Jinger in Stripperland

Chapter 3 Indecent Proposal

"Is there anything available?" David asked.

"No, nothing," Jinger finished searching through the paper.

"Nothing for teachers either?" he asked.

"Only for substitute teachers," she said, "no district is looking to hire someone full-time."

"There are secretarial and bank teller positions," Jinger said, "but even those are only part-time with no benefits."

"That's the state of the world today, David said. "No benefits. Don't waste your time with that nonsense; they don't pay s**t; it's just a waste of time."

"Better than nothing," she said.

"What are all those picture ads?" David asked from a distance; he was still shaving with his electric razor plugged into the outlet. He moved as close as the cord would allow him.

"Stripper ads," she said.

"Strippers?"

"Yep."

"All of them?" he asked.

"Pretty much," she said.

"Read me one of the ads out loud," he said.

"Adult entertainers needed. Will train. No experience is necessary. Must be 18 with valid driver's license," and then she read the phone number.

"Why don't you call them?"

"Why are you going to apply?" she asked.

"Find out how much you can make in one weekend?" he said.

"David, that's not funny," she said, "turning over the newspaper."

"Good," he said, "because I'm not joking."

"I'm not stripping," she replied.

"Why? he asked, "You don't like to dance?"

"I don't like being a slut," she returned.

"I know you're not a slut," he said, "that's why I married you."

"So why would you ask?" she said.

"Because I can't find a job," he replied, "and we need to save our house."

She had to think about that, they were already three months behind, and the bank had already started sending nasty letters; now they were calling and asking about their money.

"There must be another way," she said, "can't you call Michael about getting your old job back."

"Yea, go ahead," he replied, "I tried, but he won't take my calls."

Jinger wanted to cry.

She could call instead and plead Michaels's case.

She looked at the ad again. David studied her.

"It's only stripping," he said, "not f*****g. All you have to do is show your t**s; you already know how to dance."

"David, do you know how humiliating that would be? Taking my clothes off for money?"

"Easy money," he said.

"Then you go do it," she replied.

"I would if I was a chick," he said, "that's one job any woman can do without any education and still make a living."

"Yea, what kind of woman?" she asked.

"Educated women, single mothers, college students, women like yourself, this isn't the 80s anymore; nobody gives a s**t what you do," he said.

"I don't think so," she replied.

"Do you see any waitressing jobs?" he asked.

Jinger double-checked; she didn't.

"That's how bad the economy is," he said, "now they only hire waitresses who work in strip clubs."

"No," she said, "these ads specifically said adult entertainers, not waitresses. Big difference."

"Doctors have stripped their way thru pre-med," he said, "so what's the difference?"

"The difference is how our friends would look at us when they found out."

"Friends, what friends?" he asked. They don't even call us now. How will they look at us when they find out we're homeless???"

Jinger thought about calling her parents for help; they had money. But her father would not send them a penny and made it clear to his favorite daughter that it broke his heart for her to marry a man he disapproved of.

Her father, Braden O' Conner, hated David so much that he wouldn't even attend the wedding. And cut her out of the will.

He knew David would bring her nothing but hardship and pain.

But there was no talking sense to a woman in love. Some things can only be learned the hard way.

"I would not ask you to do it if we weren't so desperate," David said.

"You have no problem with other men seeing your wife naked?"

"Just Topless," he said, "and not for free, but if they're willing to pay for it. I don't care. I see guys checking you out when we're in public, anyway. There always undress you with their eyes. I like the idea of other men paying, knowing I have you for free.

"Do you know how embarrassing it would be if someone we know saw me there?" she asked.

"Like who?" he replied.

"Like one of the guys you used to work with," she said.

"They're all married," he said, "if anything, they would be terrified of you telling their wives' because then they'd wind up divorced like Michael."

Jinger was getting confused; he was turning everything around on her.

"Just call the number and find out where the club is," he said, "...and how far away it is ... and what you have to do to apply???"

"No, she said," but she was weakening.

"I bet you have to drive an hour one way to get there," he said. "No one from around here will know anything, and it's none of their f*****g business anyway!

Jinger said nothing. Maybe she should call. It doesn’t mean she was going to work there.

"They don't pay our bills, and it's a damn sight better than being homeless or welfare, which we would never qualify for -being white."

"The state is bankrupt," Jinger said, "they don't have welfare anymore."

"Exactly," he said, "that's why so many people are leaving this state. And you wonder why Michael's company is folding."

