On The Pole

By

Meleah Rebbecah & J. Cassidy Hawthorne

 

 

                                                                                 

 

                                                                  Based on a true story.

 

 

For Ronald Colona and Pamela Walter.

When you’re not near us, we’re blue! Ay, Ay!

 

 

                                                                          “I know I’ll often stop and think about them.

                                                                                      In my life, I’ve loved you more.”

                                                                                                               -Lennon / McCartney

 

 

 

 

About the Authors

 

Meleah Rebbecah Hawthorne is a Certified Clinical Medical Assistant and Certified Clinical Phlebotomist. She lives alone in Englishtown, New Jersey

J. Cassidy Hawthorne is a Rutgers University alumnus and sommelier. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

 

 Synopsis:

 

The events in this book are true. The names are not.

In 1993, Morgan Haraway was strangled unconscious on her kitchen floor. She woke up to three police officers arresting her boyfriend. At 18, with no money, no family, and no recourse, she had only one opportunity. And Jasmine was born.

 

 

 Chapter 1 – “COME DOWN TO THE STATION HOUSE”

By the time the cops arrived she was barely dressed and covered in her own blood. Broken glass crackled underneath heavy boots as they trekked across the livingroom floor. It took three police officers to stop him from strangling her. Purple finger marks ran across the length of her throat as she wept and gasped for air.

One officer brought her to her feet and wrapped her into a blanket. He sat her down in a chair on the other side of the living room and stayed with her. The other two officers took him into the back bedroom.

But she could still see him. He was face down, on his stomach, hog-tied, on the floor. The handcuffs didn’t stop him from thrashing around. Blood dripped from his pointy nose and stained the yellow carpet.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he said. “You’re such a fucking bitch! You’re gonna pay for this!”

The officer sitting with her explained how a neighbor had called to report the screams for help. And the neighbor allowed the police into the building.

“Has anyone been drinking?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Are you okay? Has this ever happened before?”

But she wasn’t ready to answer. She just sat there.

She glanced around the tiny, one-bedroom apartment only to see a shattered plate and holes punched in the wall.

“Miss, we’re going to need a statement from you.” He knelt. “What’s your name?”

She wiped the tears from her face with the edge of the blanket.

“Morgan. My name is Morgan.”

“And how old are you, Morgan?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do I seem okay to you?” Her bloody lip quivered.

“No, Morgan. You don’t.” He grabbed his police radio from his thick, shiny belt and requested an ambulance.

“I’m not going to the hospital!”

“You need to be checked out.”

“But- wait- I really don’t want go to the hospital.”

“The paramedics are already on the way. If they say you don’t have to go to the hospital, then you don’t have to go. But you need to be checked out.”

She could hear her pulse inside her own eardrums. Her palms were clammy and her head was ringing. That’s when she noticed her two favorite Kandinsky prints on the wall were ruined.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” She stammered. “Can you just get him out of here?”

The officer leaned in closer, “we are going to remove him as soon as possible. But, I need you to calm down. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

She breathed.

She breathed again.

The two cops in the bedroom brought him to his feet and began reading him his rights. His heavy eyes were dead, staring straight at her as she sat there listening. He wasn’t yelling anymore and his silence was more terrifying.

She put her head down and counted the lines in the hardwood floor.

She kept her head down and heard three sets of footsteps getting closer. Keys jingled inside his pockets. The two sets of boots moved past her, then through the front door, and then faded away down the apartment staircase.

It was another full minute before she said anything.

“Is it safe yet?”

“It’s okay. He’s gone now.”

Her tears began to flood. The fear was gone now, replaced with panic.

“But… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do?”

“You’re going to be okay.”

The officer put out his hand. “Morgan, my name is Officer James Conway. And I am going to need to take a statement from you.”

She grabbed his hand.

“I can’t.”

Just then, the paramedics arrived. And suddenly, everything went into slow motion. A thin, blond woman wearing dark green scrubs and a white badge on her right sleeve walked up the stairs along with a short, fat, bald man dressed the same. They had orange toolboxes.

The woman walked directly up to her and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s your name?”

“Morgan.”

She opened the toolbox and took out a pair of latex gloves. “Okay Morgan, I have to take a look at your neck.” Her partner turned on a flash light. The nurse tilted her head back.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt when I do this?” She tilted Morgan’s head to the other side and moved the tangled brown hair out of the way.

“No.”

“Okay. Now I need you to follow my light with your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

She shined the light into Morgan’s eyes. She was so clinical and so cold. It made Morgan recoil.

“Alright, you seem to have a pretty nasty cut in your mouth. I have to see if you need any stitches.”

She pulled down Morgan’s bottom lip and called her partner over. Morgan felt like she was being inspected like a piece of cattle. There was no humanity left. He had strangled it out of her.

“I’m going to take your blood pressure now, Morgan.” She snapped on a new pair of latex gloves and placed the blue cuff around Morgan’s arm and started pumping.

The tighter the cuff became the more lightheaded she began to feel. She worried if the dizziness grew she’d faint and then be forced to go to the hospital. All she could do was concentrate on breathing.

She breathed.
She breathed again.

After the protocol was finished the EMT declared, “Well, it doesn’t look like you need any stitches. So, if you really don’t want to go to the hospital, you don’t have to. You’re scuffed up a bit, but there isn’t any urgent need for me to take you in. However, I suggest you see a doctor tomorrow.”

Morgan thanked her and promised to see her own physician in the morning. Inside she felt like screaming. A wave of relief washed over as she watched the paramedics leave the apartment. But that relief was short-lived.

Officer Conway picked up right where he left off, “Morgan, I’m still going to need you to come down to the station to file a report.”

“What? Why? I can’t! I don’t have anyone I can call. I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone.” He paused. “I’ll tell you what. Do you think you would feel better if you went and changed into some clean clothes first?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.”

“Why don’t you go back to the bedroom and get dressed? That will make you feel better.”

“Okay. But after I get changed do I really have to go down to the police station?”

“I’m afraid so.” He took off his police cap and smoothed his hair. “Don’t worry-”

“-But why do I need to come down to the station?”

“Well… because you should file for a temporary restraining order.”

“A temporary restraining order?”

Life with him was all she knew now. She hadn’t seen her family since…

“Yes, Morgan.” He leaned in closer. “I’ve seen this happen time and time again. This kind of abuse will only get worse. Eventually your boyfriend could kill you. He threatened you just a few minutes ago. You need some protection.”

“Do you really think he’s going to kill me?”

“He sounded like he meant it when he said it.” Officer Conway looked her in the eyes. “You need to protect yourself and there are ways you can do that. If you come down to the station, I can show you where and how to get help.”

That’s when she saw past his navy blue uniform. He was an older gentleman, possibly in his mid-fifties and obviously seasoned in his career. He had black hair with speckles of gray, a classic military haircut, and a noticeable five o’clock shadow. He wasn’t very tall, but even with his modest stature he could command a room. He had a genuine kindness in his dark, brown eyes. This type of softness was unfamiliar, yet welcoming. And that made her feel safe.

“Come on. You can do this,” he reassured.

“Alright.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll go get dressed now.”

As she changed, she couldn’t stop looking at the Kandinsky paintings. They were gifts from her mother. She had given them to Morgan right after graduating from boarding school. They were the only remnants she had left of her mother. In that instant, she longed for her mom. She wanted to feel her warm embrace, full-well-knowing that would never come. It never came. Realizing that this time would be the same as all the other ones before, she started to cry.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah… Just give me another minute.”

She put on a pair of old jeans, a clean t-shirt, and flip-flops. She grabbed her keys and her pocketbook and came out of the bedroom.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

And like that she begrudgingly went to the police station.

The sounds of the police radio filled the car. She gazed out of the window, covered with reinforced mesh wire, and chewed on her fingernails. She watched the streetlights go by and noticed they had a pinkish hue and wondered if the humidity of the August air just made them appear that way, or if they always looked like that. She also noticed there weren’t very many stars in the sky and wondered if it was supposed to rain.

The smell coming from the molded plastic seats was unidentifiable and pungent and she hoped it wouldn’t linger on her clothing. She looked at the tiny little air holes of the bulletproof divider between the front and back seats and imagined how many criminals had sat where she was sitting.

Once they arrived, Officer Conway let her out of the backseat and took Morgan into the brick building through a side glass door. They walked down a long, fluorescent lit corridor until coming to a room with an office. He stopped in to say hello to some fellow officers who called him, ‘the Breeze.’

As they continued down the hall and Morgan asked, “Why did he call you ‘the Breeze?’” She quickly felt awkward, as the question hung in the air, realizing that perhaps this was too personal.

He chuckled, “Oh, it’s just from one of my favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd songs. My friends have been calling me that for years.”

For the first time that night she wasn’t afraid anymore.

The walls of the hallway looked pale grey but she couldn’t tell if they were really that color, or if they were just dirty. The floors were similar to a hospital’s: designed to withstand high traffic and bodily fluids. She saw a few officers standing around chatting with each other and sipping coffee. They were utterly immune by what seemed to be a homeless man, handcuffed to a metal bench and shouting obscenities.

Morgan and Officer Conway entered his office. The creaking metal door reminded her of the sound of an electric garage opening. Among the piles of paperwork were a few photos in glass frames on his desk. Officer Conway was in one, appearing much younger with a beautiful woman and a small child.

“Is that your family?” she asked timidly.

“Yes, it is.” He smiled. “That’s my wife and my daughter. My daughter is almost your age now.”

She pulled out the metal folding chair and sat down across from him.

He opened one of the desk drawers and took out a form.

“Morgan, I am going to ask you a series of questions and I need you to answer them honestly.” He paused. “Then, I am going to call a judge. I will explain the events that occurred this evening and ask him to issue a temporary restraining order. The judge will also want to speak with you. If the T.R.O. is granted it’s only good for ten days. During those ten days your boyfriend will not be allowed to contact you, call you, or come within 50 yards of your person. After the ten days expire, you will be required to appear before a judge in court. At that time, you will have to face your boyfriend and tell your story. Then, the judge will determine whether or not to issue a final restraining order.”

“Will I need a lawyer? I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“No. You don’t need a lawyer. He will, though.”

“Um…” Her head started to spin. “Okay, so wait. If I do what you tell me, my boyfriend will have to stay away from me for at least ten days?”

“Yes.”

“…Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Officer Conway spent the next hour asking about the details of her relationship. How long had they lived together? How long the abuse had been going on? She could feel her cheeks turn hot and red, flushed with humiliation. How could things have gotten so terrible? Nothing made sense until she said everything aloud.

Once that was over, Officer Conway brought her into another room to take photographs of her injuries. It was small and dark. Her clothes were soaked in sweat and felt cold against her warm body.

Officer Conway told her that he needed to go back into his office and call the judge. He promised she was in good hands.

The woman in the room seemed friendly enough. She asked Morgan to stand in front of what looked like a white movie screen before the camera started snapping. She felt nervous, all over again. In fact, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and goose bumps erupted down her body.

While being photographed – the lady would come out from behind the enormous camera and walk over with a ruler to measure the size of the marks on Morgan’s face and neck. As each flash of light went off, Morgan felt as though she was re-experiencing another trauma. With each flicker, she thought about another incident she’d been pretending never happened . How did it get this bad? After all this time, it was only until now that she realized the cigarette burns on her right wrist were merely signs of proof – she had been lying to everyone, including herself. Suddenly, between flashes of white electric light did Morgan understand what denial truly was.

By the time Officer Conway returned, the woman had finished taking the pictures and it was time for Morgan to get on the phone with the judge. Again, she’d have to talk about what happened.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Just take a deep breath. It’s almost over.”

She shuffled down the fluorescent corridor and back into his office.

“But what am I going to do without him?” Her voice cracked. “How am I supposed to live?

My family doesn’t speak to me, I don’t have any job skills- I don’t even have a high school diploma. I can’t pay my rent working in McDonalds.”

Officer Conway promised her, if she trusted him, he would guarantee that she would be able to take care of herself. He said he’d accompany her in court to face him. He even mentioned knowing people that might be able to give her a job.

She simply decided to believe him.

She got on the telephone with the judge and explained what happened. He wasn’t interested in the details prior to the attack. But, under Conway’s coaching, Morgan understood that she needed to be clear that she was, in fact, afraid for her life. Once she gave her account of the facts to the judge, Officer Conway took back the phone, thanked him for his time, said goodbye, and worked on completing the paperwork.

Officer Conway put another form into the typewriter and began pecking away at the keys. The clacking sounds agitated her and she squirmed in the chair. She knew once he finished writing the report there would be no going back. Everything in her life was about to change, again. Only this time, she had no idea where she was headed, or how she was going to get there. And she was scared shitless.

“Alright, Morgan.” Officer Conway pulled the form out of the typewriter. “You need to sign in three places.” He placed the paper in front of her and pointed with the pen. “Sign here, here, and here.”

“Okay…” She signed. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Sure.”

“Where is my boyfriend right now? And what’s going to happen to him?”

“Well, tonight he’s going to stay in jail. He’s been arrested and charged with assault. He will remain in jail until someone bails him out, or until the court date, whichever happens first.”

“And then what happens?”

Officer Conway shook his head and put his palms up. “And then he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “Right…”

“I’m going to give you my business card with your copy of the T.R.O. You should keep both of them with you at all times. If your boyfriend shows up somewhere, you need to dial 9-1-1 immediately. When the police arrive, show them both of these.” He motioned to the form and his business card.

“Okay.” She took the paperwork and the card and tucked them into her pocketbook.

“I think we are all done here, Morgan. You did a great job. Are you ready to go back home now?”

She dreaded walking through the front door of the apartment. She didn’t want to cross paths with the neighbor. She was going to be alone for the first time in years. A new level of fear took over.

Still in a state of shock all she could say was, “Yes. Please.”

 

Chapter 2 – “COURTHOUSES & COFFEE”

The courthouse wasn’t at all like she remembered. It appeared much smaller. The last time she had been inside this building she was seven. But the grey bricks looked the same. The massive glass doors looked the same. The men and women dressed in business suits looked the same. But though the building took up half the city block, the architecture didn’t feel as overwhelming as it did when she was a little girl.

Ten days had gone by and it was time to face him.

