The Stripper Tales part 3 - Sweet Cherry Pie

**Part 3**

(You will find Part 1 & 2 of The Stripper Tales here, a collection of memoirs from a job I had as a front desk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

(please listen while reading for full effect)

[music] Sheeeeee's my cherry pie,
Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise!
Tastes so good, make a grown man cry,
Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!

My eyes adjusted to the dim of the club and standing at the dancers entranceway I took in the room. The typical 5pm crowd was peppered throughout the club, maybe 10 of them in total – all chairs facing the same direction, all eyes fixed lazily on the star attraction. Warrants “Cherry Pie” screamed from the sound system and I painfully accepted that the song would be stuck in my head for the next 2 days.

[music] Wellllllllll swinging on the front porch!
Swinging on the lawn!
Swinging where we want
Cause there ain't nobody home!

High above her head Electra gripped the pole with her right hand. She walked two slow sultry steps, lifted her right leg up to hook itself around the pole. The other leg followed as she softly twirled her body to the ground. Now on her knees she locked eyes with a patron in gyno-row. Falling to her ass her hand let go and leaning back she brought her legs up parallel to the pole. He slipped a thick French fry into his greasy mouth, eyes fixed at the bottom of the V as she spread her legs into the splits.

[music] I scream, you scream,
We all scream for her!
Don't even try
Cause you can't ignore herrrrr!

He said something to his buddy, who in turn said something to Electra. She slithered over to catch what he said, and her sexy grin was replaced with the kind of disgust only a dancers face shows. Up and off the ground, perching in sky-high red heels, she swung her long blonde hair in a circular motion to the music, stopping on the beat for a slow removal of her denim "cut-offs”. The two men in the front row no longer existed to her. Looking up and across the room she caught my eye and I became her new victim. Uncomfortable, I smiled shyly, broke the stare and slid into the DJ booth.

Terry’s lips were pulled into a tight pucker, his brow furrowed from squinting eyes. His face disappeared for a second behind a thick cloud of smoke, sinking back into his chair by the end of the exhale. Licking his yellowed fingers he extinguished the roach and playfully flicked it at my chest. I liked Terry yet he repulsed me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many dancers this guy had been with in his 12 years of DJing for strip clubs. Hundred’s? A blowjob was more of a pain in the ass now than a pleasure and “… these bitches think I owe them something after I let them suck my cock!” as he so eloquently put it.

Years of club life had taken a toll on his fashion sense if he’d had any to begin with. Up top he wore his signature black v-neck t-shirt and black leather bomber jacket. On the bottom - as usual, he sported a pair of MC Hammer pants with the gaudy print; in the black light they looked especially loud and obnoxious. The daily dousing of Calvin Klein’s Eternity had permeated the walls of the booth to the point where he no longer needed to apply it. An inch of poker straight hair at the scalp morphed into the foot long cascade of a spiral perm – that of which he thoroughly denied ever getting.

“What’s up little lady? How’s my favorite girl?” He said this to all the girls, yet it sounded so different when he said it to me. There was a mild hint of respect, something he had lost for any and all of the dancers he dealt with daily. He tolerated some of them and downright loathed others. It didn’t matter if you were new to the business or a pro on the pole – at the end of the day you were just another vagina to him. The female mystique was lost years ago…

His hand went to the CD player, and holding the side he wiggled it back and forth.

[music] She-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e's-ss-ss-ss my cherry pi-i-i-i-i-ii-i-i-i-e
Put a smile on your face
Ten miles wide!
Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Lo-o-o-o-o------
Bring a tea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-r to your eye
Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!
Yeah Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!
Yeah!

Terry had a pretty good racket going on up in that booth. If a girl didn’t give him a cut of her tips she had a rapidly skipping CD the next time she was up on stage. Electra had failed to do so and was now paying the consequences.

“Delilah needs you to play track 2 first when she comes down, OK?” I handed him her CD.

“What does she think this is? Request hour? Tell her she can lick-my-ball-sack.” He rolled his eyes and took the CD. The last skipping chorus for “Cherry Pie” now finished, he stood up, peering out at the stage. Electra glared evilly at him. Cupping the microphone he boomed into it, “Letttttttt’s give it up for Eeee-lectraaaaa!!!! Don’t move gentlemen, in 5 minutes the lovely Danni Delish will be gracing the stage. If she can’t get your rocks off, noooobody caaaannnnn…”

On her way down from the stage Electra caught the last crude comment she was going to take from the duo in the front row. Turning on her heel she spun around and flew off the handle in a rage.

