The New York Doll (11 page)

R. wasn’t answering and I very much surprised myself by how very upset I got. It turned out that I liked R. way more than I thought, but now it all probably didn’t matter anyway. And for the first time in a very long time I started praying, praying to God inside my head, asking him to make R. forgive me and give me a chance so I could prove him that I am a good person, I’m still a good Jewish girl, just like my mom raised me, but who is forced to dance on a stage in her underwear.

I was waiting for a train when I finally got a respond: “We are still going out, but you’ll have to make it up to me, bad girl”.

I closed my eyes with my hands and started laughing. I think if someone offered me a green card at that moment I wouldn’t be happier than I was. God heard me!

“I promise I will,” – I text back and look at the sky. It’s blue again.

_______________

While Mikky and I were walking through halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Arts, she wouldn’t stop wondering how can I get out of situations like this.

- God helped me. – I smiled at her.

- Your hot ass helped you! – Mikky laughs. – Milana, you’re unbelievable!

- Oh look, Degas’ ballerinas! I love Degas!

- Yeah, it’s very pretty. But don’t you change the subject. When are you going out?

- This weekend. I took two days off just for that.

- And where are you going?

- I don’t know yet. I will let R. choose the place, it always says a lot about a man on a first date, you know?

- Oh, so you have the whole scientific method about dating, don’t you? – Mikky is such a little ball breaker.

- I really, really don’t. Oh, look, what a pretty sculpture! I don’t even know if he’s married or not, if he has a girlfriend or not… Every time it’s the same thing with me, I like somebody, I fall in love without thinking and it always ends bad. But what a great feeling it is just to be in love! Totally worth it. So this time I’ll do just the same. Do you think I’m stupid?

- No. – Mikky handles me her iPhone. – Take a picture of me next to this painting, it’s gorgeous!

I take a couple of pictures and she continues.

- I think it’s going to work between you two. You know how much against Zed I was, but R…. he’s just a different type of a man. So I say, go for it.

- What about the possible wife or a girlfriend we don’t know about?

- Well, if he had a girlfriend, I don’t think he would ask you out. And as for a wife, I don’t know, but at least I haven’t seen a ring on his finger.

- You don’t see rings on half of our customers, but does it mean anything? – I give Mikky my “I-don’t-think-so” look.

We both stop, fascinated by one of the modern section sculpture, all made of nails.

- Let’s create something like this, so people remember us forever? – I say.

- I have a feeling that we will someday. – Mikky smiles.

Who knew in 1987 that two girls who were just born in two different Russian cities with a completely non-Russian mentality will meet in the most amazing city in the world and agree to follow our American dream together. We didn’t know yet what it would be, but we were sure that as soon as we understand, we’ll do our best to help and support each other. Because as Paulo Coelho said, if you really want something, the whole Universe will comply to help you achieve your goal, as every dream is born in the Soul of the World.

Chapter 15

One of the myths about this business is that all strippers are whores, or gold diggers, or both combined.  Probably in certain cases you would be right, but 80% of the girls simply have temporary financial difficulties and they are hot and open-minded enough to resolve them quickly and pain free. Some of the girls are dancing to pay off their fake marriages for papers, oh well, let’s be honest, that’s the majority of the whole strip club population. That was the reason why Mikky spent three years in different clubs and now she is a happily divorced legal American citizen with a nice bank account and plans on buying an apartment in Manhattan.

Some of the girls, however, don’t have the papers yet and that’s the only nicely paid half-legal job that they can find at the time. That’s the case of most of the Brazilian and Puerto-Rican girls who are lucky enough to have prettier faces and rounder butts than those who have to clean hotel rooms 24/7 or babysit some spoiled rotten Park Avenue toddlers.

Some girls are paying off their tuition by giving lap dances and doing champagne rooms, since they are not that attracted to the idea of being a 30 year old lawyer with a huge debt to pay to the truly fascinating American educational system. These are mostly American girls from the lower middle class families who do this so that their daughters won’t have to.