The weather was warmer than usual, even for an early morning in August. Her pantyhose were already clinging to her inner thighs and she worried the humidity would cause the mascara to smudge before walking into the building. Cars hummed past and the voices of homeless people begging for change carried in the distance. She had forgotten how downtown New Brunswick sounded.

Officer Conway met her on the front steps of the courthouse just as he promised he would.
“Hi, Officer Conway.” She waved.

“Hello, Morgan.” He waved back while walking up to greet her. “Do you have any questions before we go inside?”

“Actually, yes.” She puffed on her cigarette to hide that her hands were shaking. “What happens when we go in front of the judge?”

Officer Conway flashed his winning smile. “Morgan, all you need to do is tell the truth. This will be over quickly. This is not a trial. It’s just a hearing. The Judge will ask you a few questions and all you have to do is answer him.”

“Okay.” She took another drag. “And that’s it?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“I’m, like, not even really nervous.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, I went to those Women’s Support Groups you told me about.”

“Oh, good! I’m glad you decided to attend them.”

“Yeah, they were pretty helpful. Besides, I couldn’t just sit home alone.” Her nerves were winning as she rambled to cope with them. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been to therapy before. I went to a boarding school in California. But it wasn’t just like a regular boarding school. It was more like a special school. You know, like for bad kids, or kids with a lot of problems at home. So when I arrived at the support group, I didn’t freak out or anything. In fact, even the way the metal folding chairs were set up in a circle felt like my therapy sessions in high school. Except the women in the support groups were much nicer than my counselors used to be.”

Officer Conway had a puzzled look on his face and Morgan feared she had said too much. She quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway, I heard a lot of horrible stories in those meetings. Like, one woman talked about her husband and how he actually stabbed her! Can you believe that shit?” She puffed on her cigarette again. “I guess I’m lucky I got out when I did.”

His eyes narrowed, “You are lucky, Morgan.”

“Seriously, I learned a lot in those meetings.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “My boyfriend didn’t always act like this. He used to be really sweet, especially when we first met. I guess that’s why I fell in love with him. Things didn’t change until after he lost his job and he started drinking all the time. Then he just went crazy.”

Officer Conway quietly listened and kept nodding his head.

“After hearing about that lady getting stabbed, I made the decision, right then and there, that I would never go back to my boyfriend- no matter what. I really don’t want to end up like some of those women.”

“I’m glad you learned from listening to their experiences, Morgan.”

“I know, right? And now I think I’m ready to stand up for myself.”

“I think you are ready too.” He patted her on the back. “Now put out that cigarette.”

“Alright.” She flicked her Camel into the gutter.

Perhaps it was because she trusted Officer Conway, or maybe it really was the Support Group, but her nerves began to calm and she wasn’t as afraid. Or maybe it was just the nicotine.

A yellow cab whizzed by and Officer Conway looked at his wristwatch.

“C’mon,” he said. “It’s time to go inside. We’re going to be late.”

They walked in together.

People clustered in groups inside of the dark hallway, with bodies practically pushing against each other. The walls were dingy brown. There wasn’t enough light. It smelled stuffy like the inside of a filing cabinet.

A security guard instructed her to walk through a metal detector and place her items through an X-ray machine. For a moment, it felt like being in the airport and Morgan flashed-back to the times she had flown cross-country to visit her mother and brother. She missed them. It had been over a year since they had spoken.

She placed her pocketbook on the conveyor belt and the security guard told her to take off her jewelry. She fumbled and dropped her lucky ring on the floor. When she bent down to pick it up, she noticed Officer Conway already waiting on the other side. He leaned against the wall with both of his hands inside his pant pockets. She kind of thought he looked handsome in his civilian clothes and his white button-down shirt, pressed perfectly.

She grabbed her things from the conveyor belt and made it through the metal detector.

“C’mon!” Officer Conway waved her along. “The courtroom is down this way.” He pointed to another corridor.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

They walked past people seated on wooden benches as they waited to be called into various courtrooms. Morgan thought of little narratives for why they were there. The woman with the bad acne was an abusive mother. The man in the blue blazer hit his girlfriend outside of a bar and the manager came out and kicked his ass- that’s what the mark on his forehead was from. The old man had a parking ticket and was here to try and fight it?

“-Morgan,” Officer Conway interrupted, “your boyfriend might be outside of the courtroom. You should be prepared to see him.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “I know he’s going to be here. But, like, I’m fine. Seriously. I’m totally fine.”

Officer Conway scratched his head. “Are you sure?”

“I guess so.” She started rambling again. “One time, I ran away from boarding school- the one I told you about earlier- and I hitchhiked halfway across the state of California before I got caught. So, this is like, way less dangerous. Right?”

His expression went from confused to fascinated. “You did what?”

“I know. I can’t believe I did that either. But I hated that school and I was desperate to get out. I ended up getting caught and sent back anyway and I had to stay for the next two years. But, it was no big deal, really.” She put her pocketbook down on a bench. “Hey, wait. Can we stop for a second? I need to find a piece of gum.”

“You can’t chew gum inside the courtroom. The Judge will frown upon that and it will reflect badly on your character.”

“Oh.”

He continued coaching, “And you certainly don’t want to be late. Nothing makes a judge more angry than having to wait for someone.”

“Okay then.” She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s keep going.”

They kept walking.

“How long did you attend that school? How far did you get when you ran away? How did you get caught? Why were you sent there in the first place?”

She never had the chance to answer.

As soon as they rounded the next corner she saw him.

She almost didn’t recognize her boyfriend. It was the first time she’d ever seen him clean shaven. His face looked beaten down. His tattoos were covered underneath a dark brown suit and he cut off his long hair. He glared at her with crimson eyes and the familiar ball of anxiety formed a lump in her throat.

But instead of cowering she turned angry and filled herself with hatred.

She hated him for all of the times he slapped her. She hated him for all of the times he humiliated her. She hated him for making her believe that he was the only person she could count on. She hated him for telling her she was worthless and useless and stupid. She hated him for making her fall for him. She hated him for turning her into such a wimpy mess. She hated him for coming between family. And all of that hatred suddenly made her feel extremely powerful.

Then she smiled at him and his attorney and turned her back.

The courtroom door flung open. A young, blond man dressed in a bailiff uniform called out their names. She raised her hand to show she was there, as did her boyfriend, before the bailiff waved them in.

It was hot inside the courtroom and she began to regret wearing pantyhose.

An old, white-haired Judge and a young, brunette stenographer were seated up front. But the rest of the room was empty. It was better that way.

By the time she sat down her hands were wet. The wooden chair felt heavy and she had difficulty pulling it out. She opened her pocketbook and took out the paperwork. She placed her copy of the statement and the Temporary Restraining Order neatly in front.
Once situated, Officer Conway took the seat behind her. Her boyfriend, along with his lawyer, sat at the opposing table.

“All rise! This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Marrow presiding. Docket Number 472908 – Morgan Haraway vs. Richard Prett,” the bailiff belted. “Morgan Haraway, please step forward.”

The chair creaked loudly, as she slid out from behind the table.

“Do you, Morgan Haraway, solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under the pains and penalties of perjury, so help you God?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked and her throat was dry.

“You may now be seated with permission from Your Honor.”

The Judge nodded.

She sat back down and scanned the room for a fan. It was so hot. Beads of sweat formed a line across her forehead and she wondered how the Judge could handle wearing such a thick, black robe.

The bailiff summoned, “Richard Prett, please step forward.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He looked so different from the man she dated. She thought about all of the nights she hid from him, locked inside of their blue bathroom, curled up on the cold, tile floor with nothing but a towel to cling to.

“Do you, Richard Prett, solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under the pains and penalties of perjury, so help you God?”

“Yes, sir.” He replied.

The Judge peered over the top of his glasses, “Mr. Prett, do you understand the charges against you?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you are not contesting them. Is that correct?”

The lawyer whispered something into his ear before he responded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

The Judge announced, “Mr. Prett, you are here today with pending criminal charges of aggravated assault upon your live-in girlfriend, Morgan Haraway. This hearing will determine whether or not a Final Restraining Order should be issued. A separate trial date will be set for the pending charges. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Your Honor.”

She had never heard him speak like this.

“You may now be seated.” The Judge looked at Morgan. “Miss Haraway, please describe your version of the events that occurred on August 18th of this year, 1993.”

Her hands began to shake and she longed for a cigarette in that moment. The last time she had spoken face to face with a Judge she was seven years old. But this was different. Last time it was behind closed doors in the privacy of the Judges’ Chambers. She took a moment and remembered. She was brave enough to do it then. She was brave enough to do it now.

She breathed.
She breathed again.

“My boyfriend and I got into an argument over what to watch on television. He had been drinking. He has a very bad temper when he drinks too much. He started yelling at me, demanding the remote control, and I thought he was going to hit me. He’s hit me before, many times, in fact. So I got up from the couch and I tried to walk away. That’s when he grabbed me.”

“Where did he grab you?”

“By my wrist.” She pointed to her right hand, cleared her throat again and continued. “I pulled my hand away from him and I started running toward the back of the apartment to lock myself inside of the bedroom. But he jumped up from the couch and came after me before I got there. So I ran into the kitchen hoping to get away from him. Then he cornered me in front of the refrigerator and that’s when he slapped me.”

“Where did he slap you?”

“In my face.” She pointed to her cheek. “I grabbed a plate from the countertop and I threw it at him, Your Honor, only to defend myself. But it missed him. The plate shattered against the wall, and when he wasn’t looking at me, I tried running away again. And then he started screaming, because I threw the plate at him… And I was really scared… He’s very loud when he yells… And…”

“There’s no rush. Take your time.”

She tried to slow down. She knew the words were falling out out of her mouth way too fast.
“I was running away from him, Your Honor. But everywhere I went to get away from him, he just kept chasing me. When he caught me, he grabbed me by both of my wrists, he screamed in my face, and then threw me down on the ground.”

The temperature inside of the courtroom made it difficult to breathe. It was like being strangled all over again.

“When we were on the floor, he climbed on top of me, pinned me down, and then he punched me with his fist. And I know I started bleeding because I tasted the blood in my mouth.” She paused. “And… then he choked me out.”

“What do you mean, he ‘choked you out?’”

“He put both of his hands around my neck and squeezed really hard. And I’m pretty sure I passed out because the next thing I remember the cops were inside my house and they were yanking him off me.” Tears started to build, but she refrained from crying. She kept her eyes forward, fixed on the Judge.

“Did anything else happen on the evening in question, Miss Haraway?”

“Well, he never touched me again, because the cops handcuffed him. But he kept yelling over and over that he was going to kill me and that I was going to pay for this.”

The Judge remained quiet for a while.

She reached across the table, grabbed a glass, and filled it with tepid water from the gold carafe. Water had never tasted as good as it did then. It wasn’t so hot anymore.

“Is there anything else you would like to add, Miss Haraway?”

“No.” Staring at the Judge made her feel dizzy.

He picked up a yellow piece of paper from his desk and read it over. Then he turned over to Richard.

“Mr. Prett, please describe your version of the events that occurred on August 18th of this year, 1993.”

“To be perfectly honest, Your Honor, I was in a drunken stupor. I tend to have blackouts and can’t remember very much.”

“Did you strike Miss Haraway that evening?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

And did Miss Haraway throw a plate at you?”

“I don’t remember.” He sneered. “But she kicked me. She kicked me in the balls. And then-”

“-When did she kick you in the genitals, Mr. Prett?”

“When we were in the kitchen,” he muttered.

“You need to speak up, Mr. Prett.”

“When we were in the kitchen,” he repeated.

Her head filled with hysterics. He was lying. She turned around to look back at Officer Conway. She shrugged her shoulders, put her palms up, and whispered, “what the fuck?” Officer Conway put his index finger over his lips and she turned back forward.

“Did Miss Haraway kick you in the genitals, before or after you struck her?”

“Before.” He lied again.

All she could do was tightly clasp her hands together.

The Judge looked back at her. “Miss Haraway, did you kick Mr. Prett in his genitals?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Yes, I did. But it was in the living room not in the kitchen. And I only kicked him because he was on top of me! And he was choking me- and I was trying to get him off of me!”

The Judge looked back at him, “Did Miss Haraway attack you in any other way, Mr. Prett?”

“Not that I can recall, Your Honor.”

The Judge looked irritated. “What else can you recall, Mr. Prett?”

“Only that she kicked me in the balls.” He paused. “And then I slapped her.”

An eerie silence filled the room. The only noise was the sound of the Judge rifling through the papers on his desk. Morgan could hear herself breathing in and out.

The Judge picked up that same yellow form and furrowed his brow. He stared at that piece of paper for a while and Morgan wanted to know what he was thinking. Squirming in the chair, waiting anxiously for him to say something, she counted the stars on the American Flag and watched the ticking hand of the analog clock hanging next to the burgundy curtains.

A few moments later The Judge declared, “I have made my ruling.”

Morgan stiffened her back and her upper lip.

“Considering you were in a drunken blackout, Mr. Prett, and can’t remember clearly, after reviewing the facts of this case, based on the testimony given today, along with detailed police reports, I hereby grant a Final Restraining Order.”

Her heart was pounding.

“The terms and conditions of the Final Restraining Order are as follows,” he continued. The Judge looked at Richard. “You may not commit any further acts of domestic violence against Morgan Haraway. You may not threaten to harm, harass, or stalk her or anyone else named in the restraining order. You are ordered to stay away from the home, property, school, work, or any other place that is named in the restraining order. You may not make any contact with Morgan Haraway, or others that are likely to annoy or alarm her, including contact in person, by telephone, in writing, or through a third person.”

The Judge continued giving him instructions peppered with legal jargon as Morgan gazed off into space. She imagined life without him. She practiced saying, “my ex-boyfriend” underneath her breath.

“Miss Haraway.”

“Yes?”

“You are hereby granted sole possession of the apartment. You will not be granted any emergency financial support. A law enforcement officer must accompany Mr. Prett to your home to supervise the removal of his personal items. Do you understand the terms and conditions of said restraining order?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“It has been so ordered. This court is adjourned.”

The gavel slammed against the podium and the boom established her independence. It was finally over and she would never have to see him again.

