A Thread of Truth (17 page)

When I arrived, the manager was very nice and said he'd interview me right away. We sat down in a curved, red leather booth and he asked if I was comfortable, and told the bartender to bring me a Coke. It wasn't much of an interview. I should have known what kind of place it was, but I was so happy to be out of the cold and on a lead to a decent-paying job that I wasn't thinking very clearly. It had been so long since anyone had been nice to me, I wanted to believe it was all for real.

The manager told me to stand up, to walk across the room and back, and then to do it again but this time to smile. He wanted to know where I was living and I told him that, the night before, I'd slept in a doorway on the corner of Williams and Third. He smiled wide and called to the bartender who'd brought my Coke to tell the kitchen to make up a ham sandwich, chips, and a glass of milk and bring it to me.

He watched me wolf down the food and when I was done, he asked my age. When I said I was seventeen, he held up his hand to his left ear like he was hard of hearing and said, “I'm sorry? What was that, jailbait? How old did you say you were?”

I took the hint. “Ummm. Eighteen?”

He nodded and smiled. “That's what I thought you said, sweetheart. Okay. That's good. We're all done here. You're hired.”

“Really? Thanks!”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled five one-hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, and handed them to me.

“What's this?”

“An advance on your first paycheck. Go buy yourself some clothes and a nice warm coat and use the rest to put a deposit on an apartment. We run a nice place, everything first class. Can't have my new coat check girl living on the street like a bag lady.”

He handed me a business card. “Go to this address. Take a cab. It's too cold to walk. When you get there, talk to Vern. Tell him I sent you. He's a friend of mine; he'll rent you a nice studio, furnished and very cheap. Be back here by three o'clock. There's a few things I gotta show you before you start.”

 

Leaving the club, I couldn't believe how my luck had turned; that's how naïve I was. I did exactly what the manager, Jerry, told me to do: I took a taxi to the address listed on the card, talked to Vern, and rented the apartment for three hundred dollars (Vern said I didn't need to give a first and last month's deposit—that if Jerry said I was good for it, I was); then, I bought a pair of black jeans, high heels, a white sweater with silver beading that I thought looked like what a coat check girl in a first-class place would wear, and a warm coat. After that, I spent twenty-two dollars on groceries, holding back the last hundred-dollar bill to get me through until payday, and went back to my apartment to take a long, hot shower in my new bathroom before getting dressed for my first night on the job. I looked myself over carefully in the mirror before I left, examining myself at every angle, smoothing my hair, making sure I looked as good as I could.

I intended to be the very best coat check girl in the history of the Atlantis Club. I didn't want to let Jerry down.

 

When I got there, Jerry found me in the coat check room, said there was a problem, and asked me to follow him to his office. I was worried that he'd decided I was too young to work there after all, but after he closed the door, he told me that one of their dancers had slipped in the shower and broken her ankle.

“I need you to go on in her place,” he said, and pulled a costume off a rack, all turquoise blue feathers and sequins and netting, and threw it at me.

I wasn't ready to catch it. The costume fell to my feet and the floor.

“I don't know how to dance.”

Jerry smirked and rubbed his nose with his knuckle. “You're cute, you know that? Baby, I don't mean you've gotta
dance
dance. Understand?”

I didn't. He shook his head.

“Wow. You're pretty, baby, but you're not the sharpest pencil in the box, are you?” He waved his hand. “That's all right. For what I need, pretty is better than smart. Listen, all you gotta do is put on that costume, smile, walk around on the stage like you did for me this morning. Well, if you could shake it up a little, that'd be good, too, but if walkin' is the best you can do for now, that's fine. We can worry about technique later. Then, you take the costume off. Slow. Just one piece at a time. See, baby?”

When I didn't say anything, he just smiled. “You've got a pretty face and a sweet little shape, nice and big on top but not too much in the hips. I don't care if you can dance or not. Neither will my customers.”

I whispered, “You want me to go out on the stage and take off my clothes? In front of people?”