You know, when you think of that, I truly admire all these girls and women who actually have a very structured plan on what they want to do with their lives and what are they going to be in 3, 5, 7 years and how much it’s all going to cost. It amazes me what great accountants, managers and personal life coaches they are. Yes, they are wearing G-strings and plastic shoes, so what? They know exactly what they want and how to get it, and if you refuse to give these girls credit, stop reading this book right now, because one of them wrote it.

However, some dancers are not too smart about what they do at all. I’m not talking about the biggest Manhattan clubs of course; they would be kicked out of there in a split second as soon as the manager would bust their asses. But even in the club where I used to work I spotted several cases of what I call a “dumb stripper”. They all got fired pretty soon of course, but the whole point is, there really should be a little training course, or a manual for the girls who just started dancing. It should give you some certain rules, if you can’t use your common sense during work. If I wrote it, it would look something like this:

Rule #1. Customers always want the most of what they can’t get. Don’t give it all away at the very beginning. It’s not you who should beg them to buy a dance from you, it should be them begging you to buy an hour in the VIP room and come back every week for more.

Some girls don’t get this simplest rule, but it defines the whole business and on this rule only it will depend whether you will be making money or not. I saw girls letting customers touch their boobs under the bra for a $3 tip. I saw a girl humping the shit (pardon my French) out of the customer right at the bar and then complaining that he didn’t want to buy a dance from her. Of course he won’t buy it, he’s not stupid, he already got it for free, so why would he pay twenty more dollars now?

When I was working, I was always at my best lady-like behavior, as if I was at the most upscale high society New York event. I would talk about politics, economics and analyze the market with them. I wasn’t a stripper, I was a geisha, who was not only the pleasure for their eyes, but for their mind. And it was always working perfectly! They would buy rooms from me so we could talk in a more intimate atmosphere, drink champagne while he would be rubbing my back and telling me how beautiful I am. That’s why I never felt dirty at work, if you act classy, they will respect you and will never treat you wrong. Simple as that, it should be enough to be successful and for the club to make money.

Rule #2. Make yourself valuable. The more you invest in your looks, the more money you will make. Don’t buy your outfits in Marshalls, go to Victoria’s Secret and get not only sexy lingerie, but some hot accessories, like garter belts or stockings. If you look like a cheap porn star in bright ass green panties and a red bra, you’ll be attracting customers asking you for a blow job on the side or if you’ll show him your boobs for an extra five bucks during the dance. But if you look like one of the Victoria’s Secret Angels, you’ll be treated like one by some Wall Street money bags.

And the same goes with your body. Ladies, go to the gym, work out, make yourself look sexy as hell; believe me, everybody wants a Sports Illustrated model, not some plus size cellulite filled jelly mess.

Every time you come to work, get ready as if you are preparing yourself for the most important date of your life. Always have your hair done, always make sure your make-up is flawless, but be careful with perfume since most of the male club population are married men and they won’t take a chance getting a divorce because they come home smelling like a Sephora store. And don’t forget about the manicure: when you sit with a customer at the bar and he buys you a drink, he doesn’t want to see different shaped nails with a month old half-gone nail polish and bit cuticles. Always remember, the more expensive you look, the richer the customer you will attract. Simple, isn’t it?

Rule #3. Simple courtesy rule, also known as “among us, girls” rule. Like in life, always treat another girl like you want to be treated. I have such sweet memories of the golden age of “Velvet” when I just started working there. All the girls were like sisters to each other, we knew everything about each other’s lives, boyfriends, kids, schools, careers, and we would discuss it all at the back room doing our make-up. We could leave the money right on the dressing table next to our bags and no one would ever take it. We never used lockers since we would never take anything from another girl’s bag. We were all dancers, we knew how hard it is to get this money and we would never betray each other by stealing from a fellow dancer.

