casual observer.
The whirlpool in my mind was another matter. Still no clarity, but random flashes of events, of faces, of events. Almost like looking at half a jigsaw puzzle. It gave me some hope that it would improve with time-more than likely it wouldn’t matter, because I would be dead before the week was out.
“Platinum Club in Lauderdale,” I told the driver showing him the address written on the card.
“You know that’s about an hour cab ride?” he queried as he fiddled with the radio dial until he found some nice Reggae.
“Yeah, that’s fine, not a problem.” I said as I settled in for the ride ahead. He took A1A North, probably not the fastest route, but definitely a scenic one. I’d been having more flashbacks as we drove. Just snippets of memory like sun-faded Polaroids that kept popping into my head. Buildings that looked familiar, flashes of the faces of people I had known. An earlier life-was I in the military? We slowly made our way through the Art Deco hotels on South Beach and wended our way north through Aventura with its towering condo projects that appeared almost deserted until we finally arrived at the club.
I saw the place from a mile away-all flash and neon on the outside. The parking lot was full of cars-everything from pickups to Bentleys. The driver dropped me under the canopied awning and I slowly unfolded myself from the backseat.
The dingy red carpet led straight to double red leather doors flanked by two huge bouncers wearing polo shirts with SECURITY emblazoned across them. These guys were big, used to intimidating by their presence. Both had that bored, detached look that came with the job. The biggest challenge these guys would face during the night was strong arming drunk college kids or out of town businessmen who thought that twenty bucks entitled them to cop a quick feel from one of the dancers-forty bucks, maybe, but never twenty.
I strode in past them and took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the club. Paid my ten bucks at the counter just inside the door. The music hit me in the face as soon as I stepped in-pounding, raw techno that vibrated you down to your bones. Smoke machines, lasers, and pulsating lights completed the picture. Strip clubs are like casinos-every element calculated to thrust you into an alternate reality and then separate fools from their money as quickly as possible.
The main stage dominated the room. It started at a velvet curtained door in the rear of the club and extended out thirty feet before forming a T shape. Every foot of the stage was surrounded by low comfortable chairs and about half were already filled with guys leaning back trying to look casual as they flashed their rolls of bills-usually a bunch of ones with a hundred rolled around the outside. There were two brass stripper poles, one already occupied by a tall, dark haired girl who leaped straight up, grabbed the pole with her leg and flipped upside down as she spiraled down the pole.
I quickly stepped through the illuminated pools of light surrounding the stage and found a small curved couch hidden in the deep shadows at the side of the club. A perfect place to watch everyone coming in and not be seen in the cloak of darkness.
Less than a minute later and the waitress showed up. “What can I get you?” she asked flipping a cocktail napkin on the table in front of me. The waitress was dressed in a checkered skirt and white top-kind of a slutty Catholic schoolgirl look. Worked for me. She looked pretty damned bored. Either she wasn’t good looking enough to dance or she had just started at the club and hadn’t worked up the nerve to take to the stage with the courage fueled by booze and pills.
“Myers and Coke,” I said. Automatic response-I couldn’t remember that being a favorite, but I guess it was. While I waited, I watched. Lot of action-fifteen or twenty girls rotating around the room hustling guys for dances. My drink showed up about the same time
The whirlpool in my mind was another matter. Still no clarity, but random flashes of events, of faces, of events. Almost like looking at half a jigsaw puzzle. It gave me some hope that it would improve with time-more than likely it wouldn’t matter, because I would be dead before the week was out.
“Platinum Club in Lauderdale,” I told the driver showing him the address written on the card.
“You know that’s about an hour cab ride?” he queried as he fiddled with the radio dial until he found some nice Reggae.
“Yeah, that’s fine, not a problem.” I said as I settled in for the ride ahead. He took A1A North, probably not the fastest route, but definitely a scenic one. I’d been having more flashbacks as we drove. Just snippets of memory like sun-faded Polaroids that kept popping into my head. Buildings that looked familiar, flashes of the faces of people I had known. An earlier life-was I in the military? We slowly made our way through the Art Deco hotels on South Beach and wended our way north through Aventura with its towering condo projects that appeared almost deserted until we finally arrived at the club.
I saw the place from a mile away-all flash and neon on the outside. The parking lot was full of cars-everything from pickups to Bentleys. The driver dropped me under the canopied awning and I slowly unfolded myself from the backseat.
The dingy red carpet led straight to double red leather doors flanked by two huge bouncers wearing polo shirts with SECURITY emblazoned across them. These guys were big, used to intimidating by their presence. Both had that bored, detached look that came with the job. The biggest challenge these guys would face during the night was strong arming drunk college kids or out of town businessmen who thought that twenty bucks entitled them to cop a quick feel from one of the dancers-forty bucks, maybe, but never twenty.
I strode in past them and took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the club. Paid my ten bucks at the counter just inside the door. The music hit me in the face as soon as I stepped in-pounding, raw techno that vibrated you down to your bones. Smoke machines, lasers, and pulsating lights completed the picture. Strip clubs are like casinos-every element calculated to thrust you into an alternate reality and then separate fools from their money as quickly as possible.
The main stage dominated the room. It started at a velvet curtained door in the rear of the club and extended out thirty feet before forming a T shape. Every foot of the stage was surrounded by low comfortable chairs and about half were already filled with guys leaning back trying to look casual as they flashed their rolls of bills-usually a bunch of ones with a hundred rolled around the outside. There were two brass stripper poles, one already occupied by a tall, dark haired girl who leaped straight up, grabbed the pole with her leg and flipped upside down as she spiraled down the pole.
I quickly stepped through the illuminated pools of light surrounding the stage and found a small curved couch hidden in the deep shadows at the side of the club. A perfect place to watch everyone coming in and not be seen in the cloak of darkness.
Less than a minute later and the waitress showed up. “What can I get you?” she asked flipping a cocktail napkin on the table in front of me. The waitress was dressed in a checkered skirt and white top-kind of a slutty Catholic schoolgirl look. Worked for me. She looked pretty damned bored. Either she wasn’t good looking enough to dance or she had just started at the club and hadn’t worked up the nerve to take to the stage with the courage fueled by booze and pills.
“Myers and Coke,” I said. Automatic response-I couldn’t remember that being a favorite, but I guess it was. While I waited, I watched. Lot of action-fifteen or twenty girls rotating around the room hustling guys for dances. My drink showed up about the same time
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