Shoving the paperwork back into her purse, Morgan gathered the rest of her belongings. She felt Richard’s eyes on her but resisted the urge to look at them. She waited for him and his lawyer to leave first.

She turned to Officer Conway and asked, “Where’s the bathroom?”

He laughed. “Go out that door, make a left, go down the hallway, and it will be on the right side. I’ll wait for you by the entrance.”

“Thank you.”

She left and walked down, spotted the bathroom and hoped to God there wasn’t a line. There wasn’t.

She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face, careful not to ruin her eye makeup. She took a paper towel from the automatic machine and ran it under the cold water before wiping the sweat off her cleavage. When she looked up she was surprised by her reflection in the mirror. The bruises on her neck had faded. She smiled. She hadn’t seen herself smile in…

“It’s been a long time,” she said to herself.

She left the bathroom and met up with Officer Conway near the entrance of the courthouse.

“Oh man, I feel so much better.”

“You look better too,” he grinned. “That crinkle in your forehead is gone.”

“Yeah?” She smiled. “Well, now I just have to figure out what I should do with the rest of my life.”

“Let’s grab a cup of coffee. There’s a place right around the corner from here.”

“I’d like that.”

Officer Conway and Morgan sat down together at a small, wooden table, right by the window of a local coffee shop a few blocks away from the courthouse. Sunlight streamed through the blinds and there were specks of dust floating in the air. Specks of dust seemed so happy to her: carefree and adrift. For a moment Morgan longed to be one of those pieces of dust.

Neatly placing the linen napkin on her lap, Morgan watched the white creamer swirl in the ceramic mug before taking a sip.

“Um… Officer Conway,” she cleared her throat, “I just wanna thank you for coming with me today. I’m not sure I would have been able to go through with everything if you hadn’t been there.”

He raised his mug. “You did a good job. I knew you would. Cheers.”

They clinked cups together. She took another sip and then rearranged the salt and pepper shakers so they were aligned and centered on the table.

“Ya’ know…it feels kinda weird to keep calling you Officer Conway after all you’ve done for me.”

He flashed his smile, “You can call me The Breeze.”

“Okay.” She smiled back.

“I haven’t forgotten about my promise either, Morgan.”

“What promise?”

“To help you look for a job.”

“Oh, right.” She hadn’t forgotten. She had only been too nervous to ask about it. She was relieved he brought it up.

“I have two very dear friends that own a few different bars. In fact, I’m so close with them, I’m Godfather to their children. If you decide you’d like to come with me to meet them, I’m one hundred percent confident they will hire you on the spot. You would have the potential to make a lot of money.”

“But I don’t know how to waitress,” she interrupted. “And I definitely don’t know how to tend bar! I mean I guess I could learn how to wait tables. How hard can that be? And I could make good tips, right? Don’t waitresses make good tips? I always leave a good tip. I give the pizza delivery guy $5.00 on a $10.00 order. Maybe it would kinda be like working at Cheers.”

“Well…” He smoothed his hair. It was something he did before saying anything important. “It’s not exactly like that.” The smile on his face faded.

“Then how is it, exactly?”

There was a long silence.

She could tell from his face he was trying to put the words together carefully before he said them. She twirled her hair waiting to hear him say something.

“What? You’re making me nervous!”

“You have nothing to be nervous about… It’s a Go-Go bar.”

“A Go-Go bar? I don’t know what that is.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “It’s a Gentleman’s Club.”

“Oh hell no!” She felt awkward and looked around to see if anybody looked up at her. No one did. “Um… I’m not going to work in a strip club. No way. Absolutely not.”

“Morgan,” he started, “hear me out. It’s not really a strip club. That’s why it’s called a Go-Go Bar.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The women don’t take off all of their clothes. They leave their underwear on.”
She had no frame of reference beside the depictions in cinematic movies. All she knew were sleazy, balding men who groped and belittled seemingly trashy, fake breasted women.

“I really don’t understand what you mean.”

“That’s why you should come check it out. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to work there. I can help you look for something else. But since I know the owners and since I know a lot of the women who work there, I could introduce you to everyone. They’re very nice people, Morgan. And you would make more than enough money to support yourself.”

“So… wait a second. Let’s be clear here.” She leaned over the table and lowered her voice on the off-chance someone walked by. “Are you telling me that girls who work in the bar never get naked?”

“That’s correct.” He tilted his head to the right. “They do not take off all of their clothes. They only wear sexy lingerie. Sometimes they just wear revealing bathing suits.”

“Get outta here!” She didn’t believe him. “They dance around in bathing suits? You don’t mean birthday suits?”

“No, Morgan. They do not get undressed.” He smoothed his hair again. “There are other types of Gentleman’s Clubs called ‘Juice Bars’ and the women who work in those establishments let it all hang out. But it is illegal for any woman working in a Go-Go Bar to expose themselves completely.”

She picked up her napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Huh? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“There are specific laws in the state of New Jersey.” He spoke in his professional tone of voice. His years of policing were coming through. “The Alcohol Beverage Control, the A.B.C., prohibits any nudity, including topless women, wherever and whenever alcohol is sold inside of a bar.”

She stirred her coffee. “Well, I’m still confused. I can’t imagine a strip club that doesn’t let the girls actually strip.”

“That’s why you should come with me to check it out,” he reiterated.

Morgan didn’t know what to do with her hands and didn’t realize how much noise she made clanking the metal spoon around the coffee mug until The Breeze politely asked her to stop. She put down the spoon and considered his proposal. He had rescued her. He had been the kindest man she’d known in a long, long time. She had no reason not to believe him. She couldn’t afford not to. Rent was due in fifteen days.

“So… What do you think?”

“Hmmmm…” She took another sip. “I’m not really sure. I’m gonna need a few minutes.”

“Okay. Take your time.”

Looking out of the window, she watched the people passing by on the sidewalks. She noticed a professional-looking woman hustling past the oblivious summer crowd. She looked so important with her sassy, short brown hair and fancy leather briefcase. Morgan remembered wanting to be just like that as a little girl, playing ‘bank president’ and handing out pretend overdrawn forms to various family members. A wave of sadness came over her. She was not that woman. She was never going to be that woman. She only had 1 opportunity and it was the one being offered to her now.

A waitress dropped a tray and a crashing coffee mug brought Morgan back to the table.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “There was a lady outside that distracted me.”

“No problem. I can see you’re deep in thought.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I guess I was.”

“So, have you decided to give it a shot?”

“Well, I suppose I could check it out. But will you promise me that no one gets naked, one more time? And, will you promise me that no one walks around all kinds of topless?”

“Yes, Morgan. I promise.” He looked insulted. “Would I lie to you?”

“Actually no. You wouldn’t.” She took a final sip. “So… Um… like… when did you want to go?”

“I think we should go this afternoon. The owner, Gino, will be there after 4.”

She pursed her lips together and thought about it for one more second. What’s the worst thing that could happen? The worst already had happened.

“Okay. Okay. What the hell? I guess I can come with you to check it out.”

His face lit up. “Morgan, if you feel uneasy at all we can leave and you don’t have to work there. But it can’t hurt to at least see what it’s like.”

“You’re right.” She smiled. “It would be dumb if I didn’t.”

He turned around, found the waitress and raised his finger to ask for the check. He drew a scribble in the air with his fingers. “I’ll meet you at your apartment around 5 o’clock. Does that work for you?”

“Alrighty.” She nodded. “That will give me enough time to go home and take a shower and change out of these uncomfortable court clothes.”

“Great.” He took out his wallet and paid the bill. “Let me walk you back to your car.”

On the drive back to her apartment, Morgan realized the gravity of her situation yet she had no idea what she was supposed to expect tonight.

 

Chapter 3 – “WELCOME TO SCORPIOS”

She flung open the apartment door, marched up the steps, and tossed her keys onto the glass coffee table next to the stack of unpaid bills. Sweaty and hungry, she walked over to the window air-conditioner and turned it on high. She stood in front of the humming, beige box letting the cold air wash over. She grabbed a hair tie from her wrist and pulled her hair into a bun to keep the strands from sticking to her cheeks.
“That’s better.” She said aloud. Since the night the police took Richard away, Morgan had begun talking to herself. The sound of her own voice helped drive out the sad silence.
Wandering into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and contemplated making a sandwich. But instead of eating, she just stood there opening and closing the refrigerator door. She watched the interior light click off and on, off and on, off and on. At some point she started to daydream. Eventually, the scent of the garlic pizza leftovers hit her nose and made her nauseas.

“Man, that stinks. I gotta throw that out.”

She went to get a new garbage bag and could hear some of the neighborhood kids playing outside. She peeked through the broken mini blinds above the kitchen sink and saw them playing kickball. Another memory triggered, this time of her younger brother, Alex. They played outside in her old neighborhood all summer long: stickball, hopscotch, and jumping through metal sprinklers on the front lawn. They’d draw on the driveway with chalk and ride bikes as fast as they could until the streetlights came on. That was when it was time to come home.

They did everything together. They were thick as thieves and they even had their own secret language.

She missed Alex more than ever. She wanted to call him. She knew he was away at boarding school. But, she couldn’t do it. What was she going to say when he finally asked, “and how are you?”

“I’m good. I just got out of court after my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – beat the shit out of me. Don’t worry though, I’m meeting with the cop who worked my case later and he’s getting me a job as a stripper. I’m doing great.”

She walked back to the refrigerator and threw out the pizza. She grabbed a beer and cracked it open. Bubbles filled her mouth and the tickling feeling in her throat was calming. She decided to linger in the kitchen and savor every gratifying sip of Budweiser before getting ready. She lifted her head up, sighing in relief, and noticed the blue paint peeling in the corners of the ceiling. She thought the little cracks looked pretty, spread out like spider webs. She wondered if it was the landlord’s responsibility to fix or hers.

After two beers, she made way toward the bedroom and passed the Kandinsky prints, now fixed hanging in the hallway. She took a look at them and smiled and then laughed to herself. She had finally fixed something broken in her life.

In the bedroom, Morgan had trouble putting together an outfit. She had already worn the nicer clothes she owned for her court appearance. Most of what she had were Grateful Dead t-shirts. McDonalds uniform and ripped-up jeans.

She started talking to herself again. “Hmm… What kind of top should I wear? Should I wear jeans- or shorts? Maybe a dress? What do I have that’s slutty? Should I wear something slutty? I mean, probably, right?”

It took 40 minutes before settling on a long forgotten summer dress. It took another half hour before she could decide on the shoes. When she did, she noticed they were scuffed to hell and half ruined. To hide the scuffs, she took a black magic marker and went over them. When they dried, the scuffed over parts were now sheener, and eventually she went over the entirety of both shoes. To her surprise, they looked nice by the time she finished.
In the shower she tried to envision what the dancers would be like. How would they look? She pictured glamorous Playboy Bunnies with full, voluptuous breasts and perky asses. They had long, blonde hair and were all friendly with each other. Morgan only envisioned herself as the shy new girl, ripe with insecurities.

“My boobs are too small. My hair’s too thin. I have fat thighs. The other girls are going to be so pretty and they’re already going to be friends with each other- like, I know they’re all going to gang up on me and hate me. Ugh. Why am I doing this?”

The water suddenly became ice cold and the shock apprehended her self-deprecation.
“God damn this apartment!”
The shampoo was in her eyes.
“I gotta fucking move.” She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror.

She went back into the bedroom and had a cigarette. Puffing hard, she sat down on the edge of the bed with water rippling underneath.
“Okay,” she inhaled. “You’re only going to see what the place is like. It’s no big deal. Calm down.”

And she did. The miracle that is nicotine.

Dropping her cigarette into her grandmothers’ antique crystal ashtray – Morgan pretended like she was getting ready for any other night. She put on makeup as if going to the grocery store, applying nude lip-gloss and a few coats of mascara. She hot-rolled her hair the same way she always hot-rolled it. After setting, teasing, and hairspraying, she hated the way it turned out, the way she always hated it. She reminded herself of that, and had learned that eventually she’d get over it.

She put on the grey and white dress and stepped into her newly blackened shoes. Standing in front of the mirror one last time, she gave herself a complete once over.
“Eh. Fuck it,” she said.

With nothing else left to obsess about, she folded all the clothes scattered across the room and put them back in the closet where they belonged. Suddenly she heard The Breeze honking his horn in the parking lot of the apartment complex. It was time to go.
She grabbed her purse and her keys and shut off the lights. She ran down the steps and locked the door behind her.

Morgan and The Breeze walked across the gravel parking lot together. The sound of shifting rocks crunched underneath their feet. The dirt from the ground had climbed into her wedge shoes. She looked down and noticed her perfectly painted red toenails were dusty. As they made their way towards the bar, the late afternoon sun beat down upon them and Morgan began perspiring. Whether it was the heat or the anxiety, she didn’t know.

They came up to a large, brown building. It was shaped like a two story 70’s estate house, except it didn’t have any visible windows. Bright yellow awnings hung above the entrance with the word Scorpios written on it. An open-faced billboard, standing twenty feet tall, surrounded with blinking yellow lights, was planted in the middle of the lot. The removable black letters read:

SCORPIOS

Tonight Features: Brandy | Lilia | Mercedes | Georgia

$2.00 Drafts 4-6 pm | Free Buffet 6-10pm

The Breeze stopped to ask, “Are you nervous? You were pretty quiet in the car.”

“I’m not really sure.” She played it cool. “I think I’m more curious than anything.” She didn’t want to admit she was nervous.

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” he reassured her.

“Whatever you say.” She smirked.

The closer they got to the building the more fearful she became. But there was no turning back.

The Breeze held open the purple door of the Go-Go bar and Morgan followed closely behind him. After being outside in the bright sunlight, it took awhile to adjust to the darkness. They took a few steps inside and her eyes still hadn’t focused. Rubbing her eyes didn’t help much. Neither did the flashing lights that blinded her.

The air was a mixture of perfume, men’s cologne, spilt beer, and cigar smoke. Morgan started to gag. The music was so loud she could feel the Rock N’ Roll music deep inside her chest and her lungs vibrated to the beat. It was all so overwhelming.

The Breeze said something but she couldn’t hear him.

