has the power to cloud men’s minds. So, I’m in the mind-clouding business. I kind of like that expression. Everything we do must point to the last show. If you can’t make them stay, Steve will fire your ass. Each dancer does her sets off and on. Each set gets more suggestive. For the last show, the G-strings come off and the padlocks come off their wallets.”
“Total nudity?”
“I’m so glad you’re paying attention. You see the psychology, Freddy? The longer they stay, the more they have invested in time and money. All the while, we’ve been showing them more and more. They want it all but they can’t have it. The more they pay and the longer they have to wait, the more important it becomes to them. Women figured out all this stuff ten thousand years ago. The men want the dance.”
“Oh, sure they want the dance. And men buy
“No, you’re not getting it. Believe me. The men are essentially there for the dance. Sure, they’re dying to see that G-string come off, but not before they get excited with the dance. If at the start, I sat down in a chair on the stage in front of them and took my G-string off they’d say, ‘Oh, okay, goodbye.’”
“So, the G-string is more like a symbol.” I glanced over politely to show I understood her point. “Do you have it with you?” Damn, why did I say such a dumb thing? I must have sounded like a twelve-year-old.
“Sure, Tiger, I’m wearing it now. Momma told me to always wear a clean one in case I’m in an accident.”
“I was joking, Betty Jo.” I said, trying to get off the hook. She smiled a little. That was good. She probably assumed I was just teasing.
“Acting is hard work. The idea is to make every man in the room think I’m dumb enough to actually have sex with him.”
“Are you acting now?” It occurred to me that all this sexy talk could be part of a dance aimed at me, to get me in the proper mood. Making me ready for whatever scheme was in store.
“No, Freddy. If I turned it on, you’d go up in smoke. So there I am, for six hours every night hiding my true self. Like Superman, Betty Jo jumps out of a phone booth a hot and sexy stripper.”
“But aesthetically pleasing.”
“If you say so.” She turned toward me slightly and smiled. “Everyone says I talk too much. Am I talking too much?”
I couldn’t help looking over at her. I’d decided her hair, now that I thought about it, was tolerable. It didn’t look harsh as I first thought. In fact, it appeared somewhat soft and feathery. I also liked the shape of her full red lips and the way they parted slightly to show her perfect white teeth.
“Keep your eyes on the road, please. I know most people look down on what I do. They believe it’s slimy back-alley stuff. They think I should burn in hell. I don’t care what they think. Take a look at your own life, I’d tell them. How many people did you exploit this week? How many did your ancestors screw to get your family to where it is today? I’m paying my own way in life and not hurting anyone.
“I don’t think God is out there applauding, but I don’t think he’s much concerned about me dancing naked either. He has more important things to worry about. In fifty years, what I do on stage will be old stuff on prime time TV. And the same God will be up there still unconcerned about whether Betty Jo has her clothes on or off.” She smiled. “By then I suppose I’ll mostly keep them on.”
“Not everyone is offended,” I said. “Many people think it’s not part of their world, but live and let live.” I meant that honestly. I thought it was mostly correct. “What name do you use? On stage I mean.”
“Candy.”
“Of course, Candy. I should have guessed. That’s cute. It all sounds like fun.” Another mistake. I was trying to empathize with her. I shouldn’t have implied her work was easy.
She scowled. “Try staying out of the coke scene when it’s ass deep all around you. And it’s free...if you’re willing to do a string of guys. Yeah, lots of fun staying clean.”
That stopped me. The drug scene never occurred to me. It always seemed so low-class. Then again, Hollywood stars are into coke. Was her lifestyle sordid or glamorous? I had no idea.
Somehow, I felt better about strippers in general. I’d lost any paranoid thoughts about her being involved in some nefarious plot to set me up. Clearly, we had come together by chance. How interesting fate had placed a stripper in my car. I saw no point in putting her out, after all.
Just after noon, we were nearing South Carolina and I asked if she was hungry. Just wanted some comfort munchies, she said. I wasn’t too concerned about lunch but I wanted a coffee. I exited I-95 and parked at a convenience store. I held out a ten-dollar bill but she shook her head. She swung those long legs around and got out. I fell in behind her, watching all that curly hair bouncing, her hips swaying, and her shoulder bag swinging.
Once inside she slowly circled all the aisles. I used the restroom, got my coffee, and waited by the door. She was a minor event sweeping through the store and men stared. They’d pretend to look at something to buy, but were positioning themselves to keep her in sight. Imagine their surprise if I told them their dream of seeing that woman without clothes was not an impossible one. My own amusing secret.
At last, she decided on a tiny bag of chips. Obviously, she had no money, at least didn’t want to spend any. I went over. “You know, Betty Jo, I think I’m hungry after all. Why don’t we stop for a regular lunch, okay?”
“I don’t have money for a big lunch. Don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Think of it as part of the trip. One takes a trip, one stops and eats. I’d have to eat anyway. I’ll get it this time.” Most likely she’d say no.
She hesitated then nodded okay.
A buffet was in progress at a nearby Holiday Inn. A good choice, I thought, as she could load up and go back for seconds, even cram a few items in her handbag for supper. But she didn’t. The hotel guests and the lunchtime crowd were dressed down wearing jeans and all; she’d have attracted attention even if not the only one wearing a skirt. I’m sure she was quite accustomed to accepting abundant amounts of attention.
Two men eating together at a table nearby noticed her. They exchanged comments, laughed loudly, and stared at her in a way that would melt the clothes off an ordinary woman. Apparently, they assumed we had stayed at the hotel overnight and she was my mistress. I enjoyed that. I’d never considered taking a mistress, but it was fun to sit there and pretend for the benefit of those two men.
I wondered about mistresses. Not necessarily Betty Jo, just in general. I know you set them up in an apartment. Do they expect you to pay all the other bills, or do they have some kind of token employment? I could easily cover all her living expenses. We had a second home in New England and a summer place in Aspen. I could easily hide her expenses in there somewhere. Does your mistress just wait for you to show up? What do they do all day?
She seemed a pleasant young woman and I didn’t mind sitting opposite her although we had nothing in common to talk about. She did say her mother lived in Ft. Lauderdale, that’s where she was heading. From the sound of it, Momma wasn’t doing so well, sounded like money problems. That was nice, a daughter putting herself out, enduring hitchhiking on a long trip to see her mother.
She was eager to get underway so we didn’t sit in the restaurant any longer than necessary. Back in the car, we were soon off again down I-95. I had that after-lunch feeling of well being and was enjoying the trip and being with Betty Jo, the stripper. I supposed her being in my car wasn’t such a terrible situation. We were growing used to each other. In fact, you might say I’d become quite taken with her.
Chapter Twenty
Abby Olin sat obediently across from State Attorney Lawrence Moran with her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t answer immediately.
Moran leaned forward on his desk. “I asked if you’ve been advised of your rights.”
“Again and again,” she answered, “and don’t tell me I need an attorney. All I did was shoot a prowler.”
“Miss Olin you stood before a judge twice for arraignment. The first time for shooting a prowler. The second time the court appointed some legal aid guy and you pleaded innocent to the second-degree murder of Bruce Banks.”
“I didn’t like him. Told him to get lost. I might not need him anyway. He told me I could continue to claim that I thought I shot a prowler even if you charged me with Bank’s murder. So I’m sticking to that story. So what do
