Oct 08 2007
Chapter One: The Audition
OFF THE POLE / CHAPTER ONE / “THE AUDITION”
©Meleah Rebeccah Hawthorne 2006-2007
By the time I was seventeen, I was so rebellious and pissed off; I was the perfect candidate for the life of a stripper. The seductive lights, smoke filled bars, coupled with drunken patrons, easily deceived a young girl into thinking that she had the world to call her own.
I was introduced to the bar in an unusual fashion. Late one summer night, a neighbor called the police to report screams of domestic violence coming from my apartment. When the police arrived I was covered in my own blood and my boyfriend was threatening to kill me.
After he was arrested, they took me down to the station to complete a report. An officer sat with me and explained why I needed to file for a restraining order, or this man, my boyfriend, would eventually kill me. Believe it or not, I wasn’t sure if I could do what the officer was suggesting.
I was scared, alone and very much dependent upon the man who beat me. I was estranged from my family; life with him was all I knew. The officer, promised me, if I trusted him, he would not only accompany me to court and face the beater with me at trial, but the officer would also make sure that I would be able to take care of myself. He assured me, he would do whatever it would take, to help get me on my own two feet.
A few hours in the station and too exhausted to argue with anyone, I agreed to do whatever the officer suggested. A week later, the officer escorted me to the courthouse where I pressed formal charges and was given an official restraining order. I was officially on my own.
After court and coffee, (a small celebration of my new found independence), the officer took me to his favorite bar, where he happened to be close to the owners. So close, in fact, that he was the godfather to the bar owners’ children.
The bar was called Scorpios. I had never been inside a strip club before.
The officer, nicknamed “The Breeze” introduced me to the owners and told them my story. The owner looked me up and down smiled and said, “What can we do for you?”
“I don’t know” I said, feeling guilty for even being in the bar. I was wearing a summer dress; hemmed above my knees, with a really low cut v-neckline, which, made my attire somehow appropriate.
The owner threw a crumpled up napkin on the floor, asked me to twirl around, bend over slowly, pause, look back at him, and pick the napkin up off the floor. I did. I was hired, only I didn’t know it yet.
The Breeze and I sat in the windowless bar. It was so dark in there it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. We were served drinks compliments of the owner. I was never asked to show ID due to the company I was associated with.
We sat together, when, for the first time in my life, I watched the girls dance. One by one, they came on stage. Loud music played and I could feel the music deep down in my chest. Blinking shades of multicolored lights reflected off the high gloss of the stage. The girls were spinning, floating, twirling and suspended in air against gravity. Some of them were as graceful as the professional ballet dancers I had watched on Broadway as a child.
After each dancer was finished performing on stage, she would come down from the hard wooden platform with anchored metal poles on each end, stand behind the bar and talk to the customers. The bar served as a protective barrier while the dancers collected dollar bills in-between their breasts.
One after the other, the dancers sauntered over to The Breeze to pay respect. He was somewhat of a celebrity in the bar. He always tipped each girl more than twenty dollars.
The girls, who came over to The Breeze, looked at me and said, “Hello.” I was surprised at how welcoming and pleasant they were to me. They didn’t see me as a threat; they looked at me and talked with me, as an equal. They asked me questions, like, “What bar do you work in?” “Are you going to work here?” “Oh, you should work here!! You’re so beautiful! You could make a lot of money here!”
One girl took a real liking to me. During the evening, she brought me back into the dressing room to meet all the girls and to watch her get ready for her next ’set.’
I was amazed at the clothes, costumes, incredible bodies, glitter, shoes with seven-inch heels and pallets of make up, but mostly, I was amazed with the camaraderie. They were all in this together, a quiet unspoken alikeness. There was a sense of strength they possessed and shared with each other.
After several drinks, a few hours in the dressing room, I put on a new face using their makeup. I went back out to the bar to show off my face full of makeup to The Breeze. He was still sitting at the bar, but now, his face was buried in a dancers crotch, with his mouth full of dollar bills. I remember being shocked, but, too inebriated to react.
The owner walked over to me, “Are you ready?”he said.
I said, “Ready? For what?”
He said, “You are going to dance, aren’t you?”
“Well, um, uh, I don’t know”… I stammered. “Maybe I should just watch for a while longer?”
The owner walked over to the manager of the bar. The manager was an old Irish, hippie looking guy, with long, gray, stringy hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail. The owner whispered something into the manager’s ear. After their short exchange, they motioned with their hands for me to come over to where they were standing.
When I reached them, Danny, the manager, pushed open the purple swinging doors as we walked onto the black and white checkered floor of the bar kitchen; the only room in the entire building that was well lit. The smell of greasy chicken fingers became a scent I would learn to love.
Danny examined me up and down, with professional and serious eyes. That’s when I was first asked to show ID.
Danny said, “Jesus, you’re so young, did you just get off the school bus?”