“What!?” she yelled back at him. “I can’t hear you!”

He leaned in closer and repeated himself. “Let’s grab some seats at the bar.”

Even though she didn’t want to walk any further, she shouted in agreement.

The soles of her shoes seemed to be sticking to the floor, making getting around difficult. She thought everyone in the building was looking at her, only she couldn’t see their faces.
“They must think I’m an idiot,” she thought to herself. She had to grab the sleeve of The Breeze’s shirt, as if he was her watchdog in her blind state. She began to think that perhaps these were the wrong shoes afterall. Her sweaty feet slipped around inside and she worried with just a single wrong move she’d twist an ankle.

When The Breeze finally pulled out a barstool and motioned for her to sit, she was never so happy to be still.

She slung her pocketbook over the back of the barstool, grabbed the cigarettes from the side pocket, and placed them on top of the bar. Her eyes finally adjusted to the light, yet with the beams of colored light, nothing seemed real. The mysterious faces of strange men seated at the bar looked as though they had been painted onto tanned mannequins.

The Breeze elbowed her side. “Morgan, what would you like to drink?”

She turned to face him and was unexpectedly jarred by his appearance. “Oh, um…” she stammered. “Why do your teeth look all weird? Why are they glowing in the dark?”
He let out a belly laugh and pointed upwards to the thin fluorescent tubes that lined the edges of the ceiling casting off a purplish hue.

“It’s the black lights!” He informed her. “They make everything glow in the dark. Look at your dress!”

The white polka dots and the white laces on her dress appeared electric and she saw speckles of lint glowing on his black t-shirt.

“So… what would you like to drink?” The Breeze asked again.

“Um… I dunno. What are you having?”

“Jack and Coke.” He waved his arm to get the bartender’s attention.

Morgan twirled a lock of her hair tightly around her finger. She had never been so misplaced.

“I guess I’ll have an unsweetened iced tea?”

“I don’t think they serve that here.” He chuckled. He liked her ignorance. It brought out how young she really was. Her dark brown eyes looked so old; but he didn’t realize she was just sad.

“Well…” she covered her mouth and brought it to his ear. “I’m only eighteen, remember? I can’t order any alcohol.”

“Yes you can.” He smiled, “You’re with me.”

“Alrighty, then. How about a Vodka Cranberry?”

“Atta’ girl.” The Breeze elbowed her side again, “Now you’re getting into the spirit.”

Wiggling in her barstool she took in the surroundings.

The wooden stage had an unusual shape. It was neither square or triangular, it was somehow a little of both, almost like the edge of an octagon. A high gloss sheen reflected the rainbow colored lights hanging from above. There were three silver metal poles, anchored at opposite corners, and when the lights hit the poles in a certain way, she could see how badly they were scratched.

The grey and purple bar wrapped around the outside of the stage like a horseshoe and it was covered with little, round, red, plastic ashtrays. There were five separate beer taps, two of which also dispensed Jagermeister. Napkin and straw holders were neatly placed upon the bar top, along with clear plastic containers filled with sliced lemon and lime wedges.

Streaky mirrors lined three of the four walls making the bar appear much bigger than it was. And in the very back, near the far left corner, she could see tiny, white Christmas lights outlining the DJ Booth.

One of the bartenders came over to where they were sitting. She could not have been taller than five feet. She was so tiny that she had to stand up on her tiptoes to reach over the bar and clear the empty glasses. She had short brown hair and bright green eyes. She had a round, friendly face that was unaffected by the bizarro lighting.

“Hey, Breeze!” She leaned over the bar and kissed him on the cheek.

He kissed her hello back.

With an outstretched hand she turned to Morgan. “Hi, I’m Kara. And you are?”

She was shy and suddenly too timid to speak.

“Cat got your tongue?” She teased.

Morgan knew she should say hello. She knew she needed to give her some kind of reply. But when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

“I won’t bite ya!” Kara cackled. Her laughter was so infectious Morgan couldn’t help from giggling.

“Um.” She fumbled for the Camel Lights on top of the bar. “My name is Morgan.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet ya, Morgan.” Her upbeat and perky personality eased the awkwardness.

Kara grabbed a pack of matches from the pocket of her cut-off jean-shorts and lit the cigarette dangling from Morgan’s lips. The smell of phosphorus lingered in her nostrils. As she exhaled, she watched the smoke change from red, to blue, to purple under the colored lights.

“So, what can I get ya to drink?” Kara asked The Breeze.

“I’ll have my usual Jack and Coke. And please get my friend here a Vodka Cranberry.”
Kara hesitated for an instant and looked at Morgan. She raised an eyebrow and Morgan thought for sure she would ask for I.D. She felt awkward and anxious again and glanced over to The Breeze. But Kara didn’t question her age and instead just gave a smile.
She placed two white napkins on the bar, one in front of each of them, before saying, “I’ll be right back with both of your drinks.”

She pointed at Morgan, “And when I come back, I expect you to be talking!”

Morgan smiled and watched Kara laugh and walk away. She was small and spunky and confident. She had a happy presence and Morgan liked her instantly.

“Gee,” Morgan said to the Breeze, “I guess I really don’t have anything to worry about. I thought for sure I was gonna get carded.”

“I told you.” He firmly replied. “When are you going to start trusting me?”

“I trust you.” Morgan looked into his eyes, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” His fluorescent teeth gleamed, “Yes, you are.”

Her curiosity started to get the best of her, “So where are the dancers anyway?”

“Well…” He explained, “Since it’s only five o’clock they are in the middle of changing shifts. The day time girls are leaving shortly and the night shift girls will start soon.”

“People come here in the daytime?”

“Oh yeah. Of course they do.” He laughed loudly. “But things don’t get intense until later. Usually, around ten o’clock, this place is packed, and the dancers put on big shows.”

“Shows?” Morgan straightened the napkin in front of her on the bar. “What do you mean shows?”

“You’ll see.” He smoothed his hair. “In the beginning of the night everything starts out a little slowly. The dance routines aren’t huge productions until later on.”

“Huh?” She tilted her head.

He laughed again at how child-like she was. “Oh, just wait. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Alrighty.”

Just then, as if scripted, the music stopped. She heard a male voice coming out of the speakers; silky, like a corny Jazz radio host.

“Coming to the stage will be one of our favorite girls, Brandy,” The DJ announced.
A beautiful blond haired girl appeared and all the lights fixed on her. She came out from a side hallway and walked towards the bar. Welcome To The Jungle blared through the speakers. She lifted up the purple slab in the middle of the bar, walked through the opening, placed a pocketbook in the corner, and climbed onto the stage.

Wearing a skin-tight, red leather mini dress, complete with shiny silver zippers and black leather thigh-high boots, it was like she stepped out of an MTV video and into Scorpios. Burgundy lipstick outlined her mouth and little, metal spikes stuck out from the choker she wore around her neck.

Screaming guitar licks pulsed through the air as Morgan watched her move seductively and completely uninhibited. She danced perfectly in rhythm with the music. Even her long blond hair whipped in sync with the beat of the drums. She wrapped her body around the pole and slithered up and down, like fingers on the edge of a pencil. She grabbed the pole with one hand and bent over, leaning the rest of her body slightly forward. It was just enough to give a peak beneath her dress. Then she looked back at somebody and gave a coquettish wink before smacking her own ass.

Spinning, floating, and twirling around on the glossy stage, darting from pole to pole, Morgan couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She moved as gracefully as the professional dancers Morgan had seen on Broadway. Morgan began to wonder if she, too, had formal training. She wondered how hard it must have been to maneuver in those shoes. She had never seen heels that high. She wondered if her feet hurt.

Once she took flight around the pole and seemed suspended in air against all rules of gravity, Morgan was in awe. She had become a scarlet tanager sailing through the sky until landing safely and perfectly poised on the ground. Morgan didn’t know this, but she couldn’t stop audibly saying ‘wow.’ The Breeze looked over and laughed, but said nothing.
Brandy crawled across the stage on her hands and knees, with come-fuck-me-eyes. She arched her back enough to hold her ass way up high. She rolled around on the floor, humping the stage, until flipping over. She lied there, opening her legs, spread eagle, and ran her fingers down her own inner thighs.

Morgan was impressed with the athleticism of it all, but couldn’t convince herself one way or another if she liked what she saw. She didn’t know if she was turned on or off. She felt something she had never felt before and couldn’t describe it, even to herself. Uncomfortable in her own body, she lit another cigarette and wished the bartender would hurry back with the cocktails.

Slow and Easy came on next, a reprieve from her impassioned performance. She slinked across the stage dragging her feet softly. She tossed her golden locks and ran her hands through her hair, down her neck, and over her breasts. In between glides and pirouettes she deliberately paused, making direct eye contact with the men seated at the bar.
Morgan moved her attention away from Brandy to watch the faces of the men inside. They were locked onto the golden haired vixen, too.

Their eyes followed every one of her movements as though she had hypnotized them. When she spun to the left, so did their bobbing heads. When she pranced to the right, they turned in their seats. It was beyond a simple lusting. What she watched come over them was a deep, intense longing.

She unzipped her red leather dress. She took just enough time to tease them before shimming out of the leather with one effortless motion. As swift as a single pull, her black lace bra and matching black lace thong were exposed. The rainbow lighting accentuated her unbelievable body as she paraded around the stage showcasing her perfectly sculpted ass.

“Holy shit,” Morgan said to herself. “That girl is smoking hot,” she then said to the Breeze.
He nodded in agreement. When looking back at Brandy, Morgan started thinking of her own body. Before she could fall deep into self-consciousness, Kara came back over with the drinks in hand. Morgan couldn’t wait for her to put the cocktail down on the napkin. She grabbed it immediately and took a long sip. The vodka burned the back of her throat and she thought the glass smelled like an old sponge.

“So Morgan, do you work in a Go-Go bar?” Kara inquired.

She was caught off guard.

“Um… no.” Her face felt hot and she knew it must have turned red. In the already colorful lighting, nobody noticed. “Actually, I’ve never been to one of these places before.”

“Oh!” Kara bellowed, “Welcome to the insanity!”

She drank more than half of her cocktail with the next sip. “Um… I think I’m gonna need another one of these… and probably really soon.”

“You got it.” She grinned. “So what brought you here, Morgan?”

She pointed at The Breeze, “He did!”

“Yeah, I figured that out!” She laughed. “I meant what made you come to a Go-Go bar?”

Kara asked so sweetly, Morgan just answered honestly.

“Well, The Breeze told me he knows a lot of people here. And since I’m kinda like, looking for a job… he thought, maybe- like- I should work here or something.”

“I see.” She nodded with a grin.

The Breeze interrupted their conversation, “Hey, Kara, is Gino here yet? I want him to meet Morgan.”

“No, not yet.” She shook her head. “But I think Danny is here. Do you want me to get him for ya?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, that would be great!” He took a swig of his Jack and Coke.
“Who’s Danny?” Morgan asked.

“He’s the manager.” The Breeze put his drink down on the bar. “And I want you to meet him, too.”

Morgan wasn’t in the mindset to meet anybody. Anxiety-riddled thoghts raced in her mind: “What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? Am I really trying to get a job here? What kind of job am I getting, anyway?”

She finished the last of her first Vodka Cranberry while looking at Kara.

“Geez, Morgan!” She laughed. “Don’t freak out.”

She didn’t think anything was funny but still let out a flustered laugh.

The Breeze patted her on the back, “Relax! Have another drink.”

“Oh, I will!” Morgan shifted in her seat. “I definitely will.”

Kara shuffled the napkins next to the beer tap. “I have to run into the kitchen to place a food order. While I’m back there, I’ll see if I can find Danny. And Morgan, when I come back to the bar I’ll get you another drink.”

“Yes, please!” Morgan had been chewing on the end of her straw.

“Okay! I’ll be right back.” Kara flashed her smile and walked away.

Morgan was going to ask The Breeze more about Danny and what type of a job he thought she might get, when the blond dancer on stage noticed him. She let out a joyful squeak, waved with excitement, and blew kisses in his direction. He casually waved back.

“Wow,” Morgan said. “I guess she really likes you, huh?”

“I told you: I know a lot of the people here.” He leaned back in his barstool. “I’ve been coming to this bar for over fifteen years. I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone.”

As Morgan continued watching the girl dance on stage, she felt intimidated by her power, her beauty, and her incredible self-confidence. She was so certain about what she was doing and Morgan was drawn to her because of that.

“Who is she?” Morgan asked.

“That’s Brandy.”

She tried not to stare. “She’s really beautiful.”

“Her name is on the billboard out front.”

“Oh! Right!” She took a drag from her freshly lit cigarette.

The Breeze smiled. “Don’t you remember? The DJ announced her name.”

“I totally forgot.”

“She’s very sweet. You’re going to love her!”

“If you say so.”

“Just relax.” He had been saying that a lot today.

Morgan took another drag from her cigarette and flicked the ashes into the little, red ashtray. “Okay, fine.”

When the Whitesnake song ended, Brandy came down from the stage and raced over to The Breeze. She stayed behind the bar, a fixed barrier between herself and clients in the event they became handsy.

“You’re here!” she shrieked. “I’m so happy to see you!” She leaned over the bar to kiss The Breeze and Morgan could smell her Tea Rose perfume. When she glanced in Morgan’s direction, she saw tiny flecks of glitter all over her cheeks that made her skin shimmer like sunshine reflected off a pool.

The Breeze folded a crisp twenty-dollar bill between his index and middle fingers and then reached his hand over the bar. Brandy carefully collected the bill, by placing his two fingers with the money, inside the middle of her cleavage. Then she cupped her hands around the outside of her bra and squeezed her breasts together.

“Thanks, lover.” She smiled.

In that instance Morgan noticed a striking resemblance between Brandy and the actress Patricia Arquette. But when Brandy opened her mouth, she noticed one of her front teeth was overlapping another. A flaw. Ah. She was just one of us.
Brandy tossed her blond hair and extended her hand towards Morgan. “And who might you be?”

The pretty girls in high school were bitches so Morgan worried that she might be one too.
Hesitant, she replied, “Hey…I’m Morgan.”

