Chapter 18: Strippers and Expats

We arrived in Dallas after midnight. Being young again meant being hungry all the time. Joe Fish had us stop next to his motor home. Billie and I had to change clothes, remove weapons and other equipment from the car.

“No underwear,” Billie reminded me. Our dresses were white fabric tubes that were see-through in strong light, just barely covering us from armpit to mid-thigh. We could pull them down and expose our flat chests or roll the hems up to flash our butts. The back seat and trunk were filled with In Sharpe Focus material. Joe drove, and all three of us shared the bench front seat. Joe had a revolver in his pocket.

“The owner is Jack,” Joe said. “He’s a front, but very proud. Let Jack think that he is in charge. Show him respect, be giggly little girls. Don’t argue. Do what I tell you.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” Billie said.

“Just ‘sir’ in there,” Joe instructed. “I own you, but you don’t call me ‘master’ in public. There will be cops present. They’re already going to be suspicious of you when they see how young you look. Never call Jack ‘Sparky.’ Call him ‘Mister Jack,’ and I’ll explain that I told you to. In the club I’m Uncle Joe. In the club Jackie will be Sally and Billie is Suzie.”

I wish I had more time to memorize my new name.

“Hi, Suzie,” I said. “I’m Sally.”

“Hi, Sally,” Billie giggled.

“Knock it off, girls! We’re here. Remember that you are ladies. The club has men to handle the boxes, run the projector. You just giggle and listen and drink your Shirley Temples.”

I did have a sketch pad with me and several soft lead pencils. Usually, I used either a mechanical pencil or Number Two wood cased pencils, but I was pretending to be an artist. Billie—or Susie—would play the piano. When we parked, I thought that I recognized someone. I saw two men that resembled each other—and I thought I had seen one or both before. Mike and Larry were their names. Mr. Jack was a husky lad with a dachshund under one arm. He was talking to a woman with short dark hair.

“Any friend of Carlos is my friend,” Mr. Jack was frantically animated. “Tell your friends that their drinks are on the house, Ruthie.”

Billie gasped in shock. I glanced at the booth as we passed, hugged Billie, whispered into her ear, “we’re just going to have to cool our jets, Suzie. Do nothing right now. I’ll take the blame.”

“What are you two up to now?” Joe asked.

“Powder room, Uncle Joe,” I improvised. “I need to tinkle.”

“Yes, Uncle, where Is the ladies’ room?” Billie asked.

“I’ll show them,” Ruth said. “Come with me girls. What are your names?”

“Do what Mrs. Ruth tells you,” Joe said. “Ruth, they’re going to be on stage in twenty minutes. I don’t want them to be late.”

Ruth questioned us as we freshened up in the lady’s room. The place was large because it was also the dressing room for the girls working there. Ruth kissed some of them on the lips. We learned that Jack didn’t like girls. Someone giggled that Jack made love to his dogs. Rumor, gossip and lies—good human intelligence information.

“We don’t like underwear,” Billie was being felt up by Ruth. Billie glanced my way. “Sally, raise your dress. Ruth wants to see.”

The other girls were snickering.

“Uncle Joe wants us to shed our dresses during his presentation,” I said. “Girls should be naked all the time.”