The New York Doll (13 page)

R. kept saying that we needed to find me another job; he didn’t like seeing me dancing in my underwear on stage at all, let alone talking to the customers at the bar and doing rooms with them. Pretty soon we started seeing each other only outside the club as he didn’t like going there and see me working anymore. I liked that. It meant he cared about me and it made me fall in love with him even more. As I knew a lot of things in my life before they actually happened, just like I knew that I would get a visa to America, or that there will be a female puppy at the pet store when I went there, I somehow knew that I will spend the rest of my life with R., that he’s the one, that he’s my soul mate, and I was ready to do everything to make it work. And first of all, we needed a place of our own.

I really hoped that by my 25th birthday (that was going to be in a month, at the end of July), I would start a new life, in my new apartment, with my new man, and hopefully a new job. So when the realtor showed me a one bedroom apartment on Ave T, I decided to go for it, and left him $300 deposit. However, God, who always has his own plan for me, decided to interfere, and when I called R. to let him know the good news, I hit the voicemail right away and kept hitting it for a couple more days. And as without R.’s help I couldn’t get the lease, as technically I was still an illegal immigrant with no papers, I realized that I got stuck. After several missed calls from my realtor, I finally picked up the phone and told him that my boyfriend, who was supposed to lease an apartment with me, had to go on an urgent business trip, so I will have to call him (the realtor) back as soon as he (my boyfriend) returns.

After a couple of days R. finally called me. He was upstate with his Godfather, he explained to me, and I didn’t want to know what they were doing there. I didn’t ask, I just smiled at the thought that all the jokes about the “three-body-trunk” of R.’s car weren’t jokes after all. The bad news was that I lost that apartment.

Chapter 18

My aunt came back and I got upset about losing that apartment even more. She started dragging me with her to the stores and teaching me how to live my life again. But more than anything I started to get annoyed by her attempts to milk me at every opportunity she had.

My first big mistake was to get a joined family plan with her when I decided to get an iPhone in April. She “nicely” offered me a fourth line in her account, and this way I would only pay $300 for the phone itself and about $100 every month. That seemed fair to me until my bills “somehow” got higher than $150 a month. And my own aunt had a nerve to blame it on me while paying half of her bills with my hard earned money.

- You are using too much internet data, - she was telling me one morning, when she came into my guest house without even knocking. Again.

- I’m not using too much internet, Anna. Go talk to AT&T, I’m not stupid, I can check how much I use every day, and just before the payment day it was saying 3.5 GB, while my plan allows up to 5. There’s no way that I used 1.5 GB at one day, you actually have to stream movies all frigging day to do that! – I’ve had it with her and wasn’t even trying to be nice anymore. Go ahead, kick me out, I dare you, bitch!

- Well, I don’t know about that, but that’s what the bill says. So this month you owe me $170. Ari wasn’t even using his phone, he’s been to Canada almost all month.

I couldn’t care less about what Ari was doing and where he was, I hated them both with a passion at that point, and it takes a lot for me to start hating anybody. My mommy always taught me to be better than that. But you have to be a person with no heart or compassion at all to try to screw your own blood relative who has to earn this money dancing in her underwear on guys’ laps. And I have no respect for people like that. I was so disgusted with her by now that I just took the money out of my wallet and gave it to her.

- Is that it for today, Anna? I would like to read a book and relax before I go to work. Thank you.

- Sure, sure, relax.

She left with such a happy greedy smile on her face, that I almost felt bad for her. If stealing from me a couple of twenties is the only thing that makes you happy, you are more miserable than some crack whore who fucks truck drivers for dope. Please, pardon my French.

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My 25th birthday brought me more good news than I expected. First of all, Mikky finally got her papers and we celebrated her getting a Green Card by going out with R. and his friend to Lu Nellos, a very upscale and fancy restaurant in Wayne, New Jersey, not far from our club. Oysters, champagne and filet mignon made me feel like a princess again, and made me forget about my “family” problems.

And just about a week before my birthday Mikky offered me to stay in her apartment in Brooklyn, while she’ll be gone to St. Petersburg to see her parents after two years. And that was the best present I could possibly wish for. R. was very happy too, as we didn’t have to go to hotels every night after a date night, because I couldn’t bring him over to my guest house as my aunt had a habit to break in every now and then without my permission; and R. couldn’t take me to his house and couldn’t explain me either.

