LITMIR.BIZ

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we eat, then I’m damned smart cause I’m chock full of big words.”

      “Ah, Jesus, Angel! Where do you come up with this crap?”

      Angel shrugs. “Don’t know. Gift, I guess.”

      Both girls laugh and follow the signs to the Forum Shops. Once there, they pass a giant fountain that features animated figures and a laser light show. Sally and Angel silently watch the presentation.

      Next, they pass by high-end stores, many of whose names neither girl recognizes. Sally lets out a whistle. “Someday I’m gonna walk in these shops and buy whatever I want.”

      They leave Caesar’s and continue up the main boulevard to the Treasure Island hotel/casino. Sally exclaims, “Oh, my God! Giant pirate ships? In the middle of the desert? Who would have thought?”

      As the girls approach the hotel, they cross a long, wide, wood-planked boardwalk flanked by several enormous pirate schooners. The girls join the gathered crowd and wait for the show to begin. About fifteen minutes later, the rumblings of loud music can be heard as the ships come to life. Hordes of “pirates” enact their roles in a mock fight. They battle, climb rope ladders and fall—presumably to their deaths—into the water below. The show is intoxicating. The performance ends with one of the ships sinking. Stunned, both girls turn and silently walk back towards their motel. Sally breaks the silence. “This place is unbelievable! And of all the people, the Elvises seem the most normal.”

      After freshening up in their room, the girls grab their bags and head to the strip joint. The parking lot at Luigi’s Gentleman’s Club is filled with expensive cars and a valet service. As Sally and Angel approach the entrance, a gorilla-like bouncer visually undresses and sizes them up. “Come to have a good time tonight, ladies?”

      “Hope to.”

      He eye-fucks them one final time before granting them passage.

      Inside, there are three stages: a large one in the center of the room, with two smaller platforms flanking the main one. Each has brass poles mounted vertically from the ceiling to the floor—the kind one would expect to see in a firehouse. The room is dimly lit with the stages surrounded by a bar. Individual booths line the room, each large enough to hold four to six people.

      Two girls are performing on the center stage, with each of the smaller platforms supporting a single-girl strip act. Each of the performers looks as if she has just walked off the pages of a Playboy magazine. Angel lets out a sigh and remarks, “Jeeezus, Sally girl! How we supposed to compete with them?”

      “Let’s grab a table in the back and watch for a bit. See what we’re in for.”

      The girls on stage, having stripped to their sexy g-strings, are doing their damnedest to screw the brass poles. The spectators are going wild, hooting, hollering and tossing money at their feet. Angel and Sally navigate their way to a corner booth. A few minutes later, a waitress decked out in a rather revealing micro mini skirt and bikini top that leaves nothing to the imagination, arrives to take their drink order.

      The girls watch with fascination as one girl after another gets up on stage to perform her act. Each is unique and lasts the length of a song. The center stage always features two girls rubbing themselves against one another in a seductive manner. Sally and Angel cannot help notice how every guy in the place is reduced to a pile of goo within a matter of seconds.

      Following each performance, the dancers walk around the edge of the stage where the audience members, exclusively male, slip one- and five-dollar bills into their g-strings, while others toss their money on stage. It takes several minutes for each girl to gather her earnings.

      The waitress returns with their drinks.

      “Where’s the club owner?” Angel asks.

      “Over there,” the waitress says, pointing to an Italian godfather Mafioso-type sitting on a stool at the end of the bar.

      “Thanks.” The girls tip the waitress an extra five dollars.

      As they pick up their bags and head towards the club manager, Angel says, “I feel like I’m gonna barf.”

      “Don’t flake on me now,” Sally responds.

      Drawing in a calming deep breath, Angel manages a smile. The club manager’s shirt, undone almost to his navel, exposes his hairy chest and belly. He is short, robust with a stomach that hangs over his trousers. Layers of heavy gold chains hang around his neck, several with pendants large enough to be doorknockers. His hair is black, thinning and slicked back. They catch sight of his gaudy, loose-fitting, gold nugget watch when they arrive in front of him and notice that each of his short, chubby fingers is outfitted with an oversized gold ring. He appears to be making a snack out of the cigar, which bobs up and down with each chomp.

      Sally is first to stick her hand out and introduce herself. The man takes her hand, pulls it to his mouth and kisses it, while introducing himself as Luigi, the club’s owner/manager. Before either girl has a chance to speak, he pops the question, “Here for a job?”

      “That obvious?” Sally asks.

      “Honey, every female who comes here is looking to become one of my dancers. I run a class act and can’t seem to beat the girls away with a broom.” He stops a moment to size them up before continuing, “Now, you two…. Ever danced before?”

      Angel responds, “No, we were sent to you by Misty. You remember her? Worked with her out in LA for a while.”

      “Let me see,” Luigi says, scratching his head with a chubby finger.

      “Misty, ah, yes, I remember her well. An amazing brunette with a tight little ass and a great rack—really knew how to work the pole.

      How’s she doing?”

      Angel answers, “Not so good. She’s dead. Overdosed a few weeks ago.”

      “Ah, sorry to hear that. She was a sweet girl. I liked her. Any friend of Misty’s is a friend of mine. Bring something to dance in?”

      Angel points to their bags.

      “All right then, why don’t you get changed? When you’re ready, we’ll see what you’ve got.”

      The girls walk the length of the bar, down the hallway and through an unmarked door into the dressing room grateful to find themselves alone when they enter. Sally looks at Angel and questions, “Are we really going to do this?”

      “Come on. This is our chance…a way to a better life. I’ll be right there rooting you on and,” Angel pauses for impact, “checking out your ass from behind.”

      Sally laughs. “Thanks, Angel. Let’s do this!”

      The girls change from their street clothes into the outfits they packed for the audition. After getting dressed, Angel goes over to the long bank of mirrored dressing tables and begins touching up her make-up. Sally, uncomfortable with mirrors, opts to remain by her locker and use a small compact from her purse. When Angel is done, she turns slowly and looks at her reflected image. Satisfied with what she sees, she walks over to Sally. “Okay, let’s see.”

      Sally stands up and pivots for Angel, who responds, “Girl, you look hot!”

      They give each other a hug for good luck and walk out of the dressing room to the bar. Luigi is waiting for them along with a group of employees. One of the small stages has been cleared for their audition.

      “Ready?”

      Sally looks coyly at two enormous hunks standing by the edge of the stage. “Give a lady a hand up, boys?”

      They eagerly lift her onto the stage. Once there, she nods at Luigi, who clicks a button on a recorder. Not quite sure what to do, Sally begins gyrating her torso slowly and grinding the air with her hips, all the while imagining that she is having sex with an invisible man. Before long, she forgets where she is and really gets into the song while seductively removing her clothing. The “judges” hoot and holler, urging her on. She

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