Well, she considered, maybe she could do it if she would only be topless.

"You're serious," she said, "you want me to call."

"Yea, and do it right now," he said, returning to the bathroom. "Before I go back downtown to scumbag central, I want to hear you going through with it."

And she did.

The club was only a half-hour away.

When she called, they asked her if she could apply that day. They didn't have an opening for a dancer -only a shot-girl."

Jinger didn't know what a shot-girl was, so she asked.

That was a girl who served tubes of vodka or tequila. She would have to serve that topless.

When the kitchens opened, they had waitresses. That was at four pm, so they had a grill that served chicken, hamburgers, and club sandwiches, maybe fish on Fridays.

Waitresses did not serve food topless because one of the girls burned her n****e when she accidentally dipped in someone's four-alarm Chile. The club got sued.

She did have to wear heels and a G-string but not much else. She got an hourly wage below minimum wage but could keep as many tips as she could hustle; there was no pool.

That meant the tips weren't collected and divided equally amongst the waitresses at the end of the day. Even though Jinger took ballet and waited tables in high school, she could only strip once she completed a ten-week dance course.

The training was once a week. One of the regional instructors provided this training. She visited all the clubs in a circuit and taught the new girls in a group.

The class was about an hour long. And all new girls had to learn and follow the same routine. The only exception to this was girls who had already worked for the club. Or at one of its franchises. It didn't matter if you knew how to dance; you had to learn their way.

If not original, the dance moves were more sensual and taught the girls about timing; everything was related to the clock because, in their business, time was money.

They had to be aware of the music, how to remove their clothes, and when. And in the correct order. The dancers must reveal her bra first and then her skirt to show her panties. Then she removes her bra, exposing her breasts.

The state law said that any club that served alcohol (all of theirs) was not allowed to have any dancer completely naked or completely naked at any time, even on the stage. You could not go walking around the club naked.

Once the dancer stripped to her panties, she had to re-dress herself entirely before leaving the stage. Then she was instructed to start a conversation and get the man to buy her drinks. The dancer's drinks were always more expensive than the patrons.

After that, they were told to build a rapport and solicit table dances. A table dance is where a girl dances privately for a customer, usually in a darkened corner, and rubs up against him semi-naked; she had to leave her panties on the entire time.

The end goal was to get the Trick (customer), drunk at the club and to get him to buy as many table dances as she could.

The club even had an ATM (on the premises), and an experienced stripper could get a man to make several trips in one evening.

A seasoned dancer tried to establish a clientele of regulars. That is a customer who came to the club specifically to see her.

The most successful women thought long term, never just one dance with one guy, and then ran out on him as soon as he was out of money. That was what an amateur did.

A pro would remember details about every guy she danced for so that she had a reason to ask him for a dance when she saw him again. She might ask him how his job was going, how his children were doing, or if his divorce was finalized.

She would play to his fantasies, always trying to build a causal relationship with him. When he was there (and spending money), she tried to make him feel special (or at least forget about his problems) for as long as he could afford her.

The Champaign room was another option -but a very expensive one, and no s*x was not allowed anywhere in or near the club. Any girl caught breaking those rules would be fired (and possibly arrested) immediately.

Jinger was warned that many savvy customers would offer new girls a lot of money for oral s*x when they were alone in the Champaign Room (which was completely private) and off the main floor.

But these were usually Vice Cops who worked undercover, so it was a trap, and she would be arrested and fired if caught. Some were never allowed to work as dancers again in that state.

Busting prostitutes was a big deal to Vice-cops because it meant promotions for them, which meant more money. Plus, it was a very embarrassing and humiliating process, and the police intentionally made it that way.

Vice didn't like the strip clubs, even the higher-end clubs, because they brought organized crime, drugs, and violence. But the temptation of prostitution was still too alluring for most men, so that type of thing always went on.

And men who could afford the Champaign Room offered big money was often too good to pass up. The savvy strippers could always tell who was a vice cop and who wasn't when they made their offer.

Stripping had nothing to do with any Romanic movies that Jinger saw that Hollywood glamorized.

Their corporate clubs in the North-Eastern part of the United States were small, so most girls didn't have a pimp.

But if they thought they would find Prince Charming, like Julia Roberts did in Pretty Women, they were in for a rude awakening.

Dancing, like anything else, was sales: Insurance, real estate, automotive. It was all the same; building up your base.