Luckily, Brandy was welcoming and pleasant as she fired off questions. “What bar do you work in? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Have you been here before?” Never stopping to catch her breath she exclaimed, “You’re beautiful! You’re a dancer, right?”

Watching her talk, Morgan wished her body looked more like Brandy’s. She had excellent muscle definition and toned arms. In Morgan’s mind, her own arms were too skinny.

“Um. No. I don’t work in a Go-Go bar. But, um… I might get a job here.”

“Really? You should totally come work here! All of the girls here are so cool. We’re like one big family. We’re really close with each other, ya’ know? I’ve been working here for three years and I’ve met some of the best girls in the world. I’m telling you, if you’re gonna work in a Go-Go bar this is the place you wanna be.”

Clumsily tapping her fingertips on the bar Morgan muttered, “That’s cool.”

Brandy batted her long eyelashes, “It’s a lot of fun here too. Every day is like a party. And we all look out for each other. It’s not like some of the other bars I’ve worked in. This place is different. We might not be super-high-class or anything, like Scores in New York City, but those girls are just a bunch of stuck-up cunts.”

“Really?” Morgan had no idea what she was talking about.

“Yeah! Really!” Brandy displayed her crooked teeth with her smile. “One time, at another bar, in Staten Island, some girl stole all of my costumes. I never went back to that hellhole again. That kinda thing would never happen here!”

Morgan wasn’t sure why she was trying so hard to sell her on the idea of getting a job there, but it was working.

The Breeze broke up their banter. “Go make some money, Brandy! But come over to this side of the bar and have a drink with us when you’re finished with your set.”

“I’d love to!” She squealed in a high-pitched tone. “Can you order a chilled Lemon Drop for me?”

“Of course!” He offered.

Brandy turned her back to them, bent over the stage, shook her ass, and turned around to face them again. The Breeze handed her another twenty-dollar bill.

“I’ll be right over just as soon as I finish my set,” she promised and she sauntered off to the next customer.

Morgan turned to face The Breeze, “Okay. You were right. Brandy is very sweet.”
“I knew you’d like her,” he snickered.

“I really didn’t think she would be so nice. I mean, I thought she was gonna be a bitch, or ignore me, or something. But she’s the opposite. She wasn’t bad at all.”

“I’m glad you’re finally starting to loosen up.”

“Me too.”

She hoped all the dancers would be like Brandy: beautiful, humbly flawed, and approachable. For a brief moment she tried to envision herself working there, though still not aware what type of job she’d be doing. When she saw Kara walking back over with their new cocktails in hand, instead of recoiling, she smiled at her.

“Well, you look less petrified, Morgan. I must have made a good drink.”

“I am less petrified. Hopefully this next drink will totally calm me down.”

“You’re gonna be just fine.”

Then Kara turned to The Breeze. “I saw Danny in the kitchen and I told him you were here. He should be out in a few minutes to see you.”

“Perfect.” The Breeze finished his Jack and Coke and exchanged his empty glass for the new one. Then he turned to Morgan.

“Danny will be coming out of the kitchen soon and he’s going to want to meet you. If everything goes well, which I assume it will, you could be on stage tonight.”

Morgan froze. She looked at the exit and estimated how many steps it would take to get there. But then she remembered she didn’t have her car.

“I don’t know about that!” She picked up her drink. “Maybe I could be a cocktail waitress, or a bartender, or something like that but I can’t dance!”

“Should I get a bigger glass for your next drink?” Kara teased.

“Do you have a bucket instead?”

“No! Haha. But, look at you! I knew you had a sense of humor.”

But she really wasn’t joking. A bucket of vodka would have been just fine.

 

 

Chapter 4 – “THE AUDITION”

Watching Brandy make her way around the bar, stopping in front of patrons and collecting tips, Morgan became fixated on the crumpled cash she held in her hand. She tried to see but couldn’t tell what denominations of cash Brandy had. All Morgan knew was that Brandy had a lot of it.

Brandy stopped circling the bar when she reached her pocketbook lying on the corner of the stage. She sat down on the edge and shoved the money inside her bag. Morgan wondered why she would keep a bag full of cash there and how she didn’t worry about someone taking it.

Using his Jazz radio host tone, “The next dancer coming to the stage will be Lilia,” the D.J. boomed.

A flash of fluorescent lights caught Morgan’s attention and she looked away from the stage. In the far right corner of the building she saw purple doors open. An older Irish, hippie-looking man with long, stringy gray hair came from the kitchen. He wore faded navy blue jeans and a raggedy shirt. She thought it was the cook.

“Who’s that?” she asked the Breeze.

“That’s the manager, Danny.” He noted. “He’s coming over here to talk to me and to meet you.”

“Oh, right.” She realized between the chain smoking and drinking she had bad breath. “Do you have a piece of gum? Or maybe a mint?” she asked the Breeze.

He patted his pockets, “No. Sorry, I don’t.”

“Damn.”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He stood up and walked toward Danny.

She shrugged. She didn’t want him to leave her side. But she had no choice. When he got up and walked over, she followed him with her eyes. She was too nervous to look at anything else. She watched them talk and tried to make out what they were saying. The lights and the smoke made it hard to lip read. They chatted for a while and her stomach turned when she saw the Breeze point in her direction.

Morgan wasn’t sure if she was supposed to stand when they came closer. She was afraid and the anxiety paralyzed her. She sat with her legs crossed as tightly as she could.

“Morgan,” The Breeze patted her on the shoulder, “this is Danny.”

Danny extended his hand. “Welcome to Scorpios.”

“Hi,” she replied. His strong, calloused palms swallowed her hand whole.

“I understand you’re looking for a job?”

“Um… yeah.”

“I need to go over a few things with you.” Danny was a low-talker and Morgan had to strain to hear what he was saying. “I need-”

“-What?” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. I can’t really hear you over the music.”

“Follow me,” Danny instructed.

She looked at The Breeze and he gave an encouraging nod.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Now?”

Danny didn’t respond. He turned away and headed towards the kitchen.

She mouthed “oh my God,” to The Breeze and he smiled.

Shifting her weight, she slid off the barstool. She felt lightheaded from the alcohol but leveled out and managed to walk straight. She focused on Danny’s back and his messy ponytail as it swayed side to side with each step.

He pushed open the swinging purple doors as they walked into the black and white checkered kitchen. The floor was stickier than the bar’s. The smell of grease wafted in the air and that’s when she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

The kitchen was much brighter than the bar and there wasn’t any air-conditioning. Her cheeks felt hot and she was tempted to shove her face into the melting bucket of ice on top of the stainless steel island, or at least splash the cold ice water on her face.

Suddenly, she was afraid to walk any further. She felt woozy and worried her balance was still off. She remained as motionless as possible, still surveying the new environment.
On the left side of the kitchen, a gas range with open burners and a wall-mounted chimney took up an entire wall. One cook ran back and forth, operating the grill with big red knobs. She thought of how uncomfortable he must have felt with all of that heat blasting in his face, all day/night long. She hoped none of his sweat dripped into the food.

She noticed his long, dirty-blond hair, securely tied back in a thick rubber band, but couldn’t figure out why he was wearing Postman shorts. She noticed he had on All-Star Converse Low Top Sneakers with yellow socks and wondered if the oil from the grill that dripped to the floor had turned his socks that color.

On the right side of the kitchen, deep metal sinks protruded from the wall. Several plastic bins, loaded with dirty dishes, filled them. Utensils and cutting boards covered the rest of the counter top and a ten-quart mixer with a bowl stuffed with attachments seemed strangely out of place.

An enormous commercial stainless steel refrigerator lined the back wall. There was one wooden door, left open, letting fresh air through the screen. It was still daylight outside.
“Jesus.” Danny examined her up and down with a stern face.

“You look so young. Did you just get off the school bus?”

“No.” She didn’t realize this was his attempt at being playful.

“Well… how old are you? Do you have any identification?”

“Uh,” she flinched. “Yes, I have identification, but I left it inside my purse. It’s at the bar with The Breeze.”

She stood there waiting for Danny to say something. But he just stared at her. An unsettling silence fell between them. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she asked, “Should I go get it?”

“No.” He looked through her with penetrating blue eyes. “You can just tell me. How old are you?”

Morgan wasn’t sure if she should tell him the truth. She didn’t know what The Breeze had told him. She also didn’t know if he knew she had been drinking.

“I’m 21.”

“Really.” Danny scowled. “Well, if you’re 21, then so am I.”

She realized then it was pointless to lie. He was going to find out anyway, if not from the Breeze, then from her license.

“Um… I’m actually eighteen.”

He sighed loudly as if he were already disappointed and shook his head.

The scent of barbeque kicked her appetite into overdrive. Her stomach growled when the fries sizzled in the deep fryer and the aroma of chicken fingers made her mouth water. She hoped he didn’t hear the gurgling sounds from her stomach.

“So, you’re eighteen, huh?”

“Yes, I swear.” She hid her trembling hands and clasped them tightly together. “I’m really eighteen.”

Danny’s hardened blue eyes softened. “Well, then you’re legal.” He tightened his loose ponytail and announced, “If you’re going to work here there are some rules you will have to abide by.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Rule number one: you cannot drink alcoholic beverages from the glasses. You have to drink from the red, plastic, disposable cups that we keep behind the bar. I’ll speak with the bartenders so they will know what to do when you order a drink. I never want to see you holding a clear glass in case the A.B.C. decides to come in here and break my balls.” His eyes narrowed. “Got it?”

“Yes,” she promised. “That won’t be a problem.”

“What’s your name, again?” Danny asked.

She thought he would have remembered her name and stuttered for a second.
“Oh… My name- my name is Morgan.”

Danny put both of his hands inside of his jean pockets and leaned against the metal sinks. “If you could choose any name in the world, what would it be?”

A million names rushed in and out of her head. She had made up a new name before, but that was over now. She would never be Rain again. So she thought of people she knew. She thought about actresses. She thought about the names of the women she admired. None of them appealed to her. For whatever reason, she thought about the lotion she kept in the bathroom.

She blurted out, “Jasmine.”

“Jasmine, huh?” Danny smiled for the first time. “Good choice. We don’t have one of those yet.” He smiled wider, “I like it.”

She felt relieved he was pleased with her choice.

Then he looked her dead in the eyes and spoke rigidly, “Rule number two: never tell anyone your real name, or your address, and never give out any personal information. From now on, you’re Jasmine.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

“There’s more I have to go over with you,” he said while taking his hand out of his jean pockets. “But before we go any further, you have to meet the owner, Gino, and you will have to audition.”

She didn’t want to ask what an audition involved because she didn’t want to sound stupid. She just kept nodding her head in agreement.

“Gino should be here within the hour. Why don’t you go back out to the bar and sit with The Breeze until then?”

“M’kay.” She stood there unsure if she should leave the kitchen or not.

“Craig,” Danny yelled to the cook, “How much longer until the food’s ready? You have to get the Free Buffet out before six o’clock.”

“Don’t worry, almost ready.” Craig dropped another basket of chicken fingers into the deep fryer. When he turned around, Morgan saw he was wearing a safety pin in his left earlobe like an earring. “The food will be ready to go out in like… fifteen minutes.”

“Good man.” Danny turned to her, “Do you have any questions?”

“Uh…” She had a million. “Nope.”

“Alright then. Go on. Get out of here.” Danny shoo-shooed her with his hand. “I’ll bring Gino over when he gets in.”

“Okay.” She pushed open the swinging purple doors of the kitchen and said goodbye.

She walked back out to the bar and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust from the brightness back to the darkness again. All she could think about was getting some of the food. She didn’t even notice the dancer on stage, or the customers at the bar, or Brandy sitting with The Breeze until she reached the barstool.

When she sat down, Brandy and The Breeze were gabbing away like two sorority sisters.

“Hey! Morgan!” The Breeze shouted, “You’re back!” She could tell he had a few more drinks while she was in the kitchen.

“Hey, guys.” She said cheerily, leaning over him to wave at Brandy.

“So… how did it go with Danny?” Morgan never heard The Breeze talk so loudly before and it felt a little off-putting.

Lighting a cigarette she answered, “Good, I think.”

“Are you hired yet?” He laughed.

“Well…” avoiding eye contacts she explained, “Danny said something about meeting Gino and then he said something about having to audition.”

“Awwww!” Brandy shrieked, “Are you going to dance tonight? You should totally dance tonight! You can borrow some of my outfits! I’ll take you back to the dressing room and help you get ready.”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean…”

“Oh, c’mon! You’re beautiful!” The Breeze yelled. “I’ve been talking with Brandy and she’s more than happy to help you with anything you need. You already spoke to Danny and Gino is going to love you. I will talk to him first. You know I’m the Godfather to his children. This is the perfect night for you to audition.”

“Yeah, I remember the first time I auditioned,” Brandy chimed in. “I know how scary it can be. But it’s all good girls here tonight. Really! You couldn’t ask for a better line-up.”
Morgan twirled another lock of hair between her fingers and pondered a decision.

She had made it this far into the evening and nothing had gone wrong. Everything she was afraid of seemed to be all in her mind.

She watched the blinking lights change colors from red to blue to purple. Red to blue to purple. Red to blue to purple.

“Maybe.” She looked at Brandy.

“You’re going to have so much fun!” She promised. “And you’re gonna make a lot of money!” Grinning from ear to ear, she said, “The clients LOVE a virgin dancer!”

“Yes. You will make a shit-load of money.” The Breeze confirmed. “I guarantee it.”

“Well, then…” Morgan took another drag off the cigarette and realized she was out of arguments.

“Oh, stop already! Just do it!” Brandy squealed.

“Yeah!” The Breeze added. “Just do it!”

Morgan released the last drag of smoke from her mouth. Then she remembered the stack of unpaid bills sitting on the coffee table.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll audition if that guy Gino wants to hire me.” She crushed her cigarette into the ashtray.

“Yes! I’m so happy you’ve decided to come around!” The Breeze smoothed his hair and then flailed his arm to get Kara’s attention. “Let’s celebrate. We need some shots!”

“Great idea! I’ll have another Lemon Drop,” said Brandy.

Morgan was already half-drunk and hungry. She was worried about more alcohol. She didn’t want to end up sick with the spins and vomit.

