The Jewel Box (4 page)

“Oh, and never. . . I repeat,
never
, let anyone kiss you on the lips. Just turn your head to the side then rush away with their order, or drop your chin so they end up kissing your forehead. Any major problems, Beau’ll bolt from behind that bar like Thor to save our butts.”

“Beau seems really nice.” My voice trembled.

“Ole Hawk Eye is the greatest.” She flashed a big, sincere smile. “Okay, cutie, don’t forget to call me Laura and I’ll work at calling you Cherie.”

Paralyzed with fear, I couldn’t find the nerve to move my scantily clad body out of the dressing room. Mother spent years instilling the proper dress code for ladies, and trust me, it was nothing like the skimpy clothing clinging to my body. Kat finally noticed me shaking and tried to relax me by saying we had to put red tablecloths and candles on all tables. I went into freeze frame against the wall. She prodded. “C’mon, we’re the only girls here. Dancers don’t show up til two or three in the afternoon.”

My paralysis turned into full-on body tremors. Then Wesley came knocking.

“Here’s something for your nerves.” He handed me a shot of tequila via Kat who had propped her foot against the dressing room door, barely allowing room for his large hand.

“I just took a pain pill and shouldn’t drink,” I protested.

“It’s not going to kill you, Jill. Just chug it. Don’t let me down tonight.” Wesley’s voice faded as he walked away. “Soon this’ll all seem like a figment of your imagination.”

A figment? No. This was real, and I was the half-naked one living it.

“Cutie, I don’t know about this guy.” Kat frowned and handed me the tequila, before questioning the number of pain meds I used. I lied to my best friend. I was taking more than the recommended daily dose. After downing my tequila, I slipped out of the dressing room and somehow endured the embarrassing walk to the waitress station, wishing the dim lights were dimmer so the sheerness of my top would be less conspicuous. Wesley met me with another shot of tequila.

“There’s hardly any customers, so lemme show you the dance routine.” Kat grabbed the back of my top, pulling me through the club. She set her tray on a table, plugged quarters into the jukebox, and stepped onto the tiny, round stage to begin dancing. Choosing
Backfield in Motion
for obvious reasons, Katie as “Laura” gyrated her shapely derriere at the few men present, then turned and gazed into their eyes, rolling her shoulders provocatively. As the song ended, she shook her ample chest before bending over to flaunt her fanny. I felt embarrassed to the core of my being as I watched her dancing almost naked in front of these guys. She stepped off the stage without a modicum of modesty, and shouted my direction. “Go wait tables while I freshen up, cutie.” I momentarily lost my ability to breathe. I self-consciously walked around the small club checking for drink orders, but if customers attempted small talk, response of any sort failed to cross my lips as my brain inked their beverage choices. I waited nervously at the waitress station until Kat came back. “You need to get on the stage and practice dancing before the club gets busy.”

“Oh no, I can’t!” My head shook a frantic “No” as the rest of me stood petrified.

“C’mon, cutie. Go-go dancing is nothing compared to what strippers have to do. Those girls wear elaborate getups and undress down to the bare essentials by ripping off long gloves with their teeth and such. And they
dance about ten minutes. We just have to jiggle around on that little stage for one song.”

Wesley rushed over and compassionately poured two more shots of tequila down me.

“This is it girl.” Kat plugged quarters in the jukebox, selected
I Heard It Through the Grapevine
by Marvin Gaye, and shoved me onto the stage.

Nightmare! Phenaphen, tequila and frazzled nerves had my head spinning, and my rubbery legs barely made contact with the little stage before I fainted. Kat fanned my face. Wesley ordered me to try again. Beau showed concern. “Just wait tables, baby. We’ve got dancers traipsing in now.” I thanked him, and vowed to make it through the dreadful night. How would I ever “get hip” to this scene?

Wesley stayed the entire evening, constantly bugging me by asking how much I was making. I had turned tons of bills into twenties, but was amazed at closing when I counted two hundred and forty dollars. “Talk about the inequities in life,” I said to Beau. “Education certainly isn’t necessary for making money in this place. My last job didn’t pay this much a month.”