- Maybe he has a sick relative he’s taking care of? – Mikky suggested.

I didn’t know and I didn’t really care. R. introduced me to all his friends, his Godfather; he treated me like a princess and I couldn’t care less what the problem with his house was. Maybe he had a family in there or he kept decapitated bodies in his bathroom before taking them upstate… I didn’t care, I loved him too much. But honestly, I had such an unfortunate previous love life, that I would much rather prefer bodies.

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July 29 was finally here and R. showed up on my driveway with a huge bouquet of red roses, a cute stuffed kitty cat and a set of diamond earrings.

- If you don’t like them, we can exchange them anytime, - R. says.

I loved them. I put them on right away and we headed to Atlantic City. It was a perfect little getaway for both of us. I didn’t want to see anybody but R. next to me on my special day, and besides the further I was from aunt Anna, the better I felt.

At Atlantic City we stayed at Tropicana and the first thing we did is stopped by the bar for a couple of drinks, and after that we went to see the stand up comedy show. I remember laughing my ass off and how R. and I were posing for a guy, who was taking pictures of the guests. Later we picked the picture up and since then it never left my night table. After the show we felt like gambling a little and R. took me to the Black Jack table, since it was the only game that you can actually control, as R. explained to me. I’ve never been to a casino before and loved every second of it. For less than two minutes R. won about $500 and we decided to leave before the table could turn around as not to our favor. We had a nice dinner after that and headed back home, as R. had to work the next day and I had to go to the club too. For one last time, when we already were in Staten Island, we stayed at a hotel, and I remember how happy I was that in a week I’m going to have my own apartment and no more clerks will be looking at me like I’m a hooker with a customer. I mean, come on, no boyfriend-girlfriend couples stay for one night at a hotel with no suitcases.

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The next day at work I had another birthday bash. All my regulars showed up with flowers, presents and chocolates and it felt pretty good to be stuck in the VIP all night, without having to go to the stage at all. I got a Burberry watch, a Prada bag and a pocketful of cash from those who didn’t know what to give me.

I have to admit, it felt pretty good to have so many admirers worshiping me like a goddess. But, like Marilyn Monroe’s character was saying in “Some Like It Hot”, I was 25 now, which is a quarter of a century, and I had to do something about my life. And I knew deep inside, that it wasn’t a life for me, no matter how successful I was as a dancer, giving lap dances grossed me out and no presents and money will ever comfort me after going to the room with another guy. I wanted to build a nest and start a family. As soon as I met R. I knew that I was ready to be a perfect housewife and a mommy. R. was always telling me that I was too smart to be a dancer and I was laughing.

- That’s why I’m so good at it, I know how to fuck with their brains, - I was saying.

- Well, I don’t want you to dance anymore. I don’t want no guys touching my baby. I’m getting very possessive of you.

- I know, baby. I just have to get my own place and then I’ll try to find something else.

I was done with dancing. I set my mind on it and every time I set my mind on something, I was ready to do my best to reach my goal. And my new goal was to start my new, independent life with R., in our own place and quit dancing by New Year.

Chapter 19

- Why don’t you marry me? – Coconut was trying to look into my eyes, while holding my hand at the Champagne room. He annoyed me so much that I drank my Red Bull - vodka almost one shot to become half-conscious to deal with him.

- I told you almost a million times, I’m Jewish and you are Christian. I can’t marry a non-Jew.

With a normal guy who has at least some brain, this excuse would never fly of course. Just think about it: I’m a stripper, I dance in my underwear on Sabbath, and you think I’m so religious that I can’t marry a non-Jew? God, was he stupid!

Coconut smiles and says something that took almost all my self-control not to burst out laughing:

- Well, I have great news. We have a synagogue near our town and I spoke to the Rabbi. He said that I can convert into Judaism. I’ll have to attend certain seminars and to learn about the religion first, and then after several stages I can become a real Jew. Isn’t it great? And then we can get married!