“NO!! - FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Still in a state of undress she grabbed the edge of his plate and launched the remaining French fries into the air. The empty dish landed in his lap and standing up it fell loudly to the floor – a streak of ketchup near his crotch. The bouncer was behind him as he lifted his hand to grab at her hair, and kicking and screaming obscenities he was dragged out to the street. Naked and annoyed Electra stormed up to the DJ booth ready to give Terry the rest of the fight. Hoping off my stool I was out of the booth and back to my front desk station within the minute. Replaying the scene in my mind it bothered me that the situation didn’t bother me… a scary thought, as I knew I was becoming numb…

The Stripper Tales part 2 - Free For A Day

**Part 2**
(see Part 1 of The Stripper Tales here, a collection of memoirs from a job i had as a frontdesk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

Arriving at work that afternoon Luna filled me in on the present hotel guests as she always did. She was looking particularly haggard today. Luna’s look could be best described as “Death”. Not quite commited to the being a Goth, her appearance leaned more towards the genderless witch. She wore black clothing from head to toe that was always baggy enough to conceal the fact that she was indeed a girl. Her hair was dyed black as well… about 2 months ago. Her 3-inch roots said she was naturally a blond, but from a few feet away it just looked like an out of control case of psoriasis. Her complexion had the colour and consistency of soured milk and aside from the large patch of acne on her chin, her face was caked in a foundation that was several shades too light; eyebrows, eyelashes and lips hidden with uneven, chunky smears of Cover Girl. Her face was devoid of all feeling and features – aside from the zits of course. Between her appearance and bad attitude, Luna's overall aura must have made Satan proud. I gathered she was a follower due to the stack of occult literature she brought to work daily and the pentagram tattooed at the nape of her neck.

“Something’s up with room 317. He’s called down twice to try and get me to give him an advance on the credit card he’s used for the damage deposit. It’s his mother’s card and she called it in. I told him no way – we don’t do that but he still keeps trying. I’m sure he’ll give you a go as well." She paused to nibble on an inflamed hangnail. "Brandy’s got a stalker AGAIN and he keeps calling saying he’s her boyfriend. She’s not taking anymore calls without the code word “LICK IT”.”
“LICK IT? Seriously? Is that all she could come up with? Jesus.”
“Tell the rest of the girls checking in that it’s Jell-O Wrestling week and if they don’t show up for a Jell-O show they WILL be fined.”
“Gotcha… I’m on it.” Luna collected her books, slid into her floor length leather trench and without a goodbye sulked out the front door.

317 was blinking on the callboard 20 minutes later.

“Front desk…?” A disturbed voice on the other end did it’s best to convince me that I should do the right thing and give him a $200 cash advance on the credit card. His mother said it would be fine. He was in desperate need. “Well how about this? You’re mother sends you a money order and you go pick it up across the street, because you’re not getting any cash from me.” I hung up. 20 minutes later, same guy, same phone call, same response.

41 across… Hmmm… Five letter word for “This might be the end of the line”. I was staring into space, pondering the newspaper crossword when I heard what sounded like a box of books being thrown from the top of the 1st floor staircase. I waited and heard further movement just behind the stairwell door. All of the sudden the door exploded open, smashing into the wall behind it. Expecting to see the person that had caused the commotion, I was surprised to see nobody. They were hiding behind the high counter of the check-in desk. In ANY other circumstance I would have gotten up to help/see what had happened, but I had learned to put all humanitarian urges aside when on shift at the Plaza. Then, straight out of a B horror movie a swollen hand grasped the top edge of the counter, slowly followed by its mate. They gripped tight and pulled up a mans body – the sight of which sent me reeling back in my chair and fumbling for my steak knife.

His eyes were manic wild and glassy and something resembling blood was caked around his mouth. I’m not sure that he was aware of my presence, as no eye contact with me was made. His body swung up and around and zoombie-like he careened toward the front door. Stabling himself on the door handle, he regained his composure for about 5 seconds before lurching out onto the sidewalk and disappearing around the corner. A tad disturbed, I called over to the Pub and had the bouncer come over to give me advice on how I should handle this guy. He told me to call him or the police if the situation escalated. In my head I tried to picture the "escalated" situation that would have me dailing 911...

I looked out the big glass windows and spotted our guest in the park across the street stumbling from tourist to tourist, accosting them for money. 15 minutes later he was back in the hotel lobby and stumbling up to his room. 317 was blinking on the callboard again and this time I didn’t answer. Soon after he was back down the stairs and tripping through the lobby. He’d removed his button-down shirt and was sporting only an undershirt; the entire front of which was covered in what appeared to be blood. He flew out the front door and in the process of trying to walk neglected to lift one of his legs. A nearby planter broke his fall, which he in turn used as a receptacle for his vomit. Hoooooly shit this guy was wasted! And what the hell was that all over his shirt?? I waited a few minutes until I saw him back over in the park and grabbing the master key, I sprinted up to room 317. Worried that he had cut himself up badly (or somebody else?), I just had to see inside his room!

There was no answer to my banging on 317’s door but Delilah popped her head out of 320.
“What the hell are they doing in that room?” she said, her naked torso leaning out of her doorway.
“It’s only one guy!” I replied as I slowly pushed the door open… “What the…?” A crime scene appeared before me. The comforter, walls and carpet were all splattered in a blood bath of brick red liquid; the air thick and nauseating. Hopping from one unstained piece of carpet to the next I began to poke around. There was no luggage or personal effects to be seen, just the blood-like stains. Due to the sheer amount them, I decided that if they were in fact actual blood, there had to be a dead body somewhere in that room. I finally found the donor behind the bed. In lieu of a dead body there were seven empty 1.5 liter bottles of the cheapest port wine money could buy! Beside them, two crumpled pieces of paper - photocopies of a Johnny Newark’s ID and prison release forms. OOOKaaay!…Time to call the police!