“Don’t you know the world is a glass dictionary?” he asked.

“Ah, a man who quotes philosophy is usually sincere.”

“Nay, nay young child.” Beau offered a quick wink. “Even the devil can quote texts.”

“Pleeease, Beau. . . don’t shatter my dreams about poetic men.”

“I’m just quoting Emerson. Translated it means if you open your eyes and pay attention, you’ll always learn something new. Educate yourself.” He flipped on the overhead lights, revealing a slightly stained carpet and other flaws previously hidden by soft lighting.

“Jeez, Beau.” I covered my eyes. “Next time warn me before you turn on the bright lights. I prefer illusions.”

By my third day things were getting easier, but nowhere near good—much less great. Wesley’s hotel room wasn’t far from Kat’s, but I spent more time with her and only saw him midway through my work shift. On our fourth day of hanging out, Kat persuaded me to lighten my champagne
blonde hair to a chalk white color. I hated it. With ice hair and separation anxiety over Nikki, my minor relief came from seeing Beau’s face light up when Kat and I walked through the door. His tall stature and GQ looks made me feel I was in the presence of a suave Hollywood star, but his poetic aura and innate charm couldn’t be duplicated by any actor. Dressed in a tux style suit with white ribbed shirt, red suspenders and black tie, Beau always stood behind the bar shuffling cards or counting money. His bar-back cleaned while Beau handled all financial aspects, claiming “too many hands in a register, a sure fire way to go broke.”

Kat and I usually arrived early so she could play with her hair and makeup, but after getting dressed I always rushed to the bar to chat with Beau and listen to the great music playing nonstop on the jukebox. He generously shared his time with me between welcoming early customers with news of the day and jokes. Beau kept several packs of playing cards under the bar, and frequently performed a magic trick that resulted in a disappearing
Jack of Clubs
card. We never figured out how he made it vanish then later reappear in a shoe, purse, and even once inside my cherished and tattered coming-of-age book from the early Sixties,
A Wrinkle in Time
.

“Isn’t that an adolescent read, baby?” Beau asked when I returned his card.

“Guess I still haven’t grown up. It’s geared to teens, but everyone should read it.”

“What’s your favorite genre?”

“Humorous, romantic fiction. I love Jane Austen, especially after my prim and proper Mother limited romance novels while pushing books on housekeeping and such.”

“What a loss.”

“Actually, I tucked favorite novels inside my clothes hamper. A great hiding place since Ellen and I were assigned laundry duty once we were tall enough to reach the Maytag.”

Beau chuckled.

“I rushed through Saturday chores so I could read novels and myths that delighted my soul, instead of reading
Good Housekeeping
or Biblical folklore, which dampened my spirits.”

“Well, baby, I’m glad you were resourceful. Your essence is indeed spirited.”

“Much more so when Nikki’s by my side.”

“Since you enjoy books,” Beau paused and reached under the bar. “Here’s something for you to read in the dressing room when you feel downhearted.”

He handed me Emerson’s
Twelve Essential Essays,
which didn’t look like my cup of tea, but I thanked him, hoping it would prove interesting enough to relax me. Beau never used vulgar language and chastised Kat when she did, albeit he occasionally uttered damn or hell. He was comforting in a gentle, protective way. Still, each time I had to go on that little stage and dance, I fell apart.

On my first weekend at the Jewel Box, I learned Beau hired off-duty policemen to oversee crowd control and men behaving badly. Their presence helped calm my nerves, until one officer became a tad too frisky. Naturally it was the hairy cop. Each time Katie-Laura or I walked past Zane he commented in carnal undertones about our bodies. If murmuring was his attempt to convey sexiness, he should have waxed before leaving home. Back hair creeping up a neck collar cancels any chance of seduction. Zane stood at the only entrance to our waitress station, grinning as though an amorous snail had slithered into his padded cod piece or whatever tightywhities he wore to compress excess butt hair. After his first beer, he took to touching our bums every time we entered and left the waitress post with our trays.

