The New York Doll (7 page)

And after several month of dancing I realized that I had to change my whole politics about dancing. And my sober shifts, when I wouldn’t even talk to customers besides asking them their name and if they wanted to dance, were soon substituted by way relaxed shifts filled with martinis and champagnes in “Velvet” VIP rooms. I knew that if I wanted regular customers, just like most of “Velvet” girls had, I had to stay in one club. And that’s how I became a full time “Velvet” girl.

I was very lucky to come to “Velvet” at that particular period of time, as now, after some time passed, I realize that it was the so-called “golden age” of that club. Since not so many girls knew how to work in “Velvet”, we mostly had the same set of girls and only very few new comers. Sophie, the best house mom I’ve ever known, was always making sure that we had everything we needed, and there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t have if we asked for it, let it be a fake eyelashes glue, a hair tie, tweezers or dry shampoo. We always had the whole set of hair straighteners, blow dryers, brushes, deodorants, perfumes, cosmetics sets, underwear, food, anything, - you name it, Sophie had it. And every night we would be sitting in our huge dressing room, like some Vegas show girls, and making ourselves gorgeous. I don’t remember one girl in “Velvet” who wasn’t pretty; we all looked like Victoria’s Secret Angels.

There was Lara, a tiny brunette with gorgeous hair and beautiful boobies, bought by one of her ex-boyfriends (they looked so natural that for some time I was thinking that they were real). I was in shock when I found out that she had a 9-year-old daughter. She looked very young and had the most seductive green eyes that you can only imagine. There was Sonya, a stunning blonde who was very fond of yoga and who would do the craziest, almost circus tricks on stage, like putting both her legs behind her ears. Customers were going crazy for her and she wouldn’t leave rooms all night. There was Stina, a very young girl with piercing blue eyes and a tiny little body, who loved to climb the pole and shake her little ass while guys were throwing money at her. There was Evelyn, a Russian mixture between Miranda Kerr and Adriana Lima; Dash, another Russian beauty with gorgeous wavy hair, green eyes and a body of a supermodel. There were Russian twins, Alicia and Priscilla, another candidates to be the next American top models. There was Megan, Megan Fox’s evil twin, her best friend Alana, an Asian beauty from the south of Russia… There was a whole bunch of Russian girls there, but only the finest ones. And that’s how I first met Mikky.

Micaela, or Mikky, started working at “Velvet” approximately at the same time with me. And our first meeting wasn’t at the dressing room as it normally happened with girls who didn’t know each other in “Velvet”, but on the floor. I just came out of the dressing room, all dolled up, with my silky dark hair extensions up to my butt, in my new stockings with the garter belt and long, fake eyelashes. Right away I spotted a beautiful girl with gorgeous, long, red hair, in her green bikinis, doing some crazy stuff on the pole. Nobody does the pole in “Velvet” and therefore I was pretty fascinated by what I saw. She looked very confident with what she was doing and had a perfect sense or rhythm. For a long time I haven’t seen anybody dancing as good as she did. “She’s good, - I thought. – There’s going to be some competition”. But sexy and confident Milana quickly took over and cat walked to a guy, sitting alone at the end of the bar. The night only started, but the rest of the customers were already sitting with girls.

- How’s your night going, handsome? – I give the guy one of my trademark sexy looks from underneath my long lashes. – Why are you sitting here all alone?

Normally, after this phrase they would start smiling silly at me and say something like “I was waiting for you…” And they were all mine.

- I’m sorry, I’m waiting for Mikky.

“Mikky? Who’s Mikky?”

- There she is, dancing on stage.

- Sure, honey. Enjoy your night.

I walk away with a smile, but narrow my eyes at the same time. Yes, there will definitely be the competition. The guy didn’t even want to talk to me! And I look frigging gorgeous! Who the hell he thinks he is anyway? A bolding, curly-haired shorty! Didn’t even give me a dollar! Whatever, I’ll do five rooms today when Bill comes (Bill has been my regular customer for two weeks now and I’m determined to keep him that way).

Meanwhile, while I’m standing leaning on the railings that separate the bar stage from the main stage, and think about all that, the red haired girl comes up to me and introduces herself.

- Hi, I’m Mikky. Are you Russian?

I’m surprised by her friendly tone, so I smile back.

- Yes, I am. I’m Milana, nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you too! I’m so glad I found a Russian girl here, most of the dancers are Americans and I can’t really talk to them, I’m a little shy because of my English.

