By Grant McGee
It was
a slow day for the drivers. Me, Jason, Castro, Jack and Amy were standing in
the morning sun in the parking lot of the local car distribution center.
We were waiting to take deliveries to dealerships around the area. It was a simple job but sometimes it got boring, like this day when a big wreck was blocking the interstate. The bosses didn’t want us burning gas sitting in a traffic jam, they apparently decided workers standing around burning up the time clock was better.
“Let’s grab one of the vans and go for lunch at Jimmy’s,” said Jack from behind his sunglasses.
Jason, Castro and Amy gave a knowing laugh.
“Let me tell you something,” said Amy, one of the few women drivers, “It’s a good thing The Good Lord put a few extra pounds on me because I’d give those babes down there a run for their money.”
Jimmy’s was the city’s premier strip club.
“So what goes on there?” I asked.
The group fell silent and stared at me.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Amy.
“You’ve never been there?” asked Jason.
“Noooo,” I said. “I KNOW it’s a strip club but I mean is it like a topless joint or…”
“Yeah,” said Jack, “It’s probably the classiest place in town. It’s just a topless joint. Those other places in town they’re kind of nasty. But I did get a lap dance there and ended up marrying the girl.”
The group turned and looked at Jack.
“For reals?” asked Castro.
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Even got a daughter out of the deal.”
My mind flashed through my wonderment at the world of strippers. I used to wonder at such things, why a person would choose to be a nurse, another a lawyer, another a stripper. Then I ran across a short story by the writer Raymond Carver with a line that was my answer: “Who knows why we do what we do.”
I got another angle on the question when I was living in Phoenix. At the time I was living with someone who had a job at the local mall at a place called “Body Talk.”
Body Talk was where someone could buy swimsuits at the front of the store and stripper wear in the back of the store.
“My customers are Mormon wives and strippers,” she told me one time.
Body Talk was very popular with the ladies who were looking for a snazzy swimsuit. It was also THE place for a number of Phoenix’s “exotic” dancers to come buy a new costume.
She would come home and tell me tales of working at the shop. Of young women who were turning to stripping because their man had left them and left them with a kid to raise. Of how the only way they could figure to get cash, get lots of it and get it fast was to go to work at one of the many strip joints in The Valley of the Sun. Of how many of these young women were visibly upset at the prospect of having to report to their new job. Of how the hardened veteran dancers would drop in on the store.
“Did you know a lot of the older ones I’ve encountered are lesbians?” she told me one day.
“Nope,” I said as I raised my eyebrows.
“And a lot of these dancers really hate the customers, the men in the audience, they think they’re pigs,” she added.
Such were the thoughts that shot through my mind as I listened to Jack.
“I gather you’re not married now,” I said. “Just something in the tone of your voice.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “It only lasted about a year.”
“I mean, she would come home every night with these wads of cash,” Jack continued.
“You guys got married and she continued stripping?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Jack, “The money was GREAT. She made more money in one night than I did in a week. So I said, ‘Babe, why don’t I quit my job and stay at home with the kid.’ She had a boy from a previous relationship and we had one on the way.”
“Every week when we went to WalMart it was like Christmas,” Jack went on. “Want another flat-screen TV? Sure! Put it in the cart. Want this? Want that? Get it! Put it in the cart. Hell, practically every shopping trip we’d have two shopping carts to carry out our stuff.”
“But then I found out she was banging the guy across the hall from our apartment and it was over,” said Jack. “I said, ‘So why don’t we just stay roomies? You have him and I get another girlfriend and our kids don’t know the difference.’ She didn’t go for that.”
“Now,” said Jack, “She has five kids from five different fathers.”
“So is she still a stripper at Jimmy’s?” I asked.
“No,” said Jack, “She’s a part-time nurse. But she spends most of her time with the kids.”
We all stood in silence and looked at Jack.
“But hey, I got a beautiful daughter out of the deal.”
-30-
We were waiting to take deliveries to dealerships around the area. It was a simple job but sometimes it got boring, like this day when a big wreck was blocking the interstate. The bosses didn’t want us burning gas sitting in a traffic jam, they apparently decided workers standing around burning up the time clock was better.
“Let’s grab one of the vans and go for lunch at Jimmy’s,” said Jack from behind his sunglasses.
Jason, Castro and Amy gave a knowing laugh.
“Let me tell you something,” said Amy, one of the few women drivers, “It’s a good thing The Good Lord put a few extra pounds on me because I’d give those babes down there a run for their money.”
Jimmy’s was the city’s premier strip club.
“So what goes on there?” I asked.
The group fell silent and stared at me.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Amy.
“You’ve never been there?” asked Jason.
“Noooo,” I said. “I KNOW it’s a strip club but I mean is it like a topless joint or…”
“Yeah,” said Jack, “It’s probably the classiest place in town. It’s just a topless joint. Those other places in town they’re kind of nasty. But I did get a lap dance there and ended up marrying the girl.”
The group turned and looked at Jack.
“For reals?” asked Castro.
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Even got a daughter out of the deal.”
My mind flashed through my wonderment at the world of strippers. I used to wonder at such things, why a person would choose to be a nurse, another a lawyer, another a stripper. Then I ran across a short story by the writer Raymond Carver with a line that was my answer: “Who knows why we do what we do.”
I got another angle on the question when I was living in Phoenix. At the time I was living with someone who had a job at the local mall at a place called “Body Talk.”
Body Talk was where someone could buy swimsuits at the front of the store and stripper wear in the back of the store.
“My customers are Mormon wives and strippers,” she told me one time.
Body Talk was very popular with the ladies who were looking for a snazzy swimsuit. It was also THE place for a number of Phoenix’s “exotic” dancers to come buy a new costume.
She would come home and tell me tales of working at the shop. Of young women who were turning to stripping because their man had left them and left them with a kid to raise. Of how the only way they could figure to get cash, get lots of it and get it fast was to go to work at one of the many strip joints in The Valley of the Sun. Of how many of these young women were visibly upset at the prospect of having to report to their new job. Of how the hardened veteran dancers would drop in on the store.
“Did you know a lot of the older ones I’ve encountered are lesbians?” she told me one day.
“Nope,” I said as I raised my eyebrows.
“And a lot of these dancers really hate the customers, the men in the audience, they think they’re pigs,” she added.
Such were the thoughts that shot through my mind as I listened to Jack.
“I gather you’re not married now,” I said. “Just something in the tone of your voice.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “It only lasted about a year.”
“I mean, she would come home every night with these wads of cash,” Jack continued.
“You guys got married and she continued stripping?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Jack, “The money was GREAT. She made more money in one night than I did in a week. So I said, ‘Babe, why don’t I quit my job and stay at home with the kid.’ She had a boy from a previous relationship and we had one on the way.”
“Every week when we went to WalMart it was like Christmas,” Jack went on. “Want another flat-screen TV? Sure! Put it in the cart. Want this? Want that? Get it! Put it in the cart. Hell, practically every shopping trip we’d have two shopping carts to carry out our stuff.”
“But then I found out she was banging the guy across the hall from our apartment and it was over,” said Jack. “I said, ‘So why don’t we just stay roomies? You have him and I get another girlfriend and our kids don’t know the difference.’ She didn’t go for that.”
“Now,” said Jack, “She has five kids from five different fathers.”
“So is she still a stripper at Jimmy’s?” I asked.
“No,” said Jack, “She’s a part-time nurse. But she spends most of her time with the kids.”
We all stood in silence and looked at Jack.
“But hey, I got a beautiful daughter out of the deal.”
-30-
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