“Hey! What's the matter? Gee, you don't need to go crying about it,” he said, then walked over and put his arm around my shoulders. “It's not that big a deal. You're a beautiful girl, gorgeous. That's the way God made you, so what could be wrong with letting people see it? It's perfectly natural. Really, you should be flattered. This is a step up from the coat check job, a big one. Pays 250 bucks a week more. Normally, I'd look for somebody experienced, but when this other girl had to drop out, I thought of you right off. You made a good impression on me. It's like I said: You should be flattered.”

I sniffed, trying to get hold of myself. I didn't want to risk him getting insulted and mad at me. “I am. I guess I am. Really, Jerry. It was nice of you to think of me, but I can't take off my clothes in front of people. I just can't. Please don't ask me to do it.”

Jerry lifted up his hands and sighed. “All right. All right. No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to. I just figured you were a sweet kid who was down on her luck and wouldn't mind making some extra money, but if you don't want to do it, then you don't. End of story.”

“Thanks, Jerry. Thanks for understanding.” I smiled and grabbed the doorknob.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“To work,” I said. “In the coat check room.”

Jerry made a sucking sound with his teeth and moved his head slowly from side to side. “No, you're not. That job's filled.”

“But, just this morning you said…”

“That was this morning, before this whole business with Yolanda breaking her ankle. Broke as you are, sleeping in doorways, I figured you'd jump at the dancer job. Another girl came in about the coat check job after you left and I gave it to her. The only job I've got now is for a dancer, which you don't want. That's fine. No skin off my nose, but you gotta give me back my five hundred dollars.” He opened his palm to me, face up, and wiggled his fingers.

“But, I don't have it anymore. I spent it, just like you said to. I rented the apartment from Vern and bought some groceries and,” I said, looking down at my new jeans and sweater, “these clothes. All I have left is one hundred.” I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and fished out the remaining bill.

Jerry's lips flattened into a line. “You owe me five hundred dollars. That was an advance on your salary. Either you pay me back, now, or you're gonna have to work it off. If not, I call the police. It's that simple.”

There was a hard, heavy knot in my stomach. I thought I was going to throw up. “If the coat check job isn't open, maybe I could work in the kitchen. Or help bus the tables?”

Jerry shook his head, bent over, and picked up the fallen heap of feathers and fabric that lay on the floor.

“I told you before,” he said. “I've got one job open here. Only one.”

He tossed the dress toward me a second time. This time, even with my head hanging low, I caught it.

 

Carmel Sunday, the older stripper into whose tutelage Jerry had placed me for two hours of instruction before the club opened at six, stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth as she carefully fed a thin line of glue onto a black, spidery false eyelash before pressing it onto my eyelid.

“Try not to blink,” she advised. “You might end up gluing your eye shut.”

It made my eyes water, but I didn't blink.

“Like I was saying,” she continued, “a good stage name is very important. And if you can pick one that kind of works with your real name, then it's even better. That way, if the customers call out to you while you're on stage, you know who they're talking to. You don't want to look around like you're asking, ‘Who? Me?'” She laughed with her mouth open wide. She had nice teeth.

“Take me. My real name is Carmelita Espinosa, so I just shortened it and added Sunday to the end. It's a play on words, see? Carmel Sunday, but it reminds you of the dessert. All sweet, luscious, and golden. Just like me. You see?”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely and tried not to inhale as Carmel coated my hair with enough spray to varnish a table.

“And that's why your stage name is going to be so perfect for you—Ivy Rose. That's also why I told Jerry no way were you going out in that turquoise number.” She made a face. “It's all wrong for your image and your coloring. For a name like Ivy Rose and a baby face like yours, we need something sweet, and innocent, and pink. Had to be pink. Something makes 'em think about the girl next door. And then! When you pull that ribbon and rip open that lace—just be careful not to pull too hard, okay? The Velcro's a little loose in front. I'll stitch it up for you later. Anyway, when you pull that ribbon off and show what you got? Va-voom! They're gonna
wish
they'd had a girl like you living next door!”

