The Feet of God

101 - I GOT A CLUE

Didja ever wonder where old strippers go to pasture?  Yep, just like everyone else it seems, the Sunshine State.  And some of ‘em was supplementin’ their Social Security benefits working at The Ba-Zoom-Zoom Room.

Aside from the name of this place, I had no idea where I was.  All I knew for sure was it was early in the day, and I was in damp clothes sittin’ with some slob in a topless bar.  I watched a gyrating female dancer on stage with rings in her nipples who grumbled and strained as she squatted down to allow my friend to insert rolled-up dollar bills.

The waitress with humongous jugs reappeared and slammed down an orange drink in front of my seatmate.  “Here’s your screw.  On the house.”  She turned to me and placed a napkin on the table and gently put the beer on the napkin.  “That’ll be eight bucks, sugar.”

I fished out a $20 I’d hidden in my sock.  (It was a bill I managed to save from that rapacious bimbo in the Mustang who’d hoovered my pockets.)

“So, where’d you find the old man, or did he find you?” the waitress asked.  Her smile scared me a little.

“I’m just hitching southbound,” I told her, “on a mission to find my last of kin, my little sister.  Your ex was kind enough to pick me up and bring me here to this fine entertainment establishment.”

She laughed as I handed her my twenty.  She snatched the bill outta my hand.

“Eight bucks seems a little steep for a beer at ten o’clock in the morning,” I protested.

“Four for the beer, two for the ambience, and two for my tip.  Stick around, sugar.  Next one’s on me.”

I noticed the old gal up on stage hoisted herself upright again and slipped behind a curtain at the back.  During this interlude, now that I’d adjusted to the darkness, I had a chance to survey the joint.  Actually, The Ba-Zoom-Zoom Room was doing a bazooming business for day-drinkers.  An older clientele, but lively nevertheless.  The tables around the stage was occupied with geezers of all shapes and sizes, and I noticed a couple’a them brought their oxygen tanks.

“There’s sure a lotta ol’ horny-toad bastards around here,” I whispered to my driving companion.  I quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken.  Most of these guys are just killing time before the early-bird lunch special at Pedro Wong’s next door.  Their all-you-can-eat carnitas chow mien for $4.95 with free salsa and fried won-tons is a great deal.”  He clinked his screwdriver to my Bud Lite.  “By eleven-thirty, this whole place will be ours.”

The song “Love Machine” statically blared over the sound system, and the curtain suddenly parted revealing another showbiz veteran.  Her G-string was a fringe of Plexiglas beads that wedged themselves into strange crevices.  While she pole-danced on some rickety heels the crowd howled and hooted and whistled its loud approval.  For myself, I realized it was time to bleed the weasel, and I looked around for the room with a porcelain convenience.

“Where’s the pisser?” I asked the guy sitting next to me.

My partner cupped his ear to indicate he couldn’t hear what I said, but it didn’t matter ‘cause I saw a sign for the men’s room so I headed over that way.

As I crossed the crowded room I noticed a bunch’a pictures tacked on the wall.  Various performers’ 8”x10” glossies graced the space between the bar and the toilet.  I couldn’t help but give a glance to all the headshots when one picture in particular jumped out at me.  It couldn’t be, but there it was!  My little sister, costumed in all her fine, feathered glory, back when she worked The Stardust Lounge in Bakersfield!

I forgot about takin’ a leak and grabbed the waitress.  “Does that girl work here?”

“Why?  Whattaya want with that bimbo?”

(I overlooked this insult to my family, since it was no doubt due to professional rivalry.)

“She’s my little sister, the one I was tellin’ you about.  I’m looking to find her.  And I think she might be somewhere around here.”

(I couldn’t believe it.  Maybe my coming all this way to Florida on little more’n a hunch wasn’t such a misguided and illusional dream after all.)

“I’ve worked with some whack jobs before, but that girl takes the cake.  Always eating jelly and cream cheese sandwiches.  Amazing how the bitch never got fat.”

“Yeah, but does she still work here?  That’s what I wanna know?”

“She stopped showing up for her shifts.”

“Where is she now?  I’m supposed to find her.”

“Fuck, I don’t know.  Maybe it had to do with that crystal ship she kept blabbering about.”

“I gotta find her, it’s important.  Dunno why, I’m just supposed to.”

I ripped down Baby Harmonica’s photograph and folded it up and crammed it in my jeans before resuming my way to pee.

“Don’t forget,” the waitress hollered over the music, “you got another beer coming.  On me, sugarrrr.”

I yelled back, “I don’t pass up no free beer, lady.  Just gotta make room for it first.”

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