Read Online Spent by Antonia Crane - Free Book Online

disappear into one of the silver lockers and slam it shut.
    Forget it, I can’t do this . I didn’t know what I was supposed to wear—or not wear—onstage. I had brought a crumpled vintage slip and an old black lace bra. I was holding both when Hole’s “Doll Parts” started. Maybe the bra would work. Courtney Love moaned “I am doll eyes,” and all I could think was I’m not doll anything . I pulled off my pants and shirt, grabbed a white boa that was hanging off a hook, and wrapped it around my neck. I fumbled with my scuffed platforms and climbed the stairs to the stage, a big box surrounded by way too many mirrors. I noticed the other girls were totally nude so I wiggled out of my underwear and tossed them onto the dressing room. I tried to ignore my obvious fear of the mirrors and moseyed to the corner booth where Shannon was watching with her clipboard. I jerked, startled by the chorus of girls singing, “Yeah, they really want you…” then moved my hips in circles in rhythm with their voices.
    I heard, “Hey, that’s my boa.” The sugary voice belonged to Marya’s ex-girlfriend, Rhea, whose golden bob and tall, perfect, pizza-whenever skinny bod glistened next to my drab sausage thighs in the mirror. Marya had told me Rhea worked there, but I wasn’t expecting to bump into her onstage that day. Rhea was a flirtatious and gorgeous mash-up of Uma Thurman and Ren é e Zellweger, except smarter, with natural D-cups.
    â€œOh shit. I’m sorry. I just grabbed it for my audition,” I said and then regretted saying anything at all because I had an audience.
    She danced over to me and curled her arm around my waist. “My boa looks great on her, right?” She was talking to the dark moustached face in the glass looking back at her like she was an ice cream cone. I followed Rhea. She lifted her svelte leg and said, “This is Hole.” For a moment, I forgot all about being nervous and fat. I laughed, lifted a thick thigh, and placed it on the window ledge. She used the pole as leverage to slide up and down and teased the customers while also mocking them and manipulating her beguiling doll parts for me. Rhea was also an artist, whose sculptures of pussies had been shown in art galleries in Santa Rosa. Marya had told me all about her and how they stole down comforters from a shop once and slept in her black van when they were between apartments. The song ended, and I blew her a kiss and walked offstage, elated.
    â€œYou’re a little thick for us, but you have the moves,” Shannon said. I left The Lusty Lady relieved to work someplace with women who seemed stable and clean. Though The Lusty would be far, far from Stripper Utopia, I’d dance next to beautiful, empowered women like Rhea— smart chicks who could joke around onstage. Men weren’t allowed to touch us, so we had more control over our show. I wasn’t expected to touch dick, and I could work with my extra sober weight and still make money. There was less urgency because we didn’t have to dole out exorbitant, random stage fees. We’d dance shoulder to shoulder, and I’d piece my life back together. I’d get a place. My wrist would heal. I’d stay away from powder—and I meant it this time. I’d call Mom and tell her about the great, clean club where I danced with women who were sane and friendly. I’d tell her it was safe and clean. The San Francisco wind swirled around my legs like a cat as I walked down Kearney to catch the bus.

15
    â€œH ow are you getting by, honey?” Mom asked. I hadn’t called her since my stunt at the hospital. I could tell she wanted to come visit and see for herself that I was still sober. I could picture her sitting by the phone, thinking about what I’d looked like last time she’d seen me, obsessively cutting her toenails. I hadn’t told her about stripping at The Lusty