“I’d love a shot,” she started. “But, Danny told me I’m not supposed to drink any alcohol out of the glasses.”

The Breeze didn’t hear. He was too busy depositing twenty-dollar bills into the bra of the dancer standing in front of him.

“No problem,” Brandy said, “I’ll just order two Lemon Drops and carry them to the dressing room. You can have your shot when you come back there with me. We need to find some outfits for you anyway. And you can meet the other girls!”

“I guess that’ll work. “But can we please wait until the food comes out? I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day!”

“Of course!” Brandy unveiled her crooked teeth. “I should grab something too. We can fill up our plates on our way to the dressing room!”

“Kay,” she nodded.

Kara came back over and asked who needed another round. The Breeze ordered another Jack and Coke with an extra shot of Jack Daniels. Brandy placed her order for two Lemon Drops and Morgan asked for a Coke with no Jack.

“Are you serious?” Kara looked bewildered. “You just want a Coke?”

“Well, yeah.” She grinned. “I just got back from talking to Danny. And, um, I can’t drink out of the glasses anymore.”

“Ah-ha.” Kara knew what that meant. “Did he say anything about the red, plastic, disposable cups?”

Morgan’s eyes lit up, “Yeah, he did!”

Kara laughed, “Okay. I’ll go get you that coke.” She winked. “I have to grab a few things from the kitchen before the Free Buffet comes out. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The Breeze saw Gino before Morgan did. When he got up from his barstool he wobbled for a moment and she thought he was going to fall over. He didn’t. Instead, he made his way toward Gino and they embraced, patting each other on the back like brothers.
Gino didn’t look the way she had envisioned him.

She imagined he would be an overweight, short, Italian Mafia-looking man, especially as the owner of a Go-Go bar. While he was every bit Italian, he was tall and very thin, almost too skinny. He wore all black from head to toe which made him hard to see. He had a pointy bird face, with a sharp nose, and very defined wrinkles. It was obvious time had not been kind to him. He looked as if he had lived a hundred lives. The Breeze and Gino stepped away from the bar and stood against the back wall, leaving Morgan and Brandy, alone to chat.

“I am so excited!” Brandy chirped.

“For what?”

Brandy reached over and patted Morgan’s leg, “We haven’t had any new girls come work here in awhile.”

Morgan felt slightly uncomfortable with Brandy’s hand on her left thigh. But there was nothing threatening about the way she touched her. She chalked it up to her sweet personality.

Brandy let go of her leg and ran her fingers through her blond locks. “Don’t let Gino scare you. He looks mean, but he’s really a sweetheart once you get to know him.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, his bark is bigger than his bite.” She waved at The Breeze and Gino. “He’s been very good to me.”

“That’s cool.”

She sang along to Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue pumping from the sound system. For some reason, Morgan wasn’t fidgeting in the seat anymore. Instead, Morgan watched the twinkling Christmas lights around the DJ Booth, and felt comfortable.

Kara came back with a tray full of cocktails and placed the red cup in front of her. “Here’s your Coke, Morgan!”

“Um,” she cleared her throat, “That’s another thing Danny and I discussed. My name isn’t Morgan anymore. It’s Jasmine, now.”

Brandy and Kara looked at each other and then back at her. “Ooooh! Great name!” Kara said.

“Thanks.” Morgan smiled.

“You even look like a Jasmine!” Brandy complimented. She suddenly pointed, “Look! The food is coming out.”

Across the bar Morgan saw Craig setting up various chafing dishes against the wall next to the kitchen and she wanted to ask Brandy if she knew why he wore a safety pin in his ear.

“Thank god!” Morgans’ mouth watered, “I’m so hungry.”

“I’ll go fix us some plates.” Brandy offered. “You should wait here to talk to Gino.”

“Would you?” Morgan appreciated her kindness.

“No problem.” Brandy got up from her barstool and headed toward the buffet.

“Wow.” Morgan turned her attention to Kara. “That was awfully nice of Brandy.”

Kara smiled. “Yeah, she’s good like that.”

Morgan picked up the red, plastic, disposable cup and took a huge sip. She gagged – surprised to find another vodka cranberry inside rather than an actual Coke. Fire filled her throat.

“Wait,” Kara asked, “Is that not what you wanted, Jasmine?”

“No! No! It’s okay!” Morgan swallowed hard. “I just wasn’t expecting this. That’s all.”

“But, I winked at you and I told you I was going to use the special cup.” Kara tilted her head in confusion.

“Oh,” Morgan felt embarrassed for not understanding the clues. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get it. I thought you were really getting me a soda.” She wiped her mouth with the corner of a bar napkin. “But, considering I might be dancing on that stage sooner than later… screw it… I’ll take all the liquid courage I can get.”

“That’s what I figured.” Kara abruptly directed her focus behind her.

Morgan felt someone tapping on her shoulder and when she turned around she was face to face with Gino.

“Welcome to Scorpios.” Gino didn’t look at her. He saw through her. He leered at her. Morgan felt her insides turn cold. “I’ve spoken with Danny and The Breeze and I understand you’re going to audition for us this evening?”

“Uh…” she was taken aback when she noticed his big black eyes were shaped like an Alien.

Goosebumps covered her skin. “Yes, sir.”

He threw a crumpled up napkin onto the bar floor and pointed at it. “I want you to pick that up.”

A clear wave of confusion came on her face.

“And when you do,” Gino instructed, “Twirl around, bend over, and then look back at me before you pick it up.”

“Okay.”

She got up from the barstool praying not to stumble. She focused her attention on the glowing, wadded-up paper ball. Taking her time, she slowly leaned forward stretching out her right arm. She felt the back of her sundress lifting up higher and higher, the further she bent down. Holding her breath and squeezing her toes together for poise, she grabbed the napkin with her right hand, while looking back at Gino over her left shoulder. She paused and gave him her very best sinister smile before gradually standing upright.

Gino whispered something into The Breeze’s ear and then he spoke to Morgan. “I understand Brandy has taken a liking to you.”

“She’s been so nice. She offered to bring me back into the dressing room with her so I can meet the other girls, and maybe borrow her clothes, and help with my makeup. But, ya know, like, only if you wanted me to audition.” Morgan kept rambling, “Kara’s been really nice too. I mean everyone has, really.”

“Perfect.” Gino’s face remained expressionless. “I have some things I need to take care of in the office. I will have someone get me when it’s time for you to get on stage.”

She nodded.

“Make sure you put The Breeze’s tab on the House Bill.” He called out to Kara pointing to the glasses surrounding them.

“Of course.” Kara obliged.

Gino left the bar and The Breeze sidled up next to her. “You did good, kid.”

“Yeah?” Morgan’s heart fluttered.

“Definitely.”

She took a swig from her cocktail. “Now I just need the courage to get on that stage.”
“You have nothing to be worried about.”

Morgan watched the customers get up from their seats and stand in line for the buffet. They seemed so normal. They didn’t look like tanned, creepy, faceless mannequins anymore. Images of the rapists and sex offenders on the six o’clock news had been burned into her brain and she anticipated seeing the same sort of faces. But they weren’t the same. They weren’t the same at all. They had on suits. They had combed hair. They were smiling and laughing.

Brandy came back to the bar.

“So,” she grinned, “you talked to Gino? What happened?”

“It looks like I am going to audition tonight.” Morgan took another gulp from her red cup.

“Fantastic!” She placed a styrofoam plate of food in front of Morgan. “I hope you like chicken fingers and fries?”

“I would eat dirt right about now.” Shoving a handful of food into her face, she burned the roof of her mouth.

“Oh fuck! These are hot!” Morgan spit them out.

Brandy laughed, picked up her plate, and gathered the rest of her belongings. “Let’s go back to the dressing room together. I have to get ready for my next set anyway.”

“Okay.” Morgan collected her drink, smokes, and pocket book.

The Breeze hollered, “See you ladies soon!”

“Bye!” Morgan waved and followed Brandy to the dressing room.

In sixty minutes Morgan would be making her audition as Jasmine.

 

Chapter 5 – “THE DRESSING ROOM”

     Brandy opened the purple door with such ease Morgan didn’t realize it was made of metal until she had to stop it from closing with her shoe. Struggling to balance the Styrofoam plate and her cocktail, she grabbed the silver knob with her right hand and hurried behind. She couldn’t imagine trying to walk into the room alone.
The smell of hairspray, perfume, and various scented body lotions instantly made her sneeze.

“Bless you!” Brandy looked at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sniffed. “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She felt a little drunk.

The first thing she noticed was the large square mirror hanging above the grey Formica countertop with tiny light bulbs surrounding it. There were three white sinks, opposite three beige stalls which made it pretty atypical of any public restroom. The plain white paint and plain white floors gave the room an icy feeling. There were black scuff marks on the wall.

“Well, c’mon!” Brandy waved her in. “I wanna introduce you to everyone and I gotta get ready for the next set.”

“Okay, I’m right behind you.”

The two had to cross the bathroom to get to another hidden door — that led to the dressing room.

She could still hear the music playing from the bar and watched the fluorescent lights flicker with the beat. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The closer they got to the dressing room, the more doubt grew in her mind. But that’s when she thought about her stack of unpaid bills. Morgan kept thinking about that wad of cash crumpled up inside of Brandy’s manicured hands.

Once they entered the dressing room, Morgan wished herself invisible. She kept her head down and avoided making eye contact. Stains were embedded into the faded, purple carpet, along with rips and tears that exposed the grey concrete underneath. Different colored gym bags were scattered everywhere.

“Hey, Jasmine, you can grab a seat next to that blue duffle bag. It’s mine.” Brandy pointed to a long, black leather bench, which took up the length of one wall.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and you can use that barstool by the vanity as a table for your food.” She smiled, “Ya’ know. If you want.”

“M’kay.”

Morgan looked around the rest of the room and saw an entire wall wrapped in full-length mirrors. Someone had written ‘I love Jeremy’ in hot pink lipstick in the upper left hand corner. The other walls were covered with wood paneling, painted a shade of lemon, and sections had chipped off like old nail polish.

Two purple vanities, complete with oversized mirrors and gigantic light bulbs, were cluttered with an endless supply of eye-shadows pallets, lip-glosses, blushes, foundations, and bronzers.

Morgan sat down on the bench and barricaded herself behind Brandy’s enormous bag. She didn’t want to draw attention but it was too late. The chatter in the room came to a halt. Beautiful women surrounded her and some of them were completely naked. She had never seen so many perfectly sculpted female bodies casually sharing lipstick and gossip amongst each other. She didn’t know what to do, how to act, or where to look.
And they were staring at her.

Brandy broke the uncomfortable silence, “Ladies!” She announced, “Meet Jasmine!”

Suddenly Morgan felt like the new kid where the other girls had been friends for years and small beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Without saying a word she nodded and shoved a chicken finger into her mouth.

A tall, thin brunette walked closer to her. “Hi, Jasmine.” She extended her hand, “I’m Mercedes.”

Morgan waved back and motioned to the food in her mouth.

Mercedes furrowed her impeccably tweezed eyebrows. “I think I saw you sitting at the bar with The Breeze?”

“Yeah,” Morgan covered her mouth with her hand. “That was me.” She wracked her brain for something to say and that’s when she remembered seeing that name in lights outside.

“Oh, wait,” she swallowed, “Isn’t your name on the billboard?”

Mercedes smiled, “Yes, indeed. I’ve waited a long time to see my name in those lights.”

“Oh, yeah.” Brandy jumped in, “You need a big following of loyal/regular customers to get your name on the billboard. It can take years before you’ll see your name in the lights. But when you see it for the first time,” she paused, “it’s like you’ve made it to the top!”

“Well,” Mercedes extended her hand again, “It’s lovely to meet you, Jasmine.”

Morgan wiped the grease off the palm of her hand and stood up to make her acquaintance.

Mercedes’s eyes were a shade of blue Morgan had never seen before and she wondered if they were colored contacts, but she didn’t dare ask.

“So, have you ever been here before?” Mercedes asked.

“Um…”

“No!” Brandy interrupted. “This is her first time here! Jasmine has never even been inside a Go-Go Bar! Can you believe it? Jasmine knows The Breeze and he told her he would help her get a job here. And I told her we would help her get ready to audition!”

Blushing, Morgan nodded. “That’s about right.”

“Isn’t Jasmine cute?” Brandy asked no one in particular. “We’re gonna help her out. Right, ladies?”

Mercedes zeroed in, “So you’re friends with Breeze, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“In that case,” Mercedes offered, “I am more than happy to share makeup and costumes with you. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.” She shoved another chicken finger into her mouth. Morgan didn’t realize just how hungry she had been.

Mercedes continued friendly chit chat. “Have you had any type of formal dance training?”

“Actually, yes.” Morgan was staring directly at her fake, globe sized breasts and tried her best not to feel awkward. “My mother used to take me to dance classes. I’ve had about six or seven years of tap, ballet, and Jazz.” She hadn’t thought about those classes in years.

“Oh, good,” Mercedes said. “That will come in very handy for you. I’ve watched a few girls audition that had absolutely no rhythm. It’s almost as funny as it is sad.”

Mercedes turned to Brandy, “Hey, do you remember that one girl, about a month ago, who came in here to audition? That chick had 2 left feet. She was either really drunk, or really clumsy!”

“Oh my god, yes!” Brandy started laughing. “She was a total mess and her legs were so skinny. When she danced she looked like a cricket! If I wasn’t busy laughing so hard I probably would have been embarrassed for her.”

Morgan became anxious. The last thing she wanted to be was another cricket.
“That’s terrible!”

“Jasmine,” Mercedes spoke kindly, “The fact that you know how to dance because you’ve had formal training will make auditioning much easier for you.” She smiled wide, “And you don’t have cricket legs.”

It was like she read her mind.

“But I haven’t danced in a really long time.” Morgan smacked her lips. “And to be perfectly honest… I’m really nervous.”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine.” Mercedes started. “Dancing is like riding a bike. You never forget.”

“I sure hope so.”

Mercedes walked over to her pink Nike gym bag and pulled out a white towel. “I promise. It’s just like riding a bike.”