Palm-face. All I could do at that time. He was literary too stupid to put two and two together, but imagining a black guy wearing a soccer uniform and a yarmulke cracked me up though.

- Honey, you can’t become a Jew. You have to be born a Jew. And besides, I don’t want you to change your religion for me. You don’t want to marry me. You don’t want to marry a dancer.

- You won’t be dancing anymore. I’ll take you home and you’ll be living with me here, in New Jersey.

- I will never live in New Jersey. – I interrupted him right away. – I’m a New York girl. All my favorite spots and restaurants are in New York. My hair stylist is in New York. My spa salon is in New York. All my favorite stores are in New York. All my friends are here. I’m not going to New Jersey.

- Ok then. I can accept that job that I was telling you about, that’s in Manhattan. And I can rent an apartment in Manhattan too.

- Your kids are in New Jersey.

- I’ll be going there to see them on weekends.

- What about your soccer? You won’t be able to play with your friends anymore.

- Yeah, that’s sad. But I’ll be ok. You just give me a chance, Milana. I dream of walking in here with a Zales ring, I’ll go to the DJ booth and ask you to marry me. Isn’t it going to be great? I’ll wait till you get on stage and start dancing, and then I’ll go to the DJ booth and propose to you…

- Please, shut up. – I’m not sure if I’m sick of alcohol or Coconut talking nonsense. Maybe both, but I’m obviously still too sober to tolerate him. – How about you better go to the bar instead of a DJ booth and get me another Red Bull - vodka? And tell them not to be shy on vodka. Be a lamb.

That’s just a little sample of what I had to deal with while I was in a room with Coconut. But unfortunately one of my regulars got a DUI and couldn’t come see me anymore; another one left to Bahamas for a vacation and Bill happily reconciled with his wife, which I was very happy for. And since August was a vacation month and it got pretty dead, Coconut was my only stable source of income. Another vodka it is then.

Mikky was surprised why it was so hard for me to tolerate Coconut, until she met him in person. It was a slow night and I invited her to sit with us while we were eating our dinner in the lounge area. After ten minutes of talking to Coconut, Mikky told me in Russian that she understood me completely and she never met a more obvious moron in her life.

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I can’t stand stupid people. But more than stupid people I can’t stand weak men. Coconut was an embodiment of the stupidest chicken you can possibly find. Alana wouldn’t forgive me that I turned him, Coconut, her single-time customer into my regular, and kept stalking him every time I was on stage or at the dressing room. She kept shaking him for a drink or for some money, and this idiot kept giving it to her so she would leave him alone.

- Why don’t you just say no to her? – I was getting pissed watching it, since it was my potential money going into Alana’s pocket. – If you keep doing it, she’ll never stop.

- I know, I know, - he says with a sigh, - it’s just easier for me. I give her what she wants and she leaves me alone.

- A man, a normal manly man, would just say no. You’re not a man, you’re a chicken. – my frustration brought up the bitchiest bitch in me, but God knows, Coconut deserved it!

But it reached the limit of the ridiculousness one night, when Alana and her best friend Megan stopped by the club to ask the manager Shawn to take them both back to work (because of their attitude they were getting fired on a regular basis, but the manager would normally take them back after their long, tearful apologies, as they were making good money for the club). Coconut came early that night (I told him how much I care about him getting his eight hours of sleep at night, that’s why I wanted him to come early. The truth was that early evenings were always the slowest part of the shift, but luckily for me he was too stupid to pick it up).

Waiting for the manager, Alana and Megan ordered a couple of martinis at the bar, where they were sitting with some guy slash customer, who was driving them around when they needed it. I told Coconut to ask a bartender to order me my salad, but he couldn’t manage that simple task without getting in trouble with Alana. Ok, I have to admit, sometimes I made Coconut do things or put him in situations just for my amusement, so I could make fun of him for the rest of the night or make just another example of why girls with asses like mine will never go out with guys with faces like his. It was exactly one of those good times and I sat more comfortable in a chair, sipping my martini and watching Coconut getting robbed. When he finally came back, I made a very mean face (don’t forget, I studied acting while I was in my high school and university, so it came in very handy in my new profession), and asked him what he was thinking by giving Alana money.