Some girls made a fortune; others barely broke even after paying their rental fees to the club.

Stripping was a tough game and heartless. It was fast money but not easy money. Sometimes very profitable, often miserable.

When Jinger drove down to meet the manager, he said he would like her to start that day, but she said she would have to call her husband first to ask him.

"You got the job," she heard David smiling over the phone.

Yes," she said, "They want me to start today."

"Stripping?" he asked.

"No, I'm just a shot-girl right now. I have to take a ten-week class before I can start stripping."

"Ten Weeks?" he complained. "Why that long?"

"The trainer only comes once a week for three hours," Jinger said.

"Do you have to pay her?" he asked.

"Yes, and I have to buy all my outfits from their store," she replied.

"You have to wear a cocktail dress?" he asked.

"I have to serve drinks topless," she said, "until I get used to being naked in the club."

"What about the dancers?"

"The waitresses wear see-thru blouses during the day, and the strippers are only naked on stage."

"That sounds progressive," he said.

"Well, the cocktail waitresses in training are exposed, so they get used to being nude around large groups of men. And also, if they need a backup waitress or dancer, every girl is trained for the bar and the stage. So, they never run short."

"What kind of a club is this?" he asked.

"Well, I wouldn't call it a gentleman's club, she said. It's more like an after-work bar and one near an industrial park; it has a sign, but it's not neon. The locals know it's there, but it's not obvious to an outsider."

"Why?" he asked, "Do they try and hide it?"

"I don't know," she said; "maybe there's an ordinance about the sign; anyways, the menu for the afternoon is pretty limited. They have a grill, but the kitchen is only open at night."

"Do it," he said.

"Work now?' she asked.

"Take the job," he replied.

The club was brightly lit, clean, and well-maintained. There was not much money to be made from the afternoon crowd. Nights were where the real action was.

All new girls started in the afternoon because it was safer than at night. That was when the rowdier people came in. Weekends were the worst. You had to know who to avoid, and once they were identified, none of the girls were allowed to dance privately for them.

Blacks demanded the most attention but always had the least amount of money. And would cross the line if they could get a girl alone.

One black dancer said she would never dance for some broke-ass n****r. And she warned Jinger, "Don't give them private dances if you can avoid it."

American Indians sometimes stumbled in as a group but always seemed lost and out of place. They ordered too much alcohol and got drunk fast.

Then they started fights, got beaten up, and were thrown out.

People who would never have anything to do with each other outside the club were like members inside. Regarding the patrons, it didn't matter your color or status; all men inside seemed to treat each other as equals. You had ex-cons sitting right next to a board of CEOs.

The afternoon shift that Jinger started was not busy. During her shift, many of the guys who came in looked like unemployed middle-aged men who didn't have any other place to go.

Others were out-of-town salespeople dressed in expensive suits, with some time to kill. Maybe they were looking to have some fun before their next connector flight. The road could be such a lonely place.

She had fewer customers, but the ones she did have tipped much better.

Jinger said she didn't even want to work the weekends. Every new girl said that, but they always changed their mind. The money was just too good to pass up. After about a month into it, David started bugging her about the money. Jinger had explained to him several times why she wasn't making a lot to start.

David seemed suspicious, so he went to the club one night when she told him to stay in the car. Jinger told him that she would meet him outside.

The club had a strict policy of not allowing boyfriends or husbands in the club, even when their women weren't working on that particular night. It caused too many problems.

Girls become jealous of other girls, and guys who thought they were strong enough to handle their girl stripping found out very quickly they could not.

It was common for men to spank the ass of the women who worked there. Or group them during a lap dance.

David promised her he wouldn't come in, but he did. Jinger was in the back finishing her last dance when she instantly spotted David at the bar; he was talking to a blond stripper named Sparkle.

When David realized he'd been spotted, he immediately sent her away. Sparkle ran in small steps, saying breathlessly, "Hey, Jinger, your old man's here, and he sent me to tell you."

"Thank you, Sparkle.

Then Jinger asked Sparkle if she would tell David to meet her outside like he was supposed to.

The valet let them get their car, and they walked to it without saying a word, and then inside, she exploded, "David, I specifically asked you not to come in, so why did you?"

"I don't know," he said, "I guess I was curious. I haven't been to a strip club in a long time."

Yea, right, she thought to herself!!!

"Well, If I get fired after tonight," she said, "it's going to be your fault, and then we'll both be unemployed."

