I'm sure getting a lot of mileage out of this shoe fetish thing.
Striptellectual shared a good story with me. One of those that you think only happens in fiction. This one is real. Only thing is, I don't know how it will turn out.
Striptellectual dances for a living. That's a shot of one of the pairs of shoes in which she dances. Yep, that's a six-inch heel. She told me it's not so bad since the Lucite platform is over an inch itself. So I figure the pitch is similar to a four-and-a-half-inch stiletto-heeled shoe, no platform.
Last Saturday, at L-Diva's smash bathing suit fashion show, one of the models pulled a Naomi Campbell and fell off her Lucite platform heels. She stumbled twice, it's never pretty. Kind of the same feeling you get when you see Olympics ice dancers fall.
This one.
That much shoe, like an ice skate, can be dangerous.
I have no doubt or illusion that Striptellectual gets propositioned all the time. First, she dances, second, she's a real beauty, third she has smarts and a heart.
She was here, with me, for Aida's last night. Together we wept over the untimely passing of that small life.
Over the holidays, she was working, putting in extra hours. She told me once that the holiday season is her busiest.
An attractive fellow paid extra for private dances in "the champagne room." I am sure, like any professional, she keeps part of her innermost emotional self separated, apart from the nature of her work. Heck, I had to do a version of that my whole corporate working life.
This time, she let her guard down - a little. It doesn't take much, once that chink in the armor is located. The slightest fissure widens into a gaping maw. She kissed him. She told me he was "shocked." I can see it, the tall, good-looking, nicely turned-out man, sitting, getting what he paid for, sois disant, and then, surprise. Lip smack. I don't believe that kind of contact is encouraged, or allowed.
I've never been in "the champagne room," so I'm surmising. But I can construct a picture of it in my head, crystal.
A woman makes choices. Sometimes there is an element of risk. You don't have to dance for a living to "get" that.
Striptellectual felt the connection, calculated the risk, and made her move.
Data were given, and the following week, she pondered contacting the fellow. That's not something she does. The men in her personal life are not the men she meets at work. I would agree with that, although once upon a time crossed that line. Men at work. Sometimes we do.
She sent him a message. He sent her a gift certificate for Amazon. Not your usual dancer-client exchange. Striptellectual trends more toward Amazon's original product line - books.
From there, they went on few dates. I'm assuming he's a Wall Street guy. He's in his early 30s, is divorced, and has shared custody of his two young kids. For him, Striptellectual explained, the romance is getting serious.
Then, a couple of Fridays back, the guy is having a friendly poker game at his house. The game ends around midnight, and he phones Striptellectual to say he wants to see her, but that he has to pick up his kids early the next morning. So what does he do? He sends a black car around to fetch her.
"It felt so weird," she explained. "I'm in this car taking me god-knows-where. I had no address. The driver knew where to take me. I felt like I was in a scene from a movie. The rich, handsome businessman who falls for the stripper and brings her to his house."
She mentioned that she wound up in Colts Neck, New Jersey. I laughed. I finished high school one town over, in Tinton Falls. Horse country. Land of McMansions.
"When I got to the house, I was shocked," she added. "I saw houses like that only in the movies."
Meanwhile, I'm thinking, my brother, Scott, the builder of grand homes in the greater North Jersey Coast area, maybe he built the place. He could have, for all I know. One of the last places he completed, in nearby Navesink, is over 35,000 square feet, and includes a bi-level garage for the owner's collection. All that.
At the time, he said, "These people don't worry about money, They grow it like farmers grow wheat." I still wondered what the monthly utility bill on a place like that runs. Nah.
Back to our girl.
"He treated me like a princess - what have I done to deserve this? At 7:30 the next morning, the same driver was waiting for me outside to bring me back home. I laughed, thinking that if the driver had known what I do for a living, he would have asked how much I was paid for the night."
Priceless.
Here in the city, I hope to see Striptellectual soon, have a little tete-a-tete, catch up.
Who knows? Maybe she'll wind up with the rich guy in the cushy, green suburbs of New Jersey. If she does, I'll go and visit. I can show her around some of the old places along the shore. Sea Bright. Donovan's Reef. Foot-long dogs at Max's. Springsteen's old hangs.
Of course, this would dash her dream of living somewhere in France.
But like a dollar and a dream, you never know.
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