It all started with what seemed like a cheap imitation of a 1920's vaudeville act. Rihanna's overplayed Umbrella blared in the background which made me feel lost in that strip bar, almost as lost as that contemporary song finding itself in an old setting full of performers wearing bright costumes lit by colors that all bled in a puddle of brown. A drag queen came out lipsynching a song he, obviously, had no idea the words to backed up by midgets dressed as rodeo clowns who didn't help with improving what was turning out to be a freak show .
Old men in Armani tux who looked nothing less than perverts, sitting at the table next to mine, laughed menacingly. I cursed the part of me that nurtures my escapist tendencies for taking me to that dingy cabaret where someone who looked like the devil in drag shares a stage with little people. I smirked when Queen of the Night started playing, thinking how such an awful show could sink even lower by degenerating itself to cliche. Then came out another drag queen who was far uglier than the last. A few loud boo's from the old perverts prompted him to step down and pave way for chorus girls and a different kind of queen...
A burlesque queen with nothing on but black stockings, electric pink feathers that covered her intimate parts and an ermine cape for additional dramatic effect. She had eyes that made you pity her boldness. She was the most beautiful thing that ever came out of that circus, very much like a beautiful dream that is an interlude of a horrible nightmare. I sat there slackjawed as she dimmed the lights and slid off her costume that used to cover the contours of her body that were, now, greatly emphasized with every risque movement she made that left my eyes beginning to water from going so long without blinking.
Men started waiving dollar bills [if only to get a whiff of her] while I, this little catcher in the rye, scrambled to catch her eye. She danced right past me and sat at the table next to mine. The perverts in Armani won. I lost. so I raised my hand for the check and rummaged through my pocket for some bills I could tip the waiter on my way out. I left that bar but not without writing my number on a Mermaid-embossed napkin and carefully dropping it right in front of her dressing room while praying to God she'll find it and call me.
