Chapter 20: A Promotion in Strip Club World

Moving to Cabaret Royale felt like a promotion in Strip Club World. I saw the club for what it was: a tacky buffet during lunch, stained and fraying chairs, tables slightly sticky with alcohol and other fluids, a champagne room with no door, and a couch that looked like it had been around since the 80s, and chipped wooden stages.

And yet… I firmly placed those rose-colored sunglasses over my eyes. It had three bars, (with at two open most days), two downstairs and one upstairs. A chandelier hung over the entrance hall, and a royal red carpet draped the staircase that enticed visitors to explore hidden depths. There was a huge main stage, with no pole. I was a bit disappointed that this club did not have a pole onstage. The pole was rather like a friend: always there, always reliable, always ready to catch you if you fall. The two other smaller stages which flanked it were carved like miniature pianos.

Cabaret Royale charged a higher entrance fee, was three times the size of Lipstick, had prettier, slimmer, and more youthful dancers, and many more customers came daily. I had a good feeling about this club. Even the menu showed the difference between the two: at Lipstick, the kitchen served mainly club sandwiches, chicken fried steak, or chimichangas. At Cabaret, they had filet mignon, chicken parmesan, and shrimp scampi, plus a substantial wine/champagne section.

The bottom level was the "basic" level, with plush club chairs and tiny drink tables. To access the top floor, customers had to pay ten dollars extra, and even then, the floor was separated into distinct sections. There was the regular "VIP" area, where guests could look down and enjoy the view from above. One side had a fireplace, a bar, and an assortment of club chairs. On the other side were glass windows, an area with a booth-style lounge, and mirrors. To get to this area, guests were required to purchase at least a half-bottle of champagne; one of those cute, tiny bottles you might see in stores.

My feelings concerning the half bottle were mixed; on the one hand, I would much rather the customer pay me $60, instead of wasting it on alcohol. On the other, it acted as a gateway to more dances, sometimes, if the customer feels more private and comfortable. Then there was the actual "champagne room," where guests were required to purchase one full bottle of champagne, starting price of $250. I would develop a thirst for Banfi Rosa Regale that has not been quenched to this day.

David had been right: the clientele was a lot more affluent, and white-collar. My very first day I didn't make much; 100 or 150 bucks or something like that. Coming to a new club was a lot like starting from scratch: I had to build up my client base again, attract new regulars, learn the code and culture of a new club, and see how I stacked up against the other dancers. I met both day managers/bouncers, two white bald guys (why are bouncers inevitably bald?) who both had families. One had a daughter who was about 17 and the younger guy had a baby girl.

I met the new House Mom, Sheryl. She was an older woman, with long, blonde hair that came down to her waist. It was graying a bit on top, and she had tiny crows' feet near her eyes. Sheryl was sweet, nice, and passed her time by reading the Bible. I was astounded to learn that this woman who seemed happyshe could laugh loudly, tell bawdy jokes, and gossip with the rest of the dancershad suffered one of the most horrible tragedies a mother could suffer. Her eldest daughter, who had been 17 at the time, had died in an accident at a "haunted house," (one of those where it's more like a theme park than a house). She said it was some stupid, random accident, that it could have happened to anyone, but it had just happened to have taken her daughter. So maybe it is odd that a woman would read the Bible or knit crochet crosses in memory of her deceased daughter in a strip club, but in a way, that contributed to its normalcy. A strip club is just a place with humans in it, and humans will still do human things. It's not like it is completely removed from reality.

There was an actual make-up artist at Cabaret as well. At Lipstick, it was pretty much every woman for herself concerning make-up, but at Cabaret, there was a day make-up artist, and a night one. The day make-up artist was a large woman, with bright, fresh tattoos all over her arms, chest, and back that were mainly religious symbols (like the Virgin Mary) or sayings which let you know that she had been through some shit, like "Stronger than pain" or "Death comes for all." She took women who looked exhausted and dead fish-eyed and made them into goddesses.