Chapter 2: Nightclub vs. hospital

With the figurative medical stage set, involving dancers as well as scientists, it was time to deal with a literal stage. In the “high mileage” strip clubs of Washington, DC’s, 14th Street Corridor, there was as much, or more, action in their audience areas or private rooms. “Mingling” was the euphemism for dancers socializing with patrons, getting them to buy drinks, and participate in sexual play.

Le Marquis, Mid-morning Monday

Aimee Anouk, the manager of the Le Marquis club, was auditioning additional club dancers. The club was now part of the much larger 4-S Foundation programs, where it was one recruiting path for dancers and artists for the experimental erotic theater. While the club’s performances was definitely oriented to the night and to a lesser extent afternoons, the mornings and early afternoon were times for maintenance, administration, and rehearsals. No one was surprised to find bleary-eyed people at such actions.

It was no longer under pressure to produce revenue. Still, the mingling was continued, but as a creative direction and for research into the social science. Cathy Winters, one of the key dancers, had a candidate, Yvonne Harris. She explained to Carol and Aimee that Yvonne was a student she knew at George Washington University, whom she had met in a class on stage lighting. “Right now, she does topless and go-go dancing in one of those bars on Wisconsin Avenue, north of Georgetown. She’s equally frustrated by the money she makes there, and by having no potential to create her own routines. I think she also does some outcall. At the core of all this, she is working on bachelor in fine art degree, in dance.”

Carol Rubio, the stage director for the Le Marquis nightclub, and artistic director for the evolving erotic theater and institute under the 4-S Foundation, was enthusiastic about meeting her. “While our auditions, up to now, have been on the tiny stage at the club, let’s start doing them in one of the theaters at the new building. She doesn’t have to make use of all the sound and lighting, even the lights you run, Cathy, but it will be there if you need it. We’ll follow that up with a confirming audition at the club.”

Cathy called Yvonne to set things up, sending the car service for her. When she arrived, she smiled, knowing that she would be examined. Yvonne was a little taller than medium height, with skin the color of light milk chocolate. Cathy introduced the others, Aimee, Curt Clancy, Carol’s lover and assistant, and Art Uppsala who ran the lights and building electronics.

“I’ve been doing go-go, and mostly topless, at some of the less challenging clubs in town. My dance at school is much more advanced, but I’m interested in using the academic dance in a much more erotic way.” With a calm face, she looked at Carol and Aimee, and said “I’ve been talking with Cathy about that. Let me say that putting outright sex into things doesn’t scare me. While I don’t really want to continue it, I have done a bit of outcall, which has ranged from neutral to fun. I like it best when I start a call with an overtly sexual act. Is it fair to say that working with you would be likely to go beyond strip club erotic?”

“It’s quite fair to say that. We have enough recognition as artists that there won’t be problems with the law. We have additional opportunities for creativity, once you’ve gotten comfortable with club dancing. Ready for your audition?”

“Give me a few minutes to change, and then yes. I’d like to do some stretches before starting. Might I do those before I get into costume?”

Rather to Carol and Aimee’s surprise, she came out in what, if the skirt didn’t stop at mid-thigh, with black hose under it, might be an off-white schoolgirl outfit, I didn’t recognize her shoes, which certainly weren’t standard stripper wear She spread her arms and called out, “I bring you the Black Irish tradition! Seriously, the first parts of my act could be adapted quickly to do with multiple dancers. Cathy mentioned that might be of interest.” Carol nodded emphatically.

Yvonne signaled for Sam, the DJ and sound engineer, to start her music. She ran onto the stage from the wings, and, at center stage, went into an Irish solo, hands on hips and feet moving in a blurringly fast and complex pattern, her shoes tapping loudly. With her arms firmly positioned, she went into a series of high front scissors kicks, clicking heels on each pass. From there, she turned to the side and began a high-kicking movement, definitely calling attention to her excellent legs. At the edge of the stage, she turned and repeated the kicking dance, in the other direction.

Crack! Yvonne’s right foot went through the stage floor. Carol was the first to run up and keep her from falling, with Aimee right behind. Yvonne’s pretty face showed a lot of pain. I followed them and helped them lift her. We moved to Aimee’s office.

“Yvonne, I’m Curt Clancy, who assists our director. I’m also a paramedic. May I look at your ankle?”

She gasped and gave me a go-ahead. I examined it and was reasonably certain it wasn’t broken, but certainly badly sprained. I strapped it and put ice on it, and gave her some Tylenol, then elevated it. “Is it OK if we talk for a few minutes, and then take you over to the emergency room at George Washington Hospital? Unfortunately, you’re probably going to need stronger pain medicine than Tylenol. An X-ray might be wise. They also have a variety of strap-on...” Cathy and Carol suppressed giggles. “No, you two, not that kind of strap-on. Ankle splints that will be more comfortable than a cast.”

Carol grew serious. “First, Yvonne, we will cover your expenses for the injury, and put you on dancer salary. That seems only fair, since it’s our stage that broke. We’ll also provide car service, since it is your accelerator foot. I’m immediately interested if you might be doing things beyond dancing. In your degree program, do you do any formal choreography?”

“Yes. In fact, I’ve been writing up, in the formal notation, a much larger part of what I just did. That script works as both solo and a dance for up to six dancers. I recommend an even number of dancers. Unfortunately, you haven’t yet seen how it grows more erotic.”

Carol told Yvonne “I do want to see that. Let’s get you to the hospital. Afterwards, we can take you home, or if you think you might want to have assistance, to our apartment.”

National Institutes of Health Clinical Center, Mid-day Monday

In the lobby of the Clinical Center of the National Institutes of Health (NIH), Marie turned a few heads. Even under a long coat, it could be seen that she was tall, with some graceful legs showing. Her hair was a short but intense dark red cap, with pale skin. Her face was not just attractive, but radiated confidence and intelligence.

Going to the front desk, she was given a pass. Marie knew better than to argue with the patient record that said she needed a wheelchair, even though she had walked in without one and without crutches or cane. She knew the transport orderly who showed up with the chair, who did a doubletake to see her standing. “You’re looking good, honey, as good as I’ve ever seen. Let me get you up to your doctor but look for me later. Coffee?”

On the hematology-oncology floor, they went to a door “Nancy Taft, MD, PhD, FABPN”. A knock got a cheery “come in!” Marie stopped her aide wheeling her any farther, just whispering, “lock the wheels.” Two people were in the room, both in white coats. Behind the desk was a petite blonde woman, with a bustline visible even under a starched white coat. The other, a well-built, dark-haired man, was professional in demeanor, but Marie sensed a personal connection between the two people. The woman gave a warmly welcoming smile and started to stand.

Marie simply stood up from the chair and took two strong steps. Stopping, she unbuttoned the buttons of her trademark electric blue coat and whipped it off. Dr. Nancy Taft’s pale blue eyes opened wider and wider. Clearly, she was surprised that Marie was able to stand unassisted, and even more to walk even too steps. Nancy’s jaw dropped, however, when Marie moved again, not with an ordinary walk but with a sexy, leg-flaunting strut.

Nancy did a doubletake looking at Marie’s legs. “Marie, do I need to call one of my colleagues in ophthalmology, or is that a miniskirt you are wearing?”