Page 61

sixty f

New Friends

N ot only were clubs seedier, costumes skimpier, and dancing sexier, the other dancers were younger and tougher. Some of them thought I was a loser, a leftover from the generation of go-go bars. I’d always found it challenging to compete with younger, cuter girls with better routines. But now in my mid-thirties, they often got the better of me. On those nights, I’d stumble, miss a beat, or tear my costume. I needed a strategy to compete, to rise to the top of the garbage heap.

Who’d have thought my month in prison would be my ticket to triumph? On most shifts, I’d have at least one ally. But one night at Dream Girls, it was me against the next generation. I needed to assert myself, or I’d be finished as a dancer.

“Hey, grandma, think you can get a rise outta the customers?” Amber, an eighteen-year-old bleached blond taunted me.

“You think you’re tough, Amber?” I clenched my fists and dug my feet into the ground to stop trembling. “When I was in prison in Africa, the natives showed me how to kill a person with two fingers right here.”

I pointed to a spot on my neck below my ear. “No gun, no knife, no blood. Just pressure.”

Her eyes opened wide, and she backed away. “You were in prison?”

“For international drug smuggling. You learn a lot behind bars.” Word got around. From that point on, nobody bothered me.

Diana, Ricki, and Missy—tough druggies in their late twenties—became my new friends. Like Tammy and Jack, they drank, inhaled crystal meth and cocaine, and lit a joint when they wanted to come down.

Big Eddie supplied our drugs. Eddie’s merchandise was focused on quantity rather than quality, but nobody seemed to care.

When we weren’t dancing, we partied. Diana and her boyfriend rented a house on a country road, a perfect setting for her July Fourth bash in 1981. She asked Ricki, Missy, and me to arrive early to help with food preparations.

“Ricki, you’re gonna be the centerpiece,” Diana said.

Missy, Ricki, and I exchanged confused glances.

“C’mon out to the back porch, and I’ll explain.”

Instead of a picnic table set with paper plates, she’d covered the table with a sheet and placed a pillow on one end. Tupperware containers of food and a roll of Saran Wrap sat nearby.

“Okay, Ricki, strip but leave your panties on. Then climb onto the table,” Diana instructed.

Ricki was high enough to blindly obey Diana’s orders.

“Now let’s wrap her with Saran Wrap and decorate her with food.”

“Won’t she be too hot?” I asked.

“Nah. We’re gonna keep the AC goin’ and blow the cold air out here.”

“You thought of everything,” Missy said.

“And it’s only appetizers,” Diana said. “Once we fire up the grill, she can get up.”

We decorated her breasts with sliced tomatoes and surrounded her body in chips, crackers, and greens. Ricki’s stomach was concave enough to support a bowl of blueberries, and in her crotch, we placed a bowl of yogurt dip.

“Red, white, and blue!” Missy screamed.

Ricki was the hit of the party until Diana’s biker friends arrived and decided they needed to dig deeper for the yogurt dip.

“Get the fuck out of there!” Ricki sat up, scattered garnish everywhere, and threw dip at the offenders.

A round of laughter and cheers exploded as she ran in the house. Missy and I followed.

Ricki was furious. I helped her into the shower and found her clothes in Diana’s bedroom.

“Bunch of lowlifes. Let’s get outta here.”

Missy and I had had enough, too. We said a quick goodbye to Diana and piled into my car.

I knew cops would be on the lookout for drunk drivers like me, but what choice did we have? I spotted a police car in my rearview mirror and did my best to stay focused and drive at a reasonable speed. It didn’t work. He flashed his lights and pulled me over.

I rolled down the window and thanked God we weren’t smoking.

The officer opened his mouth to ask for my license and registration. When he saw the three of us, he winked and smiled.

“Celebrating the Fourth, ladies?”

We smiled our sexiest smiles and nodded.

“How far are you going?” he asked.

“Only a few miles to my place,” I said.

“You look like nice girls. How about I follow you and make sure you get home okay?”

“Thank you.” I felt my body relax.

“That was close,” Ricki said.

“And we didn’t have to show our tits!” Missy burst out laughing.

To my surprise, the officer kept his word, followed us to my apartment complex, and left us to celebrate the rest of the holiday.

If only the Kenyan police had been so kind.