She placed the towel on top of the barstool, before sitting down, and situated herself in front of the vanity. A good trick, Morgan thought. Better than having your bare bottom on the barstool. Mercedes picked up a comb and teased her curls and Morgan studied the way she flipped her head upside down, fluffing her locks, while dispensing clouds of hairspray.

“Damn.” Brandy whined. “I left my cigarettes at the bar.”

“You can have one of mine.” Morgan held out her pack of Camel Lights.

“Aw.” She flashed her crooked front teeth. “Thank you.”

As she handed her the lighter, Morgan still had a hard time understanding why all of these women were being so nice. Why were they so eager to welcome her into their world? They didn’t know anything about her.

She quietly ate the rest of her dinner and washed it down with an oversized swig. The familiar sting of alcohol hitting the back of her throat lessened with each gulp.

“I think I have a perfect costume for Jasmine to borrow!” Brandy sat down next to her on the black, leather bench and began rifling through the bag. “And we should ask Georgia to help put on Jasmine’s makeup. Georgia always has the best smoky eyes!”

“Who’s Georgia?”

Suddenly a new voice chimed in, “I am!” There was an angelic blond, complete with twinkling green eyes. She swiveled away from the purple vanity and her sweet Southern voice filled the room. “I’m Georgia.”

The sound of laughter erupted and bounced off the walls. Georgia, Mercedes, and Brandy were cracking up. Morgan felt like an idiot.

“Um…” Morgan wanted to crawl inside of Brandy’s gym bag. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I mean, in the dressing room. I mean, who you are. I mean, oh my god- I hope I didn’t offend you. Did I offend you?”

Georgia stopped laughing but she kept smiling, “It’s okay, darling. How could you possibly know who I am? We haven’t been properly introduced. Obviously, I’m Georgia.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jasmine.”. Morgan, muttered.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

When Georgia stood up to greet Morgan, she noticed her body was in fantastic shape. Her muscles were thoroughly defined, yet feminine, and her skin was the color of the Mojave Desert sand. When Morgan shook her hand it felt as soft as a baby’s bottom.
“You can wipe that worried look off your face now,” Georgia snickered.

“Okay.” Morgan/Jasmine gasped.

Mercedes and Brandy were still chuckling — when yet another girl, whom Morgan still hadn’t met, started yelling. She was standing in the back corner of the dressing room talking on the black payphone.

“Damn it!” She shouted. “Can’t you people see I’m on the fucking phone? Keep it down!”

Swiftly turning her back, Morgan didn’t get the chance to see her face. Her pin-straight brown hair was so long it nearly covered her pale and bony ass.

The rage in her voice scared Morgan and she was glad she turned her back as quickly as she did. She did not want to meet her.

“Don’t mind her.” Mercedes rolled her crystal blue eyeballs. “That’s just, Lilia. She’s probably fighting with her boyfriend again.”

“Yeah, don’t pay any attention to her,” Georgia assured. “She has such a temper. Especially when she’s fighting with her man. And we’ll probably hear all about it when she hangs up the phone.”

Georgia walked back over to the vanity and bent down to grab something from her bag. That’s when Morgan saw her best feature: her ass. The lime green thong she wore accentuated her two symmetrical halves, with dimples above each cheek. She had a defined curve near the small of her back, which somehow made it more beautiful than the other girls’.

“Gah,” Brandy accidentally elbowed Morgan’s side while tossing random items from the gym bag onto the floor. “What am I going to wear for my next set? I’m so sick of all my stuff.”

“Speaking of costumes,” Georgia asked Brandy, “What are you planning on letting Jasmine borrow? I need to know what she’s going to wear if I am going to do her makeup.” She winked at her.

Morgan hoped she wouldn’t get stuck parading around in some kind of glow-in-the-dark string bikini, like the one she saw Georgia wearing. She didn’t think her body was up to par. The last thing she wanted to wear was something so brightly colored.

“It’s right here!” Brandy held up a clear zip-lock bag filled with shiny black material. “It’s a killer spandex silky number. It’s kinda like a schoolgirl outfit. But it’s more like a heavy-metal-rocker-chick schoolgirl. And it’s not too revealing. You won’t even need to take the top off.”

“I know that costume,” Mercedes said. She gave a thumbs up to Morgan. “That’ll be perfect for you to wear.”

Brandy pulled the costume out of the clear zip-lock bag and placed it on her lap. “Here ya go!”

Morgan realized she had no idea how she was going to put this on.

“So, how’s your daughter doing?” Georgia turned to Mercedes.

“She’s great!” Mercedes’s face beamed with motherly pride. “I can’t believe she’ll be starting Pre-K next month!”

“Wow,” Georgia smiled. “Already?”

Mercedes’s expression turned nostalgic. “I know it’s cliché’ but it really does feel like just yesterday she was a baby.”

Morgan listened to them talk and could feel the warm camaraderie in their voices. But, was it real? Did they know each other’s real names?

“Hooray!” Brandy finally decided on her own costume choice. “I love this red dress. I totally forgot it was in my bag.” She stood up and prepared to change her clothes.

“C’mon, Jasmine,” She grabbed Morgan by the arm. “Let’s get you into your costume too!”

“Okay.”

From boarding school, Morgan was used to getting undressed and changing in front of other girls and wasn’t concerned about them seeing her body. But she still hadn’t figured out how to get into the elaborate outfit.

“Um… I really don’t know how this goes on.”

Brandy took the costume. “I’ll help you!”

“Thank you,” Morgan smiled. “This looks way too complicated for me.”

“Take off your clothes.” Brandy placed the costume back down on the bench. “I’ll help you as soon as I’m done getting dressed.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She slipped out of her clothes and stood there naked with her arms folded crisscross over her chest. She never liked her breasts. The right one was larger than the left and she thought her nipples were too big.

Mercedes came over, picked up the costume from the bench, and separated the respective pieces.

“Here,” she handed Morgan the G-String. “This is easy to get into!”

When she stepped into the shiny, black thong, Georgia noticed the tattoo on Morgan’s backside.

“Hey,” she pointed to her ass, “What’s that?”

“Oh… Um,” she cleared her throat. “It’s kind of a funny story. I used to live in California and some of my friends and I decided to take a road trip to Tijuana. We drank way too much Tequila and ended up getting that tattoo. Honestly, I don’t remember very much. I didn’t even pick out this tattoo. My friend did.”

“What does it say?” She inquired.

“That’s the funny part.” Morgan spun around so she could get a better look. “It says Little Miss Sassy.”

She kept her arms folded across her bare chest. “The one thing I do remember is arguing with the tattoo guy.”

“Arguing?” Georgia turned away from her reflection in the mirror and back to her. “About what?”

“Well…” she started giggling. “I kept asking the tattoo artist what letter he was on and he kept telling me he was on the letter ‘Y’. But I thought he was saying ‘why,’ not the letter. And then I got mad at him because I couldn’t understand how come he wouldn’t tell me what letter he was on.”

“Because ‘Sassy’ ends with the letter ‘Y’!” Brandy exclaimed.

“Exactly!”

Georgia roared, “Oh, now that’s funny.”

Talking to the girls felt natural. There was something liberating in having a conversation completely naked. When Morgan took another sip of her drink, this time it wasn’t out of nervousness, it was to savor the moment.

After Brandy was dressed she took the other pieces of the costume from Mercedes. “Okay Jasmine, I’m going to help you with the rest of this!”

“Alrighty!”

“Put your hands up!” Brandy said before pulling the black halter-top over her head.
Morgan lifted up her arms, as if she were a toddler being dressed by her parents. Then she secured the straps around her neck like a choker. The halter-top, peppered with cutouts, landed right underneath her breasts, exposing her entire stomach. It resembled a very fancy, very slutty, sports bra with lots of holes.

“This shouldn’t be too difficult to get into.” Brandy held up a pleated black mini skirt. “You just have to secure it on the side with the hidden snap underneath the huge silver buckle. The buckle doesn’t come undone. See,” she demonstrated. “You just snap it, right here, on the side of the waist.”

Brandy took the skirt, wrapped it around Morgan’s midsection, and secured it into place.
“Now,” she instructed, “when it’s time to take it off, all you have to do is tug on the snap. It’s a lot easier and a lot sexier than trying to undo a buckle while you’re dancing on stage. Try it!”

Morgan did exactly as Brandy advised and tugged on the snap.

“Presto!” She squealed as the skirt dropped to the floor.

“Maybe this costume isn’t too complicated after all,” Morgan said.

“You got it.”

Brandy reached into her gym bag and pulled out a pair of sheer, black, thigh-high stockings. “These have a sexy seam-line in the back, but when you put them on, you have to make sure the seam-line is straight and even.”

She handed them to Morgan, “Otherwise, it’s not sexy. It’s sloppy.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“They aren’t annoying either.” Brandy teased, “They’re not like the kind Georgia always wears, with the hooks and garter belts. The elastic at the top is strong enough to keep them on your legs without all that nonsense.”

“Hey!” Georgia chimed in, “My clients always give compliments when I wear my lacy garter belts and stockings!”

“That’s only because you would still look beautiful in a paper bag!” Brandy replied.

Morgan sat back down on the leather bench and shimmied her way into the stockings. She liked how smooth they felt on her skin. It was as if wearing an extra layer of protection since her bare flesh wouldn’t be hanging out. She felt more secure about her body being tucked inside of them.

After taking another gulp of her drink, Morgan headed over to the full-length mirror to make sure the visible seam-lines were straight and even in the back.

“Oh, wow!” Mercedes smiled. “That costume looks great on you!”

Brandy gave Morgan a once over with her eyes, “Yes! You look perfect!”

“Really? Ya’ think?” She studied her reflection for a minute. “I think I look weird!”

Georgia declared, “That’s because you don’t have on any makeup, darling.” She laughed. “Or shoes!”

“Damn,” Brandy scrambled to pick up the rest of her clothes off the floor, “I forgot to ask. What shoe size do you wear?”

She looked down at her feet, “I’m a size six.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Brandy yelled. “I have small feet too. My shoes are a 6 ½ but they should totally work for you. Shoes are key. Sometimes it’s impossible to find small shoes with heels this high.”

She reached into her gym bag and yanked out a pair of six-inch black stilettos. “Here! Try these on.”

Carefully balancing herself, she put one foot into each stiletto and then tried walking. But with each step, her foot kept sliding out.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Jasmine?” Brandy cocked her head to the left.

“Watch what happens when I take a step.” She showed Brandy. “See how her heels keep coming out? There is no way in hell I’m going to be able to dance in these things.” She felt anxious again.

“Honey,” Mercedes called out, “It’s okay. My shoe size is seven, which is definitely bigger than your feet. But I have a pair of boots you can borrow and they wont fall off. Especially once they are tied on.”

“Okay.” Morgan stepped out of the stilettos. “I guess I’ll try on those boots.”

Mercedes opened a separate suitcase specifically filled with shoes and Morgan realized she was much more organized with her costumes than Brandy was. “Besides, worst case scenario, we can always stuff the toes with toilet paper.”

“Alrighty.”

“You should probably lose those stockings too. They won’t go with these boots.”

“Oh.”

She liked the stockings for the security and didn’t want to take them off. She felt nervous again. But she listened and took them off.

“Hey, Brandy…” Morgan started. “Can you please pass that Lemon Drop you brought back here for me?

“Oh, yeah!” She shrieked. “We forgot to drink our shots!”

Brandy handed her the glass and she drank it after they yelled cheers.

Mercedes came over with her pair of black, patent leather boots. They looked like Doc Martins but were shinier, with square, six-inch high heels and laced up to the kneecaps.
“Those are some real shit-kickers!” Georgia’s Southern twang crept in.

They felt heavy in her hands and she couldn’t believe how much they weighed. “Is that bad?”

“No!” Georgia assured her. “They say you’re a sexy bad-ass!”

“Okay, then.”

Morgan put one foot inside and could tell right away they were too big for her small feet. “I’m definitely going to have to stuff the toes with toilet paper.”

“I’ll grab a roll,” Brandy offered. “I’m basically ready now.”

“Thank you.”

Morgan lit a cigarette and watched Georgia apply liquid black eyeliner in the mirror.

Brandy waltzed back into the dressing room and tossed the roll of toilet paper onto her lap. “Here ya go, Jasmine!”

“Thanks again.”

Morgan crumpled up sheets of toilet paper until it was thick enough to fill the extra room inside of the boots. She put her feet inside and laced them up. When she stood up to test them out, she felt like her legs were wrapped inside of a led blanket.

“So…” Mercedes asked while applying mascara to her eyelashes, “How do they feel?”
“Heavy,” Morgan smiled. “But, at least I don’t have to worry about them falling off.”

“They look great with that costume too.” Brandy looked her up and down. “It’s even more heavy metal chic than it would have been with the stilettos.”

Morgan took them on their word. They were the professionals afterall.

“Fuck!” Brandy yelled and pointed to the digital clock on the vanity counter. “Look at the time! I have to go. I’m due on stage in three minutes and I still need to tell the DJ what songs I want.”

Morgan wasn’t ready to be left alone.

“Um… Can you please tell The Breeze, I’ll be out soon?”

“Of course!” Brandy shrieked. “I’ll come back into the dressing room way before you have to come out to audition. In the meantime, grab a seat over at the vanity so Georgia can do your makeup.”

She glanced at Georgia and waited for an invitation from her.

“Come over, darling girl.” Georgia patted the barstool next to her.

Brandy walked out of the dressing room and waved, “Bye ladies! Have fun playing dress up with Jasmine; Take good care of her!”

“We will.” Georgia motioned for Morgan to sit next to her. “We will.”

 

Chapter 6 – “ON STAGE”

Jasmine looked at herself over a dozen times. The burgundy lipstick and the black leather outfit were on. The count was winding down. She was due on stage in just a few seconds. She would have been more anxious if the vodka hadn’t already kicked in. But it had. Morgan was somewhere else now.

“Welcoming to the stage for the very first time,” the DJ began, “is our new girl, Jasmine.”
There was only one song she could think of coming out to. Nothing else suited the moment, or her outfit, better. The Breeze stood in the back with Danny and Gino with their backs against the wall and their arms folded across their chests- staring at her. It was now, or never.

They watched her walk to the opening of the bar that led to the stage. Jasmine looked at the Breeze, who gave an encouraging nod. His eyes were wide and half-shocked at her complete transformation.