She laughed again. When I didn't join in, her face became serious. She patted my shoulder, rubbing her hand over the costume of pink ribbons and white peek-a-boo lace, like a whore's wedding gown.

“Come on, Ivy. I know this isn't what you wanted for yourself, but it's not so bad. The first time is hard and then it gets easier. You're not doing anything wrong, baby. It's just the way things are. Some little girls are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, others get married to a guy who's holding the silver spoon. But the rest of us? We all gotta pay the rent. And the piper.”

She gave my shoulder a final pat.

“Let's go,” she said. “You're on.”

When Jerry introduced me and the curtain parted, I couldn't see because of the glare of the spotlight. Carmel was standing in the wings. She grimaced, showing all her wide, white teeth, and pointed to her mouth, reminding me to smile. I did. I tried to.

The music was “Cracklin' Rosie.” Daddy had always liked Neil Diamond and sometimes played this on his stereo. But I tried not to think about that as I walked slowly, making long, graceful arcs across the stage, pulling out the single pin that held up my long hair and shaking my head so it would cascade down the way Carmel had taught me. I closed my eyes so I couldn't see the hungry eyes of the men in the audience tracking me as I crossed the stage, listening to the music build, waiting. It wasn't so bad with my eyes closed.

And I crossed to center stage on cue when the drumbeat got louder and the lyrics got to the part about her being a “store-bought woman.” That was when I was supposed to pull the ribbon, and then the Velcroed buttons of my bodice to expose my breasts, but I couldn't do it.

I stood in the middle of the stage with my eyes shut tight, pinching the end of the pink satin ribbon between my fingers, and not moving. The music kept playing. And in the wings I could hear Jerry hissing, “Pull it! Pull it, Ivy! Pull the damned ribbon!”

The customers started yelling at me. Then they started to boo. A big hand gripped my arm. I opened my eyes to see Jerry. His nostrils were angry white and flared as he breathed and his eyes were hard and black. He pulled me off the stage and into the wings. Carmel was standing nearby.

“Oh, let her go, Jerry. Don't be mad at her. It's not her fault. She's just a baby.”

“Shut up!” he barked. “I don't need to hear any more out of you tonight. You were the one who was supposed to get her ready. You couldn't even do that right, could you? So just get out there and take it off, Carmel. That's all you're good for. I don't need any over-the-hill stripper telling me how to run my business!”

Carmel gave me a pitying look, then pasted on a smile, spread her arms out wide on either side of her ample bosom, and strutted out onto the stage. The audience started whistling and clapping.

Jerry pinched my arm hard as he dragged me backstage. It hurt a lot, but I was afraid to say so. Instead I said, “I'm sorry, Jerry. I'm sorry. Don't be mad at Carmel. It's not her fault. It was me. I just froze. I couldn't do it. I told you I couldn't.” I started to cry. I leaned my back against the wall that separated the stage from the dressing rooms and Jerry's office and sobbed.

“Oh, for the love of…” Jerry groaned. “Will you cut that out? If there's anything that gets on my nerves it's a crying broad. You all do it, too. On purpose, I'm convinced. You know I can't stay mad once you turn on the water works.”

He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here. Blow your nose. You're gonna get snot all over the costume.”

I wiped my nose and sniffed. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you said, you told me you couldn't do it. Guess I should have believed you. It's all right, baby. Don't cry.”

He patted me on the shoulder twice, but the third time his hand fell, it snaked up and down the full length of my arm. Jerry came closer, shifted his stance, and moved his right leg between the long, front slit of the white lace dress, forcing my knees and thighs to open. Then he leaned the weight of his body against me, pinning me to the wall, while the hand that had been stroking my arm reached down low.

I tried to struggle away from him but I couldn't.

“Stop it!” My hand balled into a fist. I tried to punch him, but with the wall behind me, I couldn't gather enough force to strike hard. I pounded his shoulder ineffectually. He grabbed my wrist and pinned my arm above my head.