Another thing is the mutual courtesy when it comes to the customers. If you see a girl sitting with a customer and he bought her a drink, but now she has to go on stage or use the bathroom, never come up to her customer and ask him for a dance. It’s the same thing like stealing, but now you’re stealing not the actual, but potential money. And it’s not cooler in any way. You wouldn’t want anybody to take your customer while you do your set, so why would you do it to somebody else?

And of course, never, ever, ever try to steal the other dancer’s regular customer. That’s one of the lowest things that you can do in the club. I remember how hard Alana was trying to steal one of my regulars, Coconut. Luckily for me, he was so in love with me that he wouldn’t even come to the club when I wasn’t working. But Alana tried to steal him as soon as I would get on stage and leave him alone; she would come up to him and start saying how much prettier she is than me and how her boobs are bigger. I was only laughing though, if you have to persuade somebody that you’re hot, you probably aren’t. You should just enter the room and have everybody looking at you. That’s how it works.

So here we are, these three rules are very simple, but if you follow them, soon you’ll be the main attraction of the place, making crazy money and being spoiled by the attention of the most desirable customers in the club.

Chapter 16

Our first date with R. was on May 27. I remember it so well because since that date we have a tradition of celebrating our anniversary in the same Mexican restaurant in the Village, take a ride on a horse and buggy in Central Park, stop by the “Imagine” mosaic dedicated to John Lennon (R. is a huge Beatles fan), make out on a bench in the dark and go home. It was quite unusual to see each other in the daylight while I was dressed sexy, but classy and without my whorish make-up. We haven’t had a tiny bit of an “uncomfortable silence” that most of the couples have on their first date. We were talking all the time, laughing and holding hands.

We found out a lot of new things about each other. R. was quite surprised to find out that I was Jewish (but it turned out to my favor as he grew up in the neighborhood that was predominantly Italian and Jewish and had more Jewish friends than I did); that I had a bachelor’s degree in linguistics and that I haven’t spoken to my father in almost a year. I learned that he was older than I thought (the fact that I didn’t believe in until I saw his driver’s license since R. looks at least 15 years younger than he really is); that he was separated from his wife long time ago (big relief!) and that he lived with a cat named Rory and a goldfish named Feesh. Besides the club R. had a sign business and he enthusiastically pointed out to me every billboard and every sign he made while we were driving to the restaurant. R. told me a lot about his big Italian family, about his nieces and nephews, how his father died several years ago and how he missed him. I told R. about my daddy issues and about my grandpa who was such a great father figure to me; I told him how I haven’t seen my mommy and granny for so long and how much I miss them. I also told him what a bitch my aunt Anna was and how I wanted to move to Brooklyn. I didn’t want to hide anything, I wanted R. to know everything about my life without covering things up.

That’s why I also confessed that my uncle was in jail for heroin trafficking. R. just laughed and told me to look up a couple of names on a Wikipedia: they were his good friends and probably made the top ten most wanted Italian mobsters on the FBI list. I really started laughing after that one. Looks like I just can’t beat him at anything! R. started laughing too and said that he was very happy that I didn’t take off like a bandit. And by the way, the Feds might be watching us right now and taking pictures, R. said. That’s fine, I look great, so they can take all the pictures they want, I answered. We looked at each other and realized that we’re going to make a great couple. Just like Bonnie and Clyde.

_______________

R. started spoiling me right away. And I’m not talking bags and shoes, he was spoiling me with a completely different from all the other men attitude, he was almost cherishing me and making me feel like a princess. R. was giving me showers after my stages, getting me my favorite cheesecakes and I was sitting on his lap talking about everything in the world. He was taking me home after work and singing Sinatra for me and, oh my God, he sounded just like him! R. was taking me to the best Italian restaurants and feeding me oysters, lobsters and filet mignons. But more than all that, I loved those cute little gentleman things he did, like opening doors for me (even in his car), helping me with my jacket and serving me at the restaurants. One thing I can say, men should learn from R. who’s always been an old school gentleman, and too bad they don’t make them anymore.