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

doesn't seem that old. Then it hits me. My god, it has been ten years. In stripping things can change overnight, and a girl can reach obsolescence even faster than that. Ten years. And so much has changed, especially outside the business. Most notably, being a stripper isn't such a big deal anymore. Maybe this is because every other video on MTV has strippers in it. Or maybe the claims of massive moral decay are true, and decadence-wise, stripping seems like relatively small potatoes. Or maybe we can thank Courtney Love. I don't know. But in the past decade the stripper seems to have gone from a social outcast to a thonged "whatever." The strip club business is booming. The publisher of the Exotic Dancer Bulletin estimates that there are 250,000 exotic dancers working today. And the number of clubs in the United States has skyrocketed to roughly 2,500, an increase of almost 30% since the late 1980s.
    When I get back to Jeanette's house, she's at the glass-topped mahogany breakfast table with her mom, younger brother, and neighbor, playing poker.
    "How was school today, dear?" She looks up from her hand. There's a pile of nickels on the tabletop, next to her red plastic tumbler of juice.
    "Let me show you what I learned!" With my hands on my hips, I attempt the kick-ball-step combination Jade taught us. Kick your right foot, step quickly onto the ball of your left, then step out to the side with the right.
    Jeanette laughs, auburn ringlets bouncing. "What the hell is that? River dance!"
    "No, wait, wait, let me take off my shoes." Clunk, clunk go my black suede platform slides on the terra-cotta tile.
    Kick-ball-step. Now it looks even worse because I can't blame the shoes. The neighbor looks at me as if I've just fallen from the trees.
    "Stripper school," Jeanette explains. "Ah," he says, eyeing me warily.
    Tomorrow will be better.
    Scarlett's is an "upscale" club. The nicer places aren't billed as "classy" anymore. Managers of clubs that court white-collar clientele are style conscious enough to get with the vernacular of the times. "Classy" is a blue-chinned guy with a half-chewed cigar in his mouth saying, "Hey, honey, fix your eye patch before you go onstage. This is a classy place!" "Classy" is a Classy Lady T-shirt. "Classy" is, basically, a kick-me sign.
    At Scarlett's, the lighting is low and sultry like a jazz club, dark cloths cover the tables, the carpet and upholstery are immaculate, and the main stage that spans the room's center has a transparent square in the middle so you can see down to the elegant foyer below. It's a very nice touch, but we have to be very careful when we do our routines because there's a nonlevel seam between the wood and the Plexiglas. One of the girls in class already tripped on it once.
    On day three, Jade teaches us a portion of a routine to the Commodores' "Brick House"—a series of cross-steps and side-steps. She leads us across the stage in formation and we waddle behind like baby ducks after Mama. But the real lesson of the day is eye contact. The class manual reads: "You have to fully understand why men come to a club to begin with. They want to see beautiful women, fantasize about them, and enjoy conversation with them. They want you to pay attention to them."
    So as we all get ready for our individual stage time, we're told to "push our personalities out." We're reminded: It's all about the smile and the eyes.
    I do full Barbie drag onstage: platinum hairpiece down to my behind. Hot pink gown and thong, clear Lucite platforms, rhine-stone choker, and earrings. Pink beach towel with a cartoon Barbie framed by starfish, shells, and a couple sea horses, to lie down on when I do my floor work. False eyelashes, frosted lipstick. The whole bit.
    Our dancing goes much better today—we're all more confident. Over the music, everyone whistles and cheers each other on. Stripping is hard and we know it's hard, and flattery is a critical lubricant. We're used to affirmation in cash and here