Glenda and my Calico Lion to the rescue
Strippers don't get fired, they get suspended.
Every few months or so, Big Daddy's made feeble attempts to keep the Diva Trips down to a minimum by enforcing the 10pm floor rule. They grew tired of a group of us that would show up at midnight, refreshed and ready to sweep the floor clean of it's it's cash, screwing the tired girls who'd been there since 9pm out of their chances to make any money. I ignored the rule most of the time. I had convinced myself that I had several legitimate "reasons" for showing up so late:
I had a band, was a performance artist and poet, had trouble getting baby sitters...all sorts of actual reasons I just couldn't seem to make it to the club before 10. Those mini Diva Trips I went on in the strip industry were a far cry from my Yoga guide days. Eventually, I found my Diva ass "suspended" for two weeks, which meant I had to go back to Silver Frolics...Did I mention that both clubs were owned by Big Daddy Rick? According to Stripper conspiracy theory, those rules sprung up when Frolics was out of dancers under the age of 50! Anyway, I had been exiled back to the club of my origin one night when the bane of any clubs existence, a tricking dancer, in this case one named, "Gypsy", was "dancing" there. Looking back on it, it was quite impressive how she managed to make a table dance from 3 ft away into a full contact dance. Back then, I perceived it as screwing with my money and I went off on her. I was so angry I switched from English to Greek only to discover that she spoke Greek, fluently and better than me! We had it out, on the floor, in front of everyone- in Greek. When the manager chose not to kick her out, I swore I'd leave and never come back (after making my goal for the night of course). To top it off, my friend Glenda, a civilian, happened to be in town from L.A. and visiting me at the club. I was embarrassed by the behavior she had witnessed, in what may have been her first time in a club of that sort. She responded to my turmoil by offering me twenty bucks to get the hell out of there and go have some fun. I think i did one more stage or a table dance instead of accepting her twenty, got dressed and quit that club. Quitting is really just leaving early in that industry. No one quits stripping, eventually, we retire.
Glenda and I decided to go to a civilian dance club called the Dungeon. While we were dancing, I noticed two beautiful women, one with an old cowboy, who were obviously strippers (it takes one to know one). One came up to me on the dance floor and yelled, "Where do you dance?". I started to tell her about Big Daddy's, what a great club it was, who to ask for if she wanted to get hired, "tell 'em Zora sent you", etc. She interrupted me, "Oh, no! You can't make good money out here. You should go to my old club in Houston! You can replace me (squeel)!!! I'm moving back to Chicago..." It was my turn to interrupt, "Replace you?!? " She was a strikingly, much prettier, version of me...about 3 or 4 inches taller with waist length spiral curls, eyes as big as mine, but tilted up slightly. I couldn't imagine a manager thinking I was a suitable replacement for her. Still, she reassured me, told me how much she averaged in a night (more than twice what I was making on a good night), told me how, "Real Southern Gentlemen, the Rich kind" behaved at her club, how they too had the 3 ft. rule... and then she said the magic words, "tell them Destiny sent you!"
Her message didn't register with me yet, so Glenda and I continued on to another regular bar, Molly's on Bourbon (sister bar to Molly's at the Market, filled with tourists instead of locals). I sat down on a bar stool and some middle aged, business man offered me a terribly strong drink made of Grey Goose and Grapefruit Juice. We made small talk about where he was from, Chicago, and what a great city it is, how my friend Glenda and I used to drive there from Detroit on weekends, etc. etc.. I accepted the drink and listened to him tell me about a friend he was hoping to visit while in town. According to his story, she was a ballet dancer he would fly to Chicago so she could buy special dance shoes you could only find in big cities...then he said, "you look like a dancer, too. Do you ever need shoes from up north?" and I nearly fell off my stool. He was my first "out of club", customer encounter. I shrugged and said, "Well, yes, I am a dancer. But, uh, I dance West African style...We dance barefoot....thanks for the drink."
While I made my way as far from him as possible, I literally bumped into my White Lighter, Night in Shining Armor type, rescue friend with the red beard, brown eyebrows and blond hair. Tom is a white Calico Mountain Lion who has Red tailed Hawks flying over him on a regular basis. I was so relieved to hear him say, "Oh, hey, hey dawl! How you doin? I'm glad we ran into each other! I'm headin' outta town for a few days to make a delivery to my friend in Houston."
Hours later we were driving with the Sunrise in the rear view mirror, on route to Houston. I didn't realize what was really happening till I walked in andheard my voice saying, "Destiny sent me" to the manager who went on and on about how I look like I could be her sister...the word destiny vibrated in my mind all night.