Back to The Beginning: Every Beauty is a Tragedy Waiting to Happen
Back to Part Five: Do you cry out because the beauty is cruel?

Part Six of the Tragic Beauty Anthology

"You're on the wrong track, boys.
Order is beauty and beauty is order."

We were incredibly nervous. The Golden Hind was nothing like we expected. Being young and having never been in a strip club before, we thought they were a kind of magical palace of sexual beauty. This place was filled with smoke, drunken truck drivers, bad lighting and cheap furniture. The first stripper to come out on stage had very obvious stretch marks and a couple of scary looking scars on her abdomen. One was from an appendectomy and the other from a caesarian section. We did not consider these things, only the way the scars drew our attention away from what she was trying to show us.

"I want you boys to tell me what you know about Kettles Johnson."

What we knew about Kettles Johnson we could have written on the palm of one of our hands. He was a mildly deranged resident manager at the college who professed to us his love for Jayne Hunter. He had bought us liquor earlier in the day and was generally lenient towards violations of the college's policy towards alcohol and drug use. That was about it, unless he wanted us to desribe him physically. Five feet eight inches tall, curly black hair and a sickly looking beard. Oh, and he had very beady mocha eyes.

"He's our resident manager and I guess he's pretty cool.
He's a little weird, I guess, but we don't know him all that well."

The psychotic cop's name was Jerry. We only knew that because the waitress called him by name. She also made a remark about him wearing a "rented cop suit" which set us to thinking. Was Jerry really a cop? If not, why was he on the crime scene investigating the death of the actor at our college? There were too many questions, and far too many unattractive naked bodies wriggling around in front of us. We were captivated even though we were disappointed. These women frightened us.

Then a new stripper took the stage. She looked like she was no more than sixteen years old. Wearing a replica of a Catholic school girl's uniform, she began dancing to Night Ranger's Sister Christian and putting her whole self into the overinflated feeling of the song. We leaned forward, captivated by this girl and her movements. Jerry laughed and handed each of us a crisp one dollar bill. Then he forcible pushed us out of our chairs and in the direction of the stage.

We watched as a rough looking character reached up the stripper's leg and slipped bills into the garter wrapped around her right thigh. They made lewd sounds and offensive comments, but she eluded their touch with skillful moves and gentle shoves from her tiny hands. We stood there, not knowing how to approach her, and feeling impotent with just dollar bills in our hands. We wanted to be able to offer more, but had no idea what we could offer.

The fact was, our hands were very shaky, and so were our knees, as we reached up to deposit our insufficient sums of money into her garter. She smiled at us and told us we were cute, then turned around and waved her buttocks in our faces. Then she straighted up, took Don's Hartford Whalers hat off his head and slipped in on her own. Even as she lost the rest of her clothing, she continued to dance with his hat on. Don came close to fainting, so I helped him back to the table. Jerry was very displeased to see us return so soon.

"You two are such a couple of sweeties, I swear to God."

What was more surprising was the fact that the girl came over to our table minutes after her routine was concluded. Wearing nothing but a long, silky see-thru robe and a thong, along with Don's Whalers hat, she seduced us into complete and total silence.

"I love the Whalers.
They are so cool.
Would you take me to a game some time?"

Don tried to answer her, but instead drooled into his beer and then spilled it on the floor. She giggled and put her arm around him, drawing him closer so she could kiss him on the cheek. She asked if she could keep the hat and Don nodded in overdrive. She bought Don and I both a shot of tequila before walking off to a dark corner with Jerry the cop.

"Do you have any idea what is happening?"

I told Don I didn't have a clue. We looked at each other and agreed to drink a toast to our good fortune. A very attractive stripper wanted Don to take her to a Whalers' game. How lucky could someone get. This whole madcap adventure had finally turned in our favor.

"Candy wants to meet us over at the pancake house later.
She just has to do one more routine and she's done for the night."

So captivated by the hard bite of the tequila, we hadn't seen Jerry return to the table. He lit a cigar and pointed us towards the bar. Telling us that the bartender was an old friend of his, he insisted that we should meet him. He was supposedly a photographer who moonlighted as a bartender at the Golden Hind for extra money.

"Good man to know if you want to find a nice piece of ass."

The bartender put three beers down in front of us, and Jerry told us he had to "take a piss" and walked off to the men's room. That left Don and I alone in front of Mitch the bartender.

"I understand you boys know Candy's sister.
Until Jerry told me I thought she was losing it.
You know, putting on your hat and everything."

Don and I looked at each other and breathed a silent, collective "Huh?" Candy's sister? We put it together that Candy was the name of the stripper who took Don's cap, that was no problem, but as far as knowing the identity of her sister, we were at a loss.

"Jayne Hunter?
She's Candy's sister.
Didn't you guys know that?"

Jerry emerged from the rest room and grabbed both Don and I by the collars of our t-shirts. After telling us to "shut the fuck up" and slamming our heads together, he pulled us away from the bar. He dragged us out of the club and shoved us into the street. The first couple of times we tried to get up and out of the street, he kicked us in the shins and sent us back out into traffic. Don had to dodge a passing Dodge, and I had to push him out of the way of a Ford truck at the last minute. When we ambled back onto the sidewalk, Jerry was lighting another fat cigar and laughing heartily. Once again, he made the foul and completely uncalled for motion of scratching at his crotch, followed by the sound of rounding up phlegm and bringing it to the back of his throat before launching it into the air.

"You boys ready to go on a little trip that will turn you into men?"

Thus ends Part Six of the Tragic Beauty Anthology
To be continued…

Everyone's Fate is in Your Hands
Choose Their Fate:
"I am a hopeless, or hopeful, romantic," then choose Part 7A
"I like gratuitous violence and pointless psychotic action," then choose Part 7B
"I feel there is a deeper meaning to the story that is slowly being revealed to us," then choose Part 7C

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.