I had agreed to meet the headshot photographer at a seedy burger joint in a bad section off Sunset Boulevard. I arrived typically early, found a parking space and decided to look for a bar to get a drink.
The only place in sight had a marquee shouting,
GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!
Well, I hadn’t been to a strip club since I’d gotten married, so I thought what the hell, why not, and walked in. I was immediately greeted by a small, smoky room rouged red with mahogany dark lighting. Two girls in lingerie barely concealing anything lounged on a bench while a couple of shady looking men stuck to the shadows.
But where was the damn bar? And the stage? What about dancers?
One of the men approached and asked if I wanted a dance. At first, I thought he meant with him. I declined and he then offered up that the dance would be with one of the girls.
“Dance” I said? “Well maybe, but where’s the stage and dance floor?” The man replied, “All dances are private here and they go from $60 for a basic dance to $250 for the works.” The two women had gotten off the bench and were busy caressing me when it finally dawned: I was in a house of ill repute! My wife always claimed I was obtuse, a nice way of saying “dense.”
I took a harder look at the guy. He was wearing a leather coat and was angled slightly toward me. Which gave me an opportunity to spot the semi stuck butt outward toward me inside the left waistband of his pants.
Well, as tempting as those friendly girls were, and the kind offer too, I said “no thanks, friend” and beat a hasty retreat out of there, heading down the block to the burger joint to meet the photographer.
The only place in sight had a marquee shouting,
GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!
Well, I hadn’t been to a strip club since I’d gotten married, so I thought what the hell, why not, and walked in. I was immediately greeted by a small, smoky room rouged red with mahogany dark lighting. Two girls in lingerie barely concealing anything lounged on a bench while a couple of shady looking men stuck to the shadows.
But where was the damn bar? And the stage? What about dancers?
One of the men approached and asked if I wanted a dance. At first, I thought he meant with him. I declined and he then offered up that the dance would be with one of the girls.
“Dance” I said? “Well maybe, but where’s the stage and dance floor?” The man replied, “All dances are private here and they go from $60 for a basic dance to $250 for the works.” The two women had gotten off the bench and were busy caressing me when it finally dawned: I was in a house of ill repute! My wife always claimed I was obtuse, a nice way of saying “dense.”
I took a harder look at the guy. He was wearing a leather coat and was angled slightly toward me. Which gave me an opportunity to spot the semi stuck butt outward toward me inside the left waistband of his pants.
Well, as tempting as those friendly girls were, and the kind offer too, I said “no thanks, friend” and beat a hasty retreat out of there, heading down the block to the burger joint to meet the photographer.
