Strip City: A Stripper's Farewell Journey Across America by Lily Burana Read Free Book Online Page A

the table, or in the space between the customer's feet. Body contact may or may not be permitted, but usually it is limited to leaning your hands on his shoulders or knees for balance.
    Lap/Couch/Bed— these are "friction" or "contact" dances, where the dancer rubs her body along the customer's, either by sitting in the customer's lap, straddling him, sliding against him while standing, or, as in the bed dance, lying down. I tune out the description since I've already decided that I'm not working in any contact clubs. But "bed dance" is a new one to me—sounds very extreme. Yikes.
    After a half hour for lunch, Jade gets onstage, bounces on her toes, and claps her hands together. "Now let's get you moving!"
    We stand in two rows on the stage and practice our walk. One at a time, we travel the length of the stage toward Jade, who stands at the end, coaching.
    She calls us baby doll, honey, cutie pie, and babe.
    "Okay now, cutie, as you come toward me, I want y'all to give me hips and eyes. It's all about the eyes."
    "That's right, baby doll, work that butt. You've got a great butt—slow and sensual now."
    "Honey, great walk! Very high energy! Ooh, I can tell, honey, you've been on the runway before!"
    "Now slow down, slow down, baby girl. You're going to be my Mae West. Make them work for it. Slide your hands down your belly. Yes!"
    When it's my turn, I walk toward her, dragging my toes, moving as slowly as I can. I bring my eyes up from the floor to meet her gaze and wink.
     
    She slaps my arm playfully and says, "That's it, cutie pie, you're going to be in my next video!"
    By the end of the first day, we're much more relaxed. Jade flirted us right out of our defenses—no wonder she earns enough as a dancer to buy a new luxury car every year!
    When I get to Jeanette's parents' house after dinner, I fall dead asleep.
    …
    On the second day Jade teaches us a few simple dance steps, then we break out our costumes and perform onstage, just as if we were working in a club. The deejay drops in to cue up our music and introduce each of us before we dance, as is usually done. Everyone looks petrified—this isn't dancing for a bunch of horny, tipsy men who are just grateful to watch women ready and willing to strip down, regardless of skill. This is being exposed before a jury of our peers, the naked-in-the-classroom nightmare come true. We know the difference between good striptease and bad, and if our pinched moves, chewed lips, and wooden smiles are any indication, I'd say every one of us is afraid of coming up short.
    In my black-and-silver minidress and silver stilettos, I clod-hop around the stage to a Crystal Method song, stiff and self-conscious like the rest of the girls. Scary as this may be, it's a good sight more efficient than the typical "learn as you go" means of learning to strip: First an aspiring dancer needs to dredge up the nerve to get onstage in the first place, quieting the anxious "what if" questions ("What if someone I know sees me?/I look like an idiot?/my parents find out?") with visions of heaps of cash on the stage, or maybe a few stiff drinks. Then, once she's worked awhile, she crafts a profitable image and over time, the moves are finessed. All of this is fostered through observation, dressing-room tutelage, trial and error, and practice, practice, practice. Any scared, awkward girl will get slick and smooth if she keeps at it long enough.
    When I get in the car after school, I yank off my hairpiece. I open the windows to get some cool air on my itchy scalp. At an intersection, I glance over and see Lexus and Gabrielle in the next lane. They look at me funny, trying to figure out if I'm the girl they know from class. I pick up my hairpiece and shake it at them. They laugh, the light changes and we turn off in opposite directions.
    …
    On the radio is a song I used to dance to all the time. The deejay comes on: "That was by Madonna, released ten years ago this week." It can't be ... the song