"You're not going to get fired," he said "you're the best-looking girl in that place.

Jinger was a wreck, this was her first night alone since graduating from dance class, and just before David walked in, she had to go on stage by herself, and she tripped and fell in front of a whole group of college students who started laughing.

She rose gracefully and smiled like it didn't bother her, but when she returned to the dressing room, she started bawling. When she was a child, maybe nine years old, she went to the Roller-Skating Rink called Figure 8.

The rink was not shaped like Figure 8 but rather just a big oval. Anyway, one night, while trying to turn around one of the curves that made up the oval, one of her wheels touched one of her other skates, and she fell like an anvil. The movement was almost comical, but she got hurt. She even scraped her knee, and it started bleeding.

A group of vicious teenage boys had assembled in one of the darkened corners near the railings. They played video games in the corner, where they hid to smoke, which was prohibited.

It was dark so that she couldn't see them, but as soon as she fell, all the coin-operated video games lit up as if on cue, and the faces of the boys hiding in the shadows were revealed.

They looked sinister from the electric glare and laughed at her misfortune, adding insult to injury. For a moment, her pain was forgotten, overwhelmed by the shock and embarrassment of being discovered. Now it was humiliation she felt, and that was worse than the fall.

She just sat there crying, frozen as all their faces disappeared into the shadows again. She couldn't even get up. Suddenly an attractive teenage girl who worked there skated beside her, gracefully crouched down, and asked her if she was okay.

"Can you get up?" she asked.

When Jinger shook her head, the other girl helped her up.

She carried her to the front desk, where they gave her first aid. Jinger never forgot her kindness.

She never forgot how cruel the laughter sounded, either. Never! And she never went skating again.

When the "men" in the front row laughed, it reminded her of that fall when she was that little girl with a scraped knee who couldn't get up.

Helpless.

The next time she and Sparkle worked together, she looked guilty, and she wouldn't look Jinger in the eyes until Jinger told her she wasn't mad that she talked to her husband.

Sparkle said she didn't feel guilty about that; it was something else, but she was afraid to tell Jinger because she didn't want her to get mad again.

"What?" Jinger begged, but Sparkle refused. She was a fragile girl who (despite her profession) hated confrontation.

"Sparkle, I like you," Jinger said, "and she meant it. I will not get mad at you. I promise."

"There is another girl who works here," Sparkle said, "actually more than one, and they are my friends who wouldn't lie to me. And they said they saw your husband at another club they used to work at."

"What other club?" Jinger asked.

"It's called the Triple X's," Sparkle said.

"Triple X's??? I never heard of it," Jinger replied.

"Yea, well, it's not like this club," Sparkle said, "they have three red Xs on the outside of them, and they're bad."

Sparkle sounded like a child.

"He told me he's never even been in a strip club before," Jinger replied.

"Yea, well, the triple "X" club in the city is pretty nasty," Sparkle said, "and the girls there perform tricks for the customers.

"Tricks?" Jinger asked.

"Yea, you know," Sparkle whispered, "they do things."

"What kind of things?" Jinger asked.

Sparkle started squirming.

"Sparkle, please," Jinger said, "I have to know."

"I don't know exactly," Sparkle said, "boyfriend-girlfriend things."

"Like what?" Jinger asked.

"Like whatever the customer wants," Sparkle said.

"Are you sure?" Jinger asked.

"My friend said she saw your husband go in the back with one of the other girls," Sparkle had her head down.

Jinger lifted her chin so that she could look in the eyes.

She was crying.

"Are you positive?" Jinger asked.

"I'm sorry, Jinger," Sparkle said.

"Who is this other girl?" Jinger asked.

"No," Sparkle said, "my friend doesn't do that."

"Are you believe she was telling the truth?" Jinger asked.

"Yes," Sparkle said, "otherwise, I never would have told you."

Jinger believed her; otherwise, she would have quit on the spot.

"Can I talk to your friend?" Jinger asked.

"No," Sparkle said, "I can't tell you who it is because I promised her I wouldn't. I feel guilty enough."

"I'm not mad at her," Jinger said, "I just want to talk to her."

"No," Sparkle said, "because I would have two people mad at me.

Sparkle was a simple girl and very pretty, but with a child-like mentality, and she had that hippy, free-love, non-judgmental vibe about her.

Sister golden hair.

"Okay," Jinger said, "But I'm not mad at you for not telling me who she is either."

She would find out later.

Right now, she was mad at her husband.