good company.”
Embarrassing. I must have sounded juvenile. Like some witless bore at a party trying to turn everyone’s words into an off-color double entendre. Now she must think I’m just another predatory male. Should have kept my mouth shut. Should never have let her into the car in the first place. However, she didn’t seem to make much more of it.
There I was comfortably speeding along with Betty Jo. I‘d decided she was harmless, but I’d keep my options open. I might be letting her out at any time. It might become uncomfortable, as I didn’t know how to engage her in conversation. Legislation was the only subject I knew much about, and I didn’t want to talk politics with her. In fact, I didn’t care for her to know I was a member of Congress. She might try to take advantage of me in some manner.
After another hour, the silence became awkward. I asked, “What do you do in Baltimore?” Just making conversation, it was of no matter to me.
She laughed. “Librarian.”
“I’m surprised. I figured you more for a teacher.” That was a stretch; I figured her more for a waitress. “I’ll bet you’re one of those highly organized types who can recite the Dewey Decimal System backwards.”
“The what?”
I glanced over. “Okay, truthfully what do you do?”
“I’m joking. I’m not really a librarian, but I play one in my act. I take off my glasses, shake my hair loose, and turn into a beautiful swan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m a stripper.”
“A what?”
“A stripper.”
“Oh! I didn’t expect that.” I really didn’t. So she was one of those women. Interesting. But not the type of person I wanted in my car. When we stopped, I’d have to take a closer look at her. Do you know what I mean? Like school kids when they hear that some girl in class lost her virginity the night before. Everyone wants to stare at her to see if she looks any different. Have you ever glanced at a painting, Sandy, and walked on? Someone then explains it’s not just another painting. It’s exceptional, there are elements unseen and unimagined. You’d go back for a second look.
This woman riding in my car tells me she prances around naked for a living. I had to look at her again. When I did, I indeed saw a different woman sitting there. “So, you dance nude,” was the best I could bring myself to say.
“Wow! I see I can’t get anything passed you. No, museum statues are nude, strippers are naked.”
The situation was intriguing to say the least, but I also began to feel nervous. I’d have to tell her the ride was over. “Do you do private parties, pop out of a cake, that sort of thing?”
“I
“So you’re a performance artist, an exotic dancer?”
“No, I’m a stripper. Wait...I’ll spell it for you.”
I wasn’t doing very well with my end of the conversation. “You do much more than strip, you dance.”
“The dancing part I fake, not that you’d complain. Most strippers don’t know how to dance. Of course, you have to get all your standard moves and your pole work down. But it’s not real dancing. Like starting lessons as a little kid and sweating it out for years—dance class twice a week ruining your feet. Now that’s dancing. Anyone can take their clothes off and swing on a pole. Well, maybe your wife couldn’t.”
My wife would have a good laugh out of my getting myself into this uncomfortable situation. “Have your hands full, do you Freddy?” Is what Ellen would say. As a woman, can you understand my feeling? I couldn’t help imagining this woman’s naked body right there beside me in the front seat. She happened to have it covered up at present, but it was under there. It amused me to fantasize, but I had no actual interest in her.
So she was a stripper. That changed everything. Everything was clearer now. The provocative way she stood at the gas station. Her walk of practiced confidence on heels. Her trim body and long legs. If I had second thoughts about her before I learned what she did for a living, you can imagine my anxiety now.
As that cloud of initial fascination cleared, I began to see the situation was potentially dangerous. I knew nothing about this woman or what she had in mind. It just wasn’t propitious for a congressman to be out on the highway with a stripper. Should there be some kind of accident or incident and the press picked up on it,
Another dark thought flicked across my mind. Had I indeed been picked out at random back at that convenience store? Or was I the target of some scheme and been followed there? Did she just happen to get on queue behind me, and just happened to feel compelled to start talking to me. It wasn’t common for the public to recognize me, although it had happened. I’d been on CSpan a few times and once on a Sunday news program. Politicians are bound to have enemies. Perhaps the plan is to get me in a compromising position and blackmail me for my support of certain legislation.
Maybe she’d decide to pull that gun out and leave me somewhere in a ditch. Yet, she didn’t look the type. Sounded like famous last words, she didn’t look the type. What type was I talking about? She wasn’t above lying to hitch a ride. She wasn’t above stripping—and whatever went with that business.
Crazy thoughts. I attempted to dislodge them all from my mind. Yet there was no denying this woman from a very dissimilar class of society, was in my front seat with her mysterious black handbag clinched between her feet. Remember, she had lied to get herself in my car. I decided Betty Jo must go.
We soon crossed over the North Carolina border from Virginia and I started looking for a suitable opportunity to get her out of my car and out of my life. I’d explain it to her somehow. A shame. She could be good company on the way to Florida. It’d be pleasant to have her along. She was acceptable to look at and even a low level of conversation would be diverting. But I didn’t need her complicating my life or worse—somehow threatening it.
At that moment, she was asleep. The front seat of my Chrysler sedan was quite roomy and she was leaning back relaxed with her long legs straight out and uncrossed. Her shoes were off and I couldn’t miss her Chinese-Red toenails. Likely the standard color for strippers. Her knee-length maroon skirt had ridden up some as she slumped down. A band of lace at the hem gave the illusion of being shorter. I was growing accustomed to her exotic appearance. She was all right I supposed.
She awoke and sat up. “Where are we?” She put her hand down and touched the black shoulder bag.
“Into North Carolina. I guess I’ll start looking for another place to stop.” Best to be stopped somewhere safe when I told her the ride was over. I didn’t want to face any outburst while underway.
“Why the hell stop? Excuse me, you’re driving, but we’ll never make it to Florida if you stop every hour.”
She was correct. Another hour or so with her in the car wouldn’t make any difference. I nodded and offered some more conversation, “You dance in Baltimore?” It really made no difference to me where she did her stripping and whatever attendant activities that entailed.
“The Blue Triple X, down by the harbor. Ever been there? Classy. Has the top reputation all over the east coast. All the big wigs from Washington come up. Just started there. Had to work in an ordinary club to find my groove before they’d take me. Good money. By two a.m. fifty-dollar bills are flying around like confetti on New Year’s Eve. Haven’t saved much yet. Some strippers make more money in a week than both of their parents put together in a year...and end up blowing it all. I’ve been paying off credit cards. Don’t want to end up with nothing like my mother. Need to start a savings plan. Something for my retirement. For a stripper retirement could come at any time. My face isn’t my fortune—it’s not that great. My body is the thing and I won’t keep this shape forever.”
“You have a very attractive face. Everyone likes it, I’m sure.” I’d give her that so she wouldn’t think I was focusing just on her body.
She ignored my compliment. “Every day, I get older and some adorable young thing skips through the door wanting my job. She’s not only prettier than me, she might move better.”
“I didn’t realize beautiful young women were racing in to take their clothes off.” I hoped that didn’t sound too derisive.
“Each one has a reason, Freddy. From making tuition money to feeding a family. Some are interesting. Some are dull. What they all have in common is a body. Steve, that’s the boss, says the female body is like a shadow that
