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Authors: Jonny Porkpie
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as their only audience, and in a manner that brings their mostly naked bodies in frequent contact with my own, clothed though it may be. It created a situation that was slightly more—how shall I put this?— friendly than I was perhaps completely comfortable with. To avoid sharing that discomfort, I won’t describe the rest of Eva’s lap dance, and instead will report only the meat—sorry, the substance—of our conversation.)
“Just relax, Porky. It’s okay, loosen those shoulders—this isn’t torture. For that you’ll have to talk to Jillian.” I tried to relax. She wasn’t making it easy. “So,” she said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Victoria,” I said.
“Ah.” She dug her fingernails into my thigh, just for a moment. Then she got gentle again. I asked her what happened between the two of them. She lowered her voice so the people around us couldn’t hear the anger in it, and as the lap dance continued, told me her whole sad story.
When Eva first moved to Philadelphia, Victoria was the one who took a chance and booked her sightunseen. That gig led to bookings from other producers in the area. Victoria put Eva in a few more shows, too, and they became friendly. Eventually, when Eva had made a name for herself in town, a bar owner friend of hers asked if she’d like to run a weekly burlesque show at his place.
“Well,” said Eva, “there were no weekly burlesque shows in Philly back then, just a few monthlies. But before I said yes, I made courtesy calls to all the local producers who’d booked me. I didn’t want to step on any toes.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Nobody had a problem with it except Victoria. “
“Exactly. How could you betray me like this? How could you steal this gig out from under me? I didn’t want any trouble, and I did kinda feel I owed Victoria something for getting me into the local scene in the first place, so I was ready to call the whole thing off. But then Victoria proposed that I take the offer, but with her on board as a full partner. That sounded fine to me at the time, working with a more experienced producer and all. So I said yes.”
“How soon before you regretted it?”
“Almost immediately. I had to do everything. I came up with the name of the show: ‘The Grand Coquette.’ I made the postcards, I wrote the press releases—but when the press called in response to one of those releases, guess who gave the interview? Victoria’s idea of co-producing a show was to take half of the money and most of the credit but do none of the work. Claimed that lending her name, experience and talent to the show was contribution enough. I stuck it out for a few months, but then—well, people didn’t talk about it a lot around me, because they knew I was doing a show with her, but eventually I started hearing the rumblings on the grapevine...”
“About the stolen numbers?”
“Exactly. And then I heard that some of those rumblings included me in the mix. That was the last straw. I’m not working with a plagiarist who’s going to drag my name down with hers. I’ve been called a lot of things, Porky, and most of them have been accurate, but I don’t goddamn steal numbers and I never will. So I told her it was time to go our separate ways.
“Fine, she says—but since we started the Grand Coquette together, I can’t use the name. Which is bullshit, of course, I came up with it all by myself, but you know what? Life’s too short. So I change it. We’re good, right? We’ll just make it a clean break and stay out of each other’s way. Nope. She actually calls the venue and tries to get them to cancel the show. When she discovers the owner is a friend of mine and isn’t falling for her crap, Victoria goes around telling everyone it’s been canceled. Posts it online and everything.”
“And you have to start building an audience from scratch?”
“Pretty much. But she’s not done yet. A few weeks later, a sign goes up in the window of
“Just relax, Porky. It’s okay, loosen those shoulders—this isn’t torture. For that you’ll have to talk to Jillian.” I tried to relax. She wasn’t making it easy. “So,” she said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Victoria,” I said.
“Ah.” She dug her fingernails into my thigh, just for a moment. Then she got gentle again. I asked her what happened between the two of them. She lowered her voice so the people around us couldn’t hear the anger in it, and as the lap dance continued, told me her whole sad story.
When Eva first moved to Philadelphia, Victoria was the one who took a chance and booked her sightunseen. That gig led to bookings from other producers in the area. Victoria put Eva in a few more shows, too, and they became friendly. Eventually, when Eva had made a name for herself in town, a bar owner friend of hers asked if she’d like to run a weekly burlesque show at his place.
“Well,” said Eva, “there were no weekly burlesque shows in Philly back then, just a few monthlies. But before I said yes, I made courtesy calls to all the local producers who’d booked me. I didn’t want to step on any toes.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Nobody had a problem with it except Victoria. “
“Exactly. How could you betray me like this? How could you steal this gig out from under me? I didn’t want any trouble, and I did kinda feel I owed Victoria something for getting me into the local scene in the first place, so I was ready to call the whole thing off. But then Victoria proposed that I take the offer, but with her on board as a full partner. That sounded fine to me at the time, working with a more experienced producer and all. So I said yes.”
“How soon before you regretted it?”
“Almost immediately. I had to do everything. I came up with the name of the show: ‘The Grand Coquette.’ I made the postcards, I wrote the press releases—but when the press called in response to one of those releases, guess who gave the interview? Victoria’s idea of co-producing a show was to take half of the money and most of the credit but do none of the work. Claimed that lending her name, experience and talent to the show was contribution enough. I stuck it out for a few months, but then—well, people didn’t talk about it a lot around me, because they knew I was doing a show with her, but eventually I started hearing the rumblings on the grapevine...”
“About the stolen numbers?”
“Exactly. And then I heard that some of those rumblings included me in the mix. That was the last straw. I’m not working with a plagiarist who’s going to drag my name down with hers. I’ve been called a lot of things, Porky, and most of them have been accurate, but I don’t goddamn steal numbers and I never will. So I told her it was time to go our separate ways.
“Fine, she says—but since we started the Grand Coquette together, I can’t use the name. Which is bullshit, of course, I came up with it all by myself, but you know what? Life’s too short. So I change it. We’re good, right? We’ll just make it a clean break and stay out of each other’s way. Nope. She actually calls the venue and tries to get them to cancel the show. When she discovers the owner is a friend of mine and isn’t falling for her crap, Victoria goes around telling everyone it’s been canceled. Posts it online and everything.”
“And you have to start building an audience from scratch?”
“Pretty much. But she’s not done yet. A few weeks later, a sign goes up in the window of
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