a living hell, and that’s how they ended up spending half of their salaries on strippers, paying for the words their wives were never saying, and buying affection that they couldn’t have in real life. They knew, the more twenties they put in a girl’s G-string, the more she’s going to love them until the time is up… or until they run out of money.

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I never cared too much about a customer’s personal life, but outside the club I always supported Terri’s beliefs one hundred percent. I was proud to say that I never dated a married man, I never was someone’s mistress and I never stole somebody’s boyfriend. I always believed in Karma, and I knew that I wouldn’t want to find myself in a situation when a boomerang, which as you know always comes back, would hit me right on my forehead, and I find out that my husband has someone on the side. And that’s why all the men who had rings on their fingers, automatically became neutral sex to me; I never considered them a possible mate, to me they all were in the same category with gay guys and priests. I know they exist, I let them be, but they will never interest me as a woman.

Besides, I saw so many examples of my girlfriends getting in trouble with married men, and it always ended the same way: tears, broken hearts, martinis and long talks about how “never again will I get involved with someone else’s husband.” Because let’s face it: those guys can promise you all the stars from the sky, but they will never leave their wives. No matter how truthfully they’re going to look into your eyes and hold your hand and say how badly she treats them and how they can’t wait to leave…guess what, they never do. And it’s one of the biggest problems of all dancers since ninety percent of customers are married, - they sometimes fall in love and become one of those mistresses, who get jealous of their lover’s wife, who try to “accidentally” forget their lipstick in his glove department so the wife would find it and divorce him; who call in the middle of the night and leave hysterical voice messages when he doesn’t pick up the phone.

Mikky had a romance like that, with the crazy Tony, but the problem was not only the wife, but a couple of other girlfriends of his on the side. I still wonder how he found the time for all of them, and how he didn’t mix up their names. But some professional cheaters solve this problem very easily: they call all their girls “baby”, “honey” or “sweetie”.