“No”. I said.
“Show me, show me your ID.” Danny persisted.
I took out an obviously fake ID from my purse. One look at the badly laminated ID, and he laughed, as if to say, nice try.
Danny “Okay, okay, Rule Number One, when you are here, in this bar, you will have to drink out of the red plastic disposable cups we keep behind the bar. I will talk to the bartenders, so they will know what to do when you order a drink. I never want to see you drink out of any of the glasses that can be seen through, just in case the Alcohol Beverage Control (ABC) decides to come in and break our balls. Got it?”
“Yes! That won’t be a problem.” I said, wondering, what was the ABC and what are these rules.
Danny said,”Rule Number two, what is your name?”
“Meleah”
“Hmm, that is going to be a problem, we are going to have to change that. If you could choose any name in the world, what would it be?” Danny questioned and waited patient for me to reply.
I thought about it and different names rushed in and out of my head of people I knew or cool actresses I admired, none of which appealed to me. Then, after a long pause, I thought of my favorite lotion. Jasmine Vanilla.
In an uncertain shaky voice I said, “Jasmine”
Danny grinned and said, “Jasmine, good choice, we don’t have one of those yet. I like it.”
Then, he looked me dead in the eyes and spoke with an uncompromising voice, “When you are here, you are Jasmine. Never give out your real name, address, or personal information, especially to the clients. Trust me.”
I agreed. Without question.
Danny walked me back out through the bar and into the dressing room again. He asked Brenda, a seasoned employee, to help pick out a costume for me to borrow; I was to make my debut in thirty minutes.
The girls leapt at the chance to dress a newbie into a lavish costume. They primped and prepared me. I tried on so many different outfits, until we found the right one for me. The costume was made of spandex / silk like material. It was an all black halter top that velcro-ed around my neck like a choker, with thick strips to cover only my breasts. As for the bottoms, a simple pleated black mini skirt, with huge silver buckle that snapped on the side of the waist, for easy removal, and, complete with a matching black thong. I laced up the paten leather, shinny black, square heeled, boots, up to my knees and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
(Little did I know that once the outfit was picked out, fitted and agreed upon, one of the girls went to the DJ booth to tell him what music would go with my costume.)
I was astonished at my own appearance as the girls finished off my ‘look’ with a burgundy wine lipstick applied and powdered for a permanent stain on my lips. Before leaving the dressing room for the first time as “Jasmine”, the girls gave me words of encouragement and advice.
“Always maintain eye contact, make each man feel like he is the only man in the room. Let the music take you over. You’re beautiful; you are going to do so great!”
Back in Black, by AC/DC blasted over the sound system as soon as I walked to the opening of the bar that led to the stage. Danny, the owners, and The Breeze were standing three in the corner, nodding encouragement. I took a deep breath, forgot who I was, and graced the stage with an unfamiliar confidence.
I closed my eyes, and started moving. I was strangely exhilarated. I wasn’t uncomfortable in the clothes or the shoes. I was liberated. I was in charge of creating a whole new me: new name, new job, new look, and most importantly, I had control over the whole room.
I could feel the weight of all eyes on me, and I loved what they saw. I loved how they looked at me. It wasn’t like the way the counselors in high school looked at me, taking pity on a broken child. It wasn’t like the looks the therapists and psychologists who felt sorry for me. I wasn’t a rape victim or a small scared child hiding under the bed from the big bad daddy coming to take my childhood away. Suddenly, I was desirable. I was a virgin dancer, and in Go-Go land, that was enough virginity to cause a roar.
After 15 minuets of dancing, sweating and euphoria, there was applause from the whole bar. That’s when I made my 1st mistake. I came down off the stage without collecting a single dollar! I ran up to The Breeze, Owners, and Danny aching for approval. The Breeze handed me a crisp $100 bill and Danny said, “Like a duck to water.” I was now a professional entertainment dancer.
The newfound voice, of a child / woman was so powerful and more than intoxicating. It was all I could do to try to contain these unknown feelings of control I was experiencing.
I wanted to do this again. I wanted to feel that way all the time. That feeling was better than anything I had ever felt in my whole life. I had found a place where women, just like me, accepted me, brought me in, and gave me the much-needed confidence I so lacked. I wanted to be a member of this world. I wondered what else could these women teach me?
Over time, I thought I had mastered the art of manipulation when I learned to see the clients only as paying customers, or, easy targets. That was the first of many times I confused that feeling with the concept of being in control.
The first night I cleared over a thousand dollars in cash, I was convinced I had made the right career choice. I wouldn’t have to take beatings, have cigarettes put out on my arms, be used as a sexual punching bag or be called worthless by a man ever again. I could support myself.
Being a dancer was my way out. They way out of me, on my way to become someone else. Someone who didn’t have the dirty past I had; someone who one day could even fly. But, first… I had to learn how to swing on a pole.