Neon Girls by Jennifer Worley

Author:Jennifer Worley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Freelance

Polly, on stage

Courtesy of the author

In the early summer of 1996, because June had refused to recognize our union on the basis of our union cards alone, we petitioned the National Labor Relations Board to hold an election to prove that over 50 percent of us wanted a union. If we won that election, management would be legally obligated to negotiate with us for a labor contract. We haggled briefly over the size and shape of our bargaining unit (the employees who would be included in our union and covered by our contract), with management initially wanting to exclude support staff. Finally, the NLRB set a date for our election: August 29 and 30, 1996.

Onstage, work was much the same, though the dressing room buzzed with tension, anxiety, and excitement about the upcoming election. After one late June shift, I kicked off my shoes backstage and padded in blissful bare feet toward the dressing room after a four-hour dance shift. When I entered the undressing room, I encountered a real-life Barbie doll, complete with meticulously maintained string-bikini-shaped tan lines, a professionally waxed triangle of pubic hair, and two large, stiff orbs on her chest.

“Hi,” I said, curiously. “I’m Polly. You new?”

“Hey, Polly,” she answered, confident and friendly. “Alix. Yes, this is my first shift.”

“You’ve danced before, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve worked all over, but now I’m at the O’Farrell.”

The Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell Theatre was considered the top-of-the-line strip club in San Francisco. The girls who danced there had the Playboy-bunny look that the sex industry called “girl next door”—slim, big-breasted, mostly blond, tattoo- and piercing-free. Rumors had them making hundreds in cash per shift. I’d never met one of the Mitchell Brothers dancers before.

“I heard you all make bank over there.”

“Yeah, I feed a family of four with these,” she said, sticking out her chest and indicating her tits. I was making enough to pay my $362 rent, but not enough to save, and certainly not enough to support anyone else.

“What are you doing here, then?” I asked, intrigued.

“Oh, I just needed some extra money, so I picked up a few shifts.” This seemed fishy, and I didn’t quite believe her, but I wanted to hear more about the O’Farrell.

“So do you have to have big boobs to work there?”

“No, you don’t have to. I didn’t when I started, but I went from making $500 a night before I got them to pulling $1,500, sometimes $2,000 a night now.”

That was more than I made in a month.

“Speaking of making money, I better get onstage,” Alix said, buckling her platform shoe and striding out of the dressing room. “See ya later!”

After hearing how much money she made, I became curious about the other clubs in town, wondering if I could make more cash in less time by hustling at a lap-dance club. I’d upped my stripping game during my first two years at the Lusty, improving my makeup skills, collecting a wardrobe of shiny platform stilettos, thigh-high boots and stockings, garter belts, and boas.

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