I told Beau about Zane. He parked him at the front door with orders to keep his hairy hands off all girls. Zane pouted until walleyed Wendy, whose uncontrollable peepers flew down to men’s private parts, started hanging with him. Beau didn’t care because she rarely sold cocktails. Wendy’s money came on stage, thanks to cups that runneth over, and long, wavy brown hair she flung wildly to cover her eye during dances.

My first Friday night netted me three hundred dollars. Wesley kindly allowed me to buy some totally groovy, inexpensive white go-go boots to wear on my second Saturday night, which is when I raked in over four hundred bucks. That same night, Wesley drank himself into a stupor and called
me vile names. I told him to hit the door and go to hell. A bold statement for someone who’d had subservience drilled into her brain since birth. I wasn’t sure which persona initiated it, but Jill aka Cherie, suddenly felt liberated.

In the wee hours of morning as we sat at the bar counting money and unwinding, Kat and Beau seemed happy about my sending Wesley away.

“How’d you meet this guy?” Beau locked his cash pouch and pulled out a deck of cards.

“He was my boss, and seemed decent enough. I was in emotional turmoil and under the influence of prescription drugs when he tossed out my meds and offered a shoulder to lean on.”

“Shoulder!” Kat snapped. “Now Sir Galahad expects you to kiss his horse’s ass.”

Beau frowned at her language, then turned to me. “Well, baby, I don’t know him, but he seems a bit pushy. Especially when it comes to money you’re making and he’s taking.”

“It was for us to start a legitimate company. He has experience and connections—we just need cash to get it off the ground.”

“I’ve never taken a nickel from a woman, and would shovel sewers before letting a female support me. But I’m old-fashioned, I guess.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Beau. Nothing like I presumed. I expected a lecherous swine, fondling and drooling all over a bunch of wayward girls.”

Beau shook his head. “It’s almost the other way around, baby. You’ve likely seen some of these girls offering me sexual favors.”

“Which you diplomatically decline.” I let my high heels drop against the bar rail.

“I have morals and I love my wife.” He adjusted his red suspenders. “Even though we only see each other in the mornings and early afternoons between tending our businesses.”

“So you’ve never been tempted by any of these chicks?” Kat winked at him.

“Not even slightly.”

“Ouch. That kinda makes Cherie and me feel terribly unsexy,” she teased.

“Save your flirting for customers. But feel sexy about you two being smarter than average. The majority of dancers who drift through this joint barely have functioning frontal lobes, and most customers check their brains at the front door.”

“Nice back paddle, man.” Kat shot Beau a sweet smile. “But have you lectured Cherie on club clientele yet?”

“I
never
lecture.” Beau winked. “You go ahead, Laura.”

“Well, just because a guy blows a ton of money in here doesn’t mean he’s wealthy. One customer spends hundreds every week, but Beau says he lives in a shabby apartment and sleeps on an army cot. Then there’s old fat ass Murray who comes in night after night, stands at the bar trying to manhandle every girl who walks by, but won’t fork over one thin dime. And he’s filthy rich. Right, Beau?”

“He’s from money, and also invented some surgical device they utilize down the street.”

“Can’t believe we’re only blocks from the world’s largest hospital complex.” I flexed my toes.

“Texas Medical Center is the biggest in the
world
?” Kat asked.

“You bet,” Beau said. “That’s what I love about Texas. The state does everything big. Some are successes and some aren’t. You girls are too young to remember Galveston’s glitzy gambling days with its Balinese Room where legendary acts like Burns & Allen, Frank Sinatra, Jack Benny, and others entertained. Illicit action ran rampant on that Pleasure Pier.”

“I love that the Flagship Hotel is the only hotel built entirely over water.” Kat bragged.

“While we’re talking Texas history, I’ve got some Larry McMurtry books you two might like to read.” Beau placed a 7 Up on my coaster and a Coke on Katie-Laura’s. “His storytelling is predominately set in either the old West or contemporary Texas, and he’s a damn good writer.”