Two officers arrived within minutes to arrest a surprised Johnny. A mess of an escape attempt ended with a vigorus handcuffing, his face smashed down on the lobby floor. Apparently the officers knew him well. Earlier that day they’d picked him up from his first meeting with a parole officer and then dropped him off downtown at his request. That morning Johnny had been released from a two-year stint in prison and would now be heading back for another extended visit. Sliding him up from the cold tiles, the two cops steadied him at arms length, keeping their crisp uniforms clear of the fresh vomit.

"Free for a day... I sure as hell hope it was worth it Johnny!" said the cop. Johnny turned and looked at me for the first time, his shifty eyes fixing on my own for but a few seconds. It hadn't registered that I was the reason his hands were now secured behind his back.

After seeing his head ducked down into the squad car, all was then quiet at the Plaza. I sucked back the last of my watery soda and lit a celebratory cigarette in the back room. 41 across… Five letter word for “This might be the end of the line” hmmm...
The callboard rings. “Brandy in room 112 please.”
“Password?”
“LICK IT”
“Hold on, I’ll put you through…”

The Stripper Tales part 1 - Check In Time

**Part 1**
(The Stripper Tales, a collection of memoirs from a job i had as a frontdesk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

I looked up to see an oversized set of breasts smothered in purple velour resting on the check-in counter. The zipper of the hoodie was pulled down to accentuate the 6-inch crack above it, a fleshy double D cavern.
“Hey Delilha… long time no see! Where’ve you been?”
“fucking Edmonton. I hate that hole. You should see my god dam legs! Ill show you later… you get my room sweets? Or is Mani being a bitch again?”
“a bitch… but I’ll see what I can do. You’ll have to stay on the 1st floor tonight though. The 2nd floor is booked”
“then put me on the 3rd floor. I AM NOT shacking up with the rest of those crack-ass 1st floor ho’s!” understandable… the 1st floor was scary. I had a hard time even sitting on the edge of one of the beds in those rooms - having to sleep in one would be out of the question.

I was at work. Front desk clerk at the Vic Plaza Hotel, right in the heart of downtown. The hotel was adjacent to a well know strip club called Monty’s. The building was turn of the century old, with the last renovation completed in the 80’s. The carpets were stained with gum, vomit, red wine and hair dye. The walls reeked of cigarette smoke, dust and something else you could never put your finger on. There was a baseball bat behind the counter. A seedy hotel at its finest. My 4pm to 12 midnight shifts required little effort on my part. The hours were spent chatting with the dancers, refilling my root beer in the pub and finding available rooms at other hotels for nice families that had unknowingly booked with ours.

Each week a there was a new line-up of dancers for Monty’s and they were put up on the 1st floor for their stay. Jessica Belle, Karma Sutra, Luv Tyler and Tori Tame… the names always made me snicker. Food and drink tabs, phone calls, damages and the daily $40 for their room were taken off their final paycheck at the end of the week. More often then not the girls actually owed the hotel money. Thank god I never had to deal with that end of things cause those girls could get nasty! Around 4 mediocre girls were booked along with the “headliner”. She was paid $10 more per show and had to have huge fake tits, decent promo posters, themed “outfits” and rockin’ tan lines. Delilah was this week’s headliner, and she expected to be treated like one.
A hand flicked over processed hair away from her face. Deep in thought she contemplated the situation, slowly licking her highly glossed lips. They had the plump, puckered texture that only multiple injections could procure. I wondered if she could feel her tongue slide across their meatiness. She was pretty – at one point in her life.

“Ok where’s Mani? I want to talk with him. I so sick of this bullshit.”
“now’s not a good time to talk with Mani. Jenny and him are fighting in the office.”
“hmph… she catch another dancer with his dick down her throat?”
“yaaaah, something to that effect.” Upon arriving at work that day I was elated to find an open parking spot right beside the hotel. I screeched my car to a halt upon pulling into it… massive shards of glass covered the entire area. Looking out my window and up at the 3rd floor I saw that the office window had found its new home down here in the alleyway. I could only guess what had happened, certainly nothing new. Mani the manager would often pop down to the front desk and tell me to clear $20 to $50 off a dancers debt to the hotel. His wife did the books, and they didn’t balance very often if you get my drift?

I booked Delilah into a 3rd floor room and handed her the key.
“you’re the best dalyn. Hey, can you come up and hang for a bit after I get settled? I’ll cut up a little afternoon “snack” for yoooou…? I’ll show you the new scars on my legs as well! Fucker’s in Edmonton were heating up coins with their lighters and then flicking them at me on stage! One even got me in the cunt! Can you believe that shit?!”
“kind of… I’ll come up in a bit. Extra towels and a diet coke to go with your coke?”
“I wish every job had one of you.” She left a haze of expensive perfume in the room and I listened as her suitcase bump bump bumped up to the 3rd floor. Room 322 was home for a week and I was her new best friend. (more to come later…) *d