- Oh, there’s a whole bunch of Russian girls here! It’s just you must have been probably working the “American girls nights” so far, - I smile at her. She seems very nice. I’m not even mad at her for taking my potential customer away. – Oh, by the way, that guy over there is waiting for you.

- I know… I’m not coming up to him though. He’s been stalking me since he saw me in “The Stable”. Such a creepy guy.

- You worked at “The Stable”? I worked there too! I mean I tried working, but I quit because they are all nut-heads over there!

- I know! I hated that place too!

And that’s how I met my future best friend.

_______________

Mikky’s story was as simple as mine. She also came to the United States not too long ago, but as a J-1 student, and soon realized that she’s not coming back to Russia ever again. Insecure of her English, she worked almost a year in one of the Russian strip clubs in Brooklyn, but soon she made a conclusion that Russians in Brooklyn are almost all broke bullshitters, and as she’s always been a very smart and ambitious girl, she started going to New Jersey.

When I was asking her about the Brooklyn club where she used to work, she would only laugh and say, that comparing “Velvet” with the Russian club is like comparing a day with a night. Customers, mostly all Russian Jews with a little percentage of Turkish people and some ghetto blacks, had their own politics of how to treat dancers. “Why would I spend money on dances? I will much rather take you out for a sushi!” And another one, one of Mikky’s favorites: “Do you want something to drink?” – “Yes.” (moves his beer to a girl) “Here, enjoy”

Micaela was saying that the funniest part was that the girls were actually drinking that beer and going out for sushi instead of dances, and, as Mikky called it, “were selling themselves for a $2.50 Philadelphia roll set”. Nobody was there for those poor girls to tell them that normal men do exist, and Mikky was thanking God every night spent at “Velvet” for getting out of that place. The only good thing about that place was, as she was saying, her lesbian relationship with the club DJ Leila and her heterosexual relationship with the rare representative of a successful Russian businessman, who helped her with her marriage to one of his friends. Couple of thousands that she had to pay her “husband” every month, and Mikky was expecting to get her papers in as little as six month. These boys who marry girls for money is the whole different and a very funny story. For example Mikky’s “husband”, an American born, but Russian by mentality and origin, was one “pathetic loser”, as Mikky was calling him. “What a waste of citizenship,” – she used to say. – “He was born here, and it’s such an easy country to fulfill any of your dreams, do whatever you want… and look at him, he’s a 35-year-old cab driver, who still lives with his parents and can’t even rent his own place. So when he finds a girlfriend, he can only go to her place. Can you imagine?”

Oh yes, I could imagine. Those Russian (or Ukrainian) Jewish boys are so spoiled by their mothers, that they can only leave their mommy’s wing to jump under the wing of an unfortunate girl, who had a bad luck to marry them. Hey, just look at my cousin Ari, who, after we all came back from Brooklyn in the same car, would yell to his mother as soon as we entered the house: “Where’s the dinner? I’m hungry!” We all came here at the same time, for Christ’s sake! Go make yourself a sandwich or something! But all he would do is go upstairs and watch TV while my aunt and I would make the frigging dinner.

Another example of one “pathetic loser” was Mikky’s friend’s “husband”, who had to marry her because he was in desperate need of money to pay his ex-girlfriend’s child support. And here we go, another waste of citizenship. You can take a Jewish boy out of Russia, but you can take Russia or “Jewishness” out of a boy. And that’s when I realized that some stereotypes do exist: Jewish boys living with their mothers, - check. A Jew (me) not liking other Jews, - check. Funny, but sad at the same time.

Chapter 10

Regular customers is the best thing that can happen to a girl in a strip club. It’s almost a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, but unlike girlfriends, who only get their presents on Valentine’s Day, Christmas and her birthday, we get ours every night. And you know what’s my favorite part? A girl who only pretends to be “a girlfriend” several hours a night when her customer is there, has to deal with a lot less shit than the real girlfriend. And she doesn’t even have to have sex with a guy! The biggest sacrifice a dancer has to make is to give her admirer her phone number and talk to him nicely every time he calls or texts. But several hundreds or thousands a night can totally pay for this little inconvenience.

My first regular customer’s name was Bill. He worked at some big ass company as an accountant and has some big ass misunderstanding with his wife. He was an immigrant from Philippines and knew how to work hard. He also didn’t have too many friends here, except for his co-workers, so when the situation with his wife got really bad, he turned to the only place every guy turns to: a gentlemen’s club.