‘Back in Black’ blared throughout the soundsystem. The beginning of the song, sounding like the ticking hands of a clock.

For the first time that night, all eyes were forward. All the conversation had paused.
Jasmine took a deep breath, said goodbye to Morgan, and entered the stage with an unfamiliar confidence.

As the guitar riffs began; she closed her eyes and started moving. She kicked her legs and threw her head back. Her mind flashed back to her days as a young girl.

She thought about her mother and her evil stepdad, Edward. She envisioned her backyard in Monroe, NJ, which transformed on weekends into a Solid Gold Television episode with: long, hanging, disco lights and never-ending night-time parties, complete with dance-offs. Jasmine mimicked all she had seen from Brandy. She swung her hips and caressed the sides of her waist. She pushed in her breasts to accentuate her cleavage. She didn’t know it, but small beads of sweat had formed in the center of her chest and glistened in the light.
Dozens of eyes focused on her. The music was freeing. She felt liberated. She was invigorated.

Money started flooding in immediately. This was her body they were lusting for. It was her movement that they watched. This was her first taste of control. Like sweet chocolate, she gorged herself.

In the moments she sashayed across the high sheened wooden stage; she created a brand new persona.

Back in black
I hit the sack
I’ve been gone too long I’m glad to be back

Jasmine was real now. She could feel the weight of all eyes on her and she loved what they saw. She loved how they looked at her.

Yes, I’m let loose
From the noose
That’s kept me hanging about

It wasn’t like the way the counselors in boarding school had looked at her. It wasn’t like the way her therapists had stared at her. It wasn’t like the way the police officers had seen her. This wasn’t pity. This was the first time she ever felt in control of HOW people looked at her.

I’ve been looking at the sky
‘Cause it’s gettin’ me high
Forget the hearse ‘cause I never die
I got nine lives
Cat’s eyes
Abusin’ every one of them and running wild

It was a deep, intense longing. She was desirable. She was a virgin dancer no longer.

Cause I’m back
Yes, I’m back
Well, I’m back
Yes, I’m back
Well, I’m back, back
Well, I’m back in black!
Yes, I’m back in black!

When the set ended, Jasmine heard the fading guitar solo fall beneath waves of clapping and loud whistles. She hadn’t even noticed all the money on the stage. She walked up to the Breeze who handed her a crisp $100 bill. He hadn’t stopped smiling.
When the adrenaline rush started slow, she gathered her belongings and came down from the stage. She walked over to the Breeze to hear what he had to say, only to be greeted by Danny, the manager. The man of few words simply said, “Like a duck to water.” He nodded his head in approval. And, Gino, the owner did the same.

She was hired.

It was more intoxicating than anything she had ever known. She wanted to do it again. She wanted to feel this way all the time. She had found a place where women, just like her, accepted her, brought her in, and gave her an opportunity. She needed to be here.

Jasmine went back to the dressing room and was greeted with shrieks and hugs all over.

“You did so good!”

“You’re such a natural!”

“You’re so hot!”

Brandy, Georgia, and Mercedes exclaimed.

“You mean it? I didn’t look dumb?”

“Are you kidding? You’re amazing. You belong here.”

Jasmine went into her purse, took out another Camel light and lit it. She took a drag and began undressing.

She thanked Georgia, Mercedes, and Brandy profusely for all the work they did and changed back into Morgan.

When she came out of the dressing room the Breeze gave her a hug.

“So, what do you think? Was I right?” he asked.

“Yes, you were right. I think this really might be the best thing for me. I really love the girls and… I liked it.” She smiled.

The first night she cleared over a thousand dollars in cash – she was convinced she had made the right career choice. No more beatings. No more cigarettes put out on her arms. Now she was in charge. Now she had all the power. It was them who were worthless. It was them who had to earn her attention.

 

Chapter 7 – “THE BAR”

When the bar closed, the fluorescent lights came on, the music stopped and the bartenders took to the stage. It was an entirely different place. When the lights were on, Morgan could see how badly the hardwood stage was fast losing its shine. She noticed how filthy the floor was even though it had just been mopped. It looked as if it was once white, but through years of ash, footsteps, and spilled beer it had become a dismal shade of beige.

The tattered bar-top that had been masked with little round red plastic ashtrays, now exposed to reveal chips and cracks. The beer taps were laced with black scuff marks. The large mirrors lining the walls of the bar were streaked and splattered. The purple paint was peeling off on the swinging kitchen doors and the black and white tiles were lifting up.

The bartenders Kara, Roe, and Tammy sat in a semicircle and dumped out their tip buckets to count and split the money amongst them. In the middle of chatty conversation, they convinced Morgan to stay with them and practice swinging on the pole.
She messed around on the pole for a while and realized how unsturdy it was. With just a little effort it would squeak as if it needed to be oiled or tightened.

Morgan came back, night after night, and stayed with the bartenders after closing to learn her way around the pole. It was a new thing to her and like tap and ballet, pole dancing was a real form of art.

And there was so much to learn.

To ensure the dancers gave their best performance, each were paid employees of the bar. Salaries were paid out by the number of sets danced per shift. A set consisted of fifteen minutes on the stage. Working the stage included dancing as best she could until Jasmine’s toes were numb. She couldn’t leave the stage until the following dancer came on. Then she spent the next fifteen minutes collecting tips and chatting with the clients.
On evening shifts, Jasmine’s first set began at 7pm. In the beginning, the 15 minutes were an eternity. She had knocking knees and clumsy feet. It was hard to find balance in those complicated shoes. She’d breathe deeply and avoid eye contact. Nothing worried her more than slipping and falling off stage.

Working a full night shift consisted of seven sets per night. She was paid $26.00 per set, totaling $182.00 per night. The goal was to work as many sets per night as possible. When she began dancing full time, she went to the bar early to get the 7pm slot and claimed her spot in the corner of the dressing room. She liked feeling tucked in behind her dance bags.
When she went on stage, Jasmine was always there, and the music freed her. In the beginning, grinding the pole was the only move she knew. The palms of her hands were too sweaty to stabilize a decent grip to try anything else.

She learned to take her time undressing. If she noticed a man gazing in her direction, she learned to hesitate while taking her clothes off. There was something exhilarating in knowing these gawking men wanted her and she wanted to entice them as long as she possibly could.

When the songs ended and it was time to collect her tips, she’d approach each customer individually from her side of the bar. It was necessary to engage the client but she felt too self-conscious and had difficulty making eye contact. She knew she wasn’t a good dancer, at least not yet, but the men always seemed to enjoy the fact that she was shy and submissive.

If a client wanted to order a dancer a drink, they could, but in the event the dancer didn’t really want to have another drink, they’d use the signal.

“Did anybody tell you about the signal?” Kara asked her one night.

“Um. I don’t think so?” Morgan replied.

“If you don’t want to drink the shot a customer bought you, do this,” she sat down on the broken black barstool underneath the vanity mirror and placed her hand on the plastic countertop. Then she made her right hand into a fist and said, while looking at Morgan’s reflection, ‘Yeah I’d love to have a shot of vodka’ and extended her index finger, tapping it twice on the surface of the counter. “See? Now if you do that, I’ll bring you chilled water. No alcohol.”

“Oh. Sweet. That works for me.”

Kara smiled, “Okay. Now you do it. Show me.”

She stood up and Morgan sat on the barstool. She said, “Yeah, I’d love to have a shot of Grey Goose” while extending her index finger and tapping it twice.

“Atta girl. You got it. Get it?” Kara beamed.

“Yes! Thank you.”

The most important people in the bar were the dancers. Second were the DJ’s. The first DJ Morgan became close to was an older man named Dubyah. He was a humble man in his mid forties with smoky blue-grey eyes that always seemed just a little bit sad. He was practically bald with the exception of the salt and pepper colored hair on the edges of his head. He was extremely kind to Morgan but would sometimes come to the bar late, having just gotten out of jail for repeatedly failing to make Child Support payments. With Morgan too afraid to make demands on her own, he gently coaxed her into making song selections.
Quickly after starting work, Morgan began to understand the strip club business.

While there are nude bars in the state of New Jersey, they are called Juice Bars. At a Juice Bar, clients are allowed to bring their own alcohol, making the choice of going to a Go-Go bar a clear second.

That made the actual art of performing all the more vital. When the owners discovered new talent they did anything in their power to keep her.

First class dancers were not a dime a dozen. Truly skilled dancers had loyal customers and big followings that bought and served them champagne. These dancers were treated accordingly by the bar owners who didn’t allow them to work in other clubs.
Gino was only one of the owners of Scorpios, the other being Aldo. Both of them controlled two other bars, making whoever danced in any of their clubs a Mozelli girl. A Mozelli girl never ever worked for a rival family, like The Spatanno’s that owned other bars, one of which was a mere fifty yards up the street called Lovemakers. (NAME CHANGE REQUIRED)

Even outside of the business, the Mozelli girls wouldn’t associate with dancers that worked in the other bars. It was a strict, unwritten standard of conduct.

In addition to paying them well, the owners gave each dancer bookings at each club they owned. Circulating the dancers between bars served a few purposes: First, the clientele wouldn’t tire seeing the same girls over and over again. Second, there were enough nights to work between the different bars to make enough money to support their responsibilities like kids, car payments, rent, and drugs. And lastly, the system ensured loyalty. You went to a Mozelli club to see Mozelli talent.

If Morgan ever needed to work, a manager always found room in one of the bars to squeeze Jasmine in for a few sets. It happened more often than she expected it would.
She would spend all of her money as soon as she’d make it. Money, in her hands, gave her such a rush. Spending it made her feel even more euphoric. Yes, I am 18 and yes I do have enough to afford this.But really, she couldn’t. So she’d call in to ask for an extra shift.

“Danny, I really need to come in and work. I’m running low on cash.”

To which he would calmly reply, “Be smart young one.”

There’d be a pause followed by some silence on the phone before she could hear him rifling through paperwork.

“Hmmm, I’m looking in the big book and I do see an opening… would you like to work the 4-11 shift?”

Overwhelmed with a sense of relief she replied, “Hell yeah! I’ll be right there.”
It was that easy.

Sometimes, the bar called her in to dance. When a girl didn’t show up or happened to call out last minute, she was expected to cover the shift. The day shifts were often neglected since most of the girls were either hung over from the night before or slept in too late. Some had sick kids. Some simply felt that the day shift was beneath them.

If Morgan was booked for a day shift, Danny would remind her the night before.
Jokingly yet with a serious glint in his eye he would command, “Go to bed early tonight my dear; you have the day shift tomorrow. Pretend it’s a school night. Lights out before midnight. We don’t want you to have puffy eyes in the morning!”

Her first day shift, Jasmine was met by an older dancer. She was old in every sense of the word. She was painfully bloated, with dry, straw-like, over-dyed, bleached-blonde hair. She was terribly out of shape, too tan, and had hollow blackened eyes.

It was only 11:30am and she was sipping vodka straight from a rocks glass, lined with ugly red lipstick on the rim. She began talking to Morgan about how she had been in the business for 15 years. She went on about all the parties she had been to, all the managers and owners she had gone through, or slept with. She bragged about her experiences and the money she had made over the years but had nothing to show for any of it.

She was just an old, leathery antique. Morgan felt sad for her. She felt awkward looking at her and listening to her belligerent ramblings. She was proud of the fact that she had lasted so long in the industry and Morgan wondered if the managers had some sense of loyalty to her. She wondered if the customers took pity on her the way she did.

After working that shift she looked herself in the rear view mirror while driving home and said aloud, “THAT WILL NEVER BE ME.”

The day shift clientele was an odd mix of older men, some with very successful careers and some that were unemployable. The wealthy ones were affectionately called, “The Regulars.” The others were called, well, “The Others.” They were in the bar by 10:15 am. But the job holding clients came into the bar around lunchtime for a drink or two. They’d sit composed at the bar, wearing pressed suits and tipping their favorite girls. Sometimes they ordered food or ate from the free buffet. When they were finished eating, they simply paid their bill, took care of the bartender, and left the building.

But then there were the others.

The unemployed customers behaved like animals. They straggled in, one at a time, only to remain in the same seats all day long. They turned into sloppy drunks as they slowly sucked down the last of the warm, flat beer they could afford. They barely tipped. Even the bartenders got screwed.

Big tippers were not always the stereotypical flashy guys from movies. Often they were reserved, quiet, and unassuming. She had only been working in the bar a few short weeks when Morgan had her first encounter with one. It was right after her 8pm set. She was behind the bar, doing her best to look sexy without crashing into the rack of liquor bottles that lined the sinks.

The man couldn’t have been older than thirty. Yet, through her eighteen-year old eyes he may as well have been sixty. When she leaned over the bar squeezing her breasts, signaling to the client to place the dollar, he grabbed her hand instead. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with a sports jacket. He had light hair and light eyes. He was alone sipping whiskey from a tumbler glass.

With a slight southern drawl and a quiet tone of voice he asked, “What’s your name little lady?”

“Jasmine!” she replied loudly. She was confused by the softness of his voice.

“How long have you been working here?” He asked.

“Um. I don’t know. Like a month? Maybe?”

“Do you like working here?” He asked.

“Yeah. The girls are really cool.”

Morgan wondered why he was asking these questions without handing her a dollar. Didn’t he know that she was working? She didn’t have time to chitchat. She had to make at least one full sweep around the bar before heading back to the dressing room. She went to pull her hand away from him, but he held on tighter. She was suddenly overcome with the feeling that he was going to be one of the creepy guys everyone warned her about.

“Have you ever danced in a Go-Go bar before you started working here?”

“No… but, I did take dance classes when I was a little girl. Um. Can I have my hand back now?”

“Sure.” He let go.

She pulled back and was just about to walk away when he said, “Wait. Stop. You forgot your tip!”

“Oh. Oops. Right. Sorry.”

She pretended to have forgotten and reluctantly turned back around when he placed two one-hundred dollar bills in the palm of her hand.

She thought he must have gotten off on her reaction more than her appearance. For the rest of that evening, she’d dance on stage and perform but when it was time to work the bar and collect tips, she only went up to him. She made $3,000.00 that night and he never touched her once.