In the private dance area, she was dancing for me, and me alone.
The private dance area isn’t that private; two rows of chairs facing each other in an alcove partitioned off from the rest of the club by a short wall and some wooden louvers. At one end of the narrow space sat the DJ in his booth, the other end buttressed against the bouncer’s desk. The privacy was theoretical.
I’d known her for years and would even call her a friend. Maybe we aren’t close friends, but friends nonetheless. In the darkness of the strip club, our roles are well-defined, but even then we enjoy each other’s company. She is sexual, and sexy, and radiates positive energy.
As the song that filled the bar reached a quiet spot, she pointed at the simple silver ring I wore on the third finger of my right hand. She was kneeling, completely naked, as I sat in a chair, fully clothed. “That looks like a wedding ring,” she said.
I just pointed at the third finger of my left hand in response. “A wedding ring goes here.”
“I know, I know,” she laughed. “But there’s all sorts of… I mean, if someone didn’t know you…” she trailed off, then fixed me with a skeptical, sarcastic look. “Do you have a wife, Brian?”
“No, I don’t.” I said it with finality, but with sadness. If only, I thought.
The song picked up again and she began dancing again. She was slender, and tanned, and beautiful, and I probably knew far too much about her to see her as just another stripper. Even when things are going poorly for her, she does not complain about it in the club. She’s an entertainer first and foremost, but there are hidden depths available to people who spend the time and are observant. I believe I am one of those observant people.
I leaned forward, because my soft voice doesn’t carry under the best of circumstances, and particularly not in a noisy bar, and I wanted to make sure she heard me. “Any woman I would marry,” I said, “would be sitting here right next to me, right now.”
Her head tilted back and she laughed, and I laughed with her. She got it. She understood. I would not seek a woman whom I would want to escape to a place like this, no. I would want a woman who would explore places like this with me, side by side.
How do I describe a knowing look? You know it when you see it, by the context, not by a sparse description of its attributes. She gave me a knowing look.
“Me, too,” she said, and we both laughed.
I wondered at all the men she’s danced for who have wanted her in their beds, and marveled, briefly, at how wrong they all were.
I love knowing things others don’t know.
But even knowing that little bit, I enjoy talking to her, and watching her dance for me, and me alone.