I remember the night when I first met him. It was a Thursday or a Friday and it was pretty busy. I was making good money, I had my new shoes on and I was on a roll. I first noticed Bill when I was collecting tips after the stage, and a shy looking Asian guy gave me a twenty. Oh yes, we always notice a guy who tips us a twenty! Luckily for me, no girls bothered with him, as we all knew that Asians aren’t really big spenders. But his twenty did the trick and instead of another white collar, I chose him as my next victim.

After a couple of drinks and a short, very typical conversation between a dancer and a customer, I offered him a dance.

- Would you rather do a room with me instead? – Bill asked me very shyly as if he was afraid to offend me with this offer. – The lap dance zone is open and I would prefer something more private.

- Of course I would! – I smile at him and call our hostess, Deena. - Is one hour enough for a start?

I have to say, I hit a jackpot with Bill. In the room, of the whole hour I probably danced for 10 minutes only, and the rest of the time we were talking, as Bill turned out to be a pretty smart guy. He gave me really nice back massages and I was nice enough to give him a couple of back rubs too. Too bad he had a meeting early in the morning so he had to leave, but before he did, he left me couple of hundreds as a tip “for an amazing time” he had. I was smart enough to take his phone number. Not every day you get tipped so well for having a back massage!

Pretty soon Bill started showing up 3-4 times a week. He got so addicted to our rooms that he didn’t even care anymore about his 7 in the morning meetings; he was staying for 3 or 4 hours and soon spoiled me so much that I didn’t want to work at all, instead I was just chilling in the chair drinking my martinis and waiting for him to come. Girls, who didn’t have their regular customers, or whose customers didn’t come to see them as often as mine, started to get jealous and asking me what was that guy doing in the room. “Really, nothing, - I would say. – We mostly talk, rub each other’s back and talk again. He’s just very lonely and needs a friend.” “You’re so lucky! – they were saying. – Don’t let anybody else steal him!” But even though some girls tried to lure him into the room, Bill stayed faithful to me and would nicely decline their offers and just wait there patiently till I get off the stage.

Bill was a perfect customer: nice, polite, very considerate, never drunk, never pushy or dirty, a perfect gentleman. He did try to ask me out, but I was experienced enough to make him believe that we will go out eventually, just not next week because I have a laser hair removal…oh, the week after that is not good either, he has a presentation to make, too bad… You know, it’s an art to make your customer keep coming back and spend money while you are totally screwing his brain. It’s like putting a carrot in front of a donkey to make him move forward. So what that he’ll never reach the carrot? You know that, but he doesn’t, so you get what you want.

Everybody loved Bill for his ability to spend money without thinking, and I was smart enough to let some of my co-workers jump on this money train. You see how it works in gentlemen’s clubs, you are nice to a shot girl and let her sell your customer a bunch of shots, next time she’ll point out a quiet, invisible guy who spends a fortune, but nobody knows about it as he only speaks to the shot girl. Or you buy massages from a massage girl and she tells her customer to take you to the room next time. Oh yes, the universal law that one hand washes the other one, works here as well, and everybody wins.

And very soon our regular night with Bill would look something like that: he would come at 10 or 11, watch me dancing on stage, give me a shower (all dancers love that, when a bartender gets on stage and makes it rain money on you) and then we would relax in the lounge area for some time. Relaxing means that Tori, a shot girl, would do shots with me (Bill was only drinking water) while Margarita, a massage girl, would rub my back. Then Tori and I would do more shots while Margarita was massaging Bill’s back. After this little routine we were ready for our private room. Deena, always a perfect hostess with years of experience, knew perfectly when to come up and escort us to the Champagne room. And after we got inside and got our drinks, I would start asking Bill about his day, his work, discuss upcoming movies, the book I just read… I was talking about everything that his wife would talk about at their family dinner. Too bad she kicked him out and he had no more family dinners, but was still craving that “family-ness”, and I was more than willing to be his wife substitute for several hours. I actually felt sorry for the guy. After all, he was a little bit like me, an immigrant, alone in the country, just out of a serious relationship, still heartbroken… So I was trying to provide the most comfort and warmth I could. Bill knew that, appreciated it and was showing his gratitude with lots of hundred bills. As I’ve said, a perfect regular customer.