Death of a Street Artist

Chapter 6 - The O

Suzanne Davis had just finished performing her two-song set upon the stage of a strip club. She casually picked up a sheer dress that lay in a tiny pile at her feet, elegantly draped it over her forearm, and stepped down from the stage's two-foot-high platform. Then she slowly walked past the men in the front row, making eye contact with each one, asking if they'd like to buy a lapdance or private show.

        Being a Wednesday night, business was slow. And though her youthful body was completely naked, no one accepted her offers as she slowly walked the circumference of the thirty-foot square stage.

        After a brief final inspection of the audience from the rear of the club, Suzanne began to climb the stairs that would take her past the DJ's booth, on her way to the dancers' dressing room. Dennis was the current DJ and also worked the spotlight while the dancers performed their striptease acts upon the main stage, here at the Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theatre. The establishment was an industry legend, the strip club that had invented the lapdance some four decades ago.

        "Tough night. Huh, Suz?" said Dennis.

        Not upset, Suzanne only shrugged. "No big deal. My job as a street artist is still paying the bills, and this is just a little icing on the cake. On weekends it's usually good here, but on weekdays it can be hit or miss."

        "Why do you work here at The O, anyway, if you don't really need the money?"

        "I love all the drama and dialog that goes on in this place. Gives me something to write about in my journal. The guys and dancers will say things here you'd never hear anywhere else. It's funny... even if a patron might be a conservative office-type, once he's got a topless girl sitting on his lap, he'll start sharing his innermost thoughts."

        Dennis laughed. "Well, Suz, maybe you've invented a new kind of lie detector? You could work for the police department — just sit on a suspect's lap in the interrogation room, take off your top, and wait for the guy to confess."

        "Very funny, Dennis. Kind of a new variation of the police interrogation technique, good cop – bad cop? Maybe we could call it good cop – naughty girl?

        Dennis chuckled as Suzanne continued her way to the strippers' dressing room, just behind his booth, there on the second floor. As she entered the dressing room, a handful of dancers were chatting with each other, sitting on benches between the lockers. Still naked, Suzanne casually stepped over to her locker, entered the lock's combination, and gradually began to put on her street clothes.

        "Going home, Suz? Still more than an hour until closing time", said a slender dancer with light brown hair, a cover-girl face, and freakishly long legs. Her prominent forehead made her look even younger than her twenty-two years.

        Suzanne said, "Well, Tracy, sometimes you need to know when to fish, and when to cut bait. It's already three in the morning, and none of my regulars have shown up by now. Don't think they're really gonna come. Besides, I need to get up tomorrow for the street artists' lottery, so I can get a selling-space on Beach Street."

        Tracy Burke shook her head. "Suz, just don't see how you do it. Two jobs, and these late hours. Don't you ever get tired?"

        "Not really. I love to talk to people."

        "Oh right," said Tracy, "you're always mining this place for dialog, to write in your little journal. Do you think you'll ever put it all together, and maybe write your book?"