Lady Madonna

It felt like the walls were yellowing before my very eyes. We, my very cool new New York boyfriend, and I had only been in our Bushwick apartment for four months. And we were going broke. His job as a valet had ended abruptly when he showed up for a shift to a closed restaurant. I perused around the wanted section of Craigslist. This was 2010 after all, a different time, but not different enough. 

“WANTED: BARTENDERS FOR COYOTE UGLY STYLE BAR.” I could see it clear as day; belting Shania Twain with my new gaggle of coworker girlfriends in our daisy dukes. A call back to my southern hometown but in my new big city, this was it. I responded aptly and received an interview time even faster. I whirled into our living room to exclaim the news to my super cool boyfriend. I had solved all of our problems!

The northbound 1 train was hot and humid. I had only taken the 1 train when hopping around the village, but never farther north than 50th street. Thus was the case for the Manhattan brat that I had become. Still, I was confident, a Coyote Ugly style bar must have to be in the Bronx. We rumbled on until I scurried out of the train station and wandered through the alleyways until I had come to what appeared to be, a garage? This was it? No, yeah? I walked in, resume in hand, already apologizing and asking for directions. This was it. This damp stale citrus and cigarette scented bar. Sunlight smacked right into the curtains and spilled out of the heavy set curtains blocking the front windows, reminding myself this was no place for the day. A heavyset man ushered me to the back and pulled up two bar seats. “Hmm, okay,” he said looking over my postage stamp of a resume. “Now I need you to do something else for me. Take off your clothes.”

This should have been my moment to exit, but I was nineteen and pretty stupid. In no time, I was in and out of the dressing room, skipping up to the guy as if I was auditioning for Disney. 

“Turn, let me see you,” he grumbled. 

Clearly, it didn’t take anything at all to woo me. I spun and smiled. 

“EXCELLENT. That’s a girl. Okay. We will see you tomorrow night at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

And that was it. I got dressed, thanked him profusely, and walked back to the front door where I was assaulted by sunlight. I hadn’t met any of the other girls, but I felt their sisterhood in my little naive heart. 

Tomorrow night came dressed up in a red lace matching bra and underwear set under the daisy dukes. I wore cowboy boots and had cut my own crop top. Little lady from Virginia with lots of sass and soul was going to dance the night away and make friends and money at the same time. 

Little lady from Virginia arrived to the bouncer who pushed her to the back of the building. The girls were there, but these were not my sisters. These girls were pushing 40, maybe one in her twenties. Their laughter wheezed and their eyes were lined in florescent blue. How were we all going to fit on top of the bar?

“Mmm girl lemme look at you,” they hissed, and spun me around. 

“This bitch is gonna take all my tips. DON’T FUCKING GET UP ON MY REGULARS.” The oldest woman sneered. My fear was quickly elapsed by pity which throttled back into sadness, at the realization that these women were more than likely not going to be embarking on some soul searching quest with me. Nope. They were hustlers, and I was an idiot.

After giving me the tour of the place, they took me behind the bar. 

“This is water,” said one of the middle ladies, pointing to a giant jug of Grey Goose. “If you want to buy you a drink, pour from this. Do not touch the liquor.” 

“Damn, I thought that was part of the fun!” I exclaimed disappointedly. They sensed immediately that this was not at all what I had envisioned. 

“You take one swig before the beginning of your shift, and one for every lap dance you give.”

“HA! Yeah right.” There was no way in hell that was happening. Sure, I’d be dancing, but I was no stripper. Their faces hardened, one girl smirked. I did not get it at all. 

“I have a boyfriend, I can’t dance with anyone,” I said reassuringly. “I’m all for dancing but not for cheating.”

“Unless your boyfriend is coming here all night to pay you, you give lap dances,” shot the oldest one immediately. “You work for us too.”

Fuck. The past two days ran through my head; applying for the job, taking off my clothes, “COYOTE UGLY.” I had never actually seen Coyote Ugly. Wasn’t that the one with Jessica Simpson?

I looked at the edging evening escaping the curtain brim. This was a mistake. Just as I was about to make a run for it, the middle girl piped up. “Now, what to call you. What is your name?”

“Kathlyn.”

“No, what is your name? For here?”

The realization was written all over my face for them to poke at. Why didn’t Gable stop me? Had he seen Coyote Ugly? The twenty something extended her arm and dangled her fingers through my fake blonde hair.

“Madonna. Our blonde Madonna.”

I hated it. But what was I gonna do? Say no? 

“Okay, fine. But can I be Lady Madonna?” As if Lady was going to make salvage any sort of refinement, in hindsight, it did the exact opposite. They laughed before I could think it all out.

“To us, you’ll be lady. To them, you’re just Madonna,” she said gesturing to the empty barstools. 

The barstools didn’t stay empty for much longer after receiving my name. The lights dimmed more and more with each passing half hour, until only the neon lights lining the walls illuminated the room. I stood awkwardly outset from the girls, attempting to look like I was in on whatever joke this job had so quickly become. The men across the bar took immediate notice of my inept placement, and swarmed. 

“Who’s this bright little sugar?”

“ON THE TABLE BABE!”

And with that last command, I felt a nudge on my backside. 

“Okay babe, time to go. Ten minutes at a time, unless you do real well, then its twenty five. The bouncer will shine a light on you when its time to get down. You ready?”

“What?” I asked. But it was too late. The middle girl extended her arm while pushing me onto of the bar with the other. Gathering my composure, I approached this D-List performance with all of the fragments of hope that could be preserved. It was a disaster.

Hands brushed against my ankles as some top charting rap song blared behind me. I had enough wits to slink through into a sway with slow rhythm, but the discomfort couldn’t be masked. Guys would try to make eye contact and attempt to place dollar bills in my boots. One man slid his pinched fingers around a dollar up my legs, and instinctively, I recoiled. The instructed striptease now became a game of dancing away from the clientele, slithering to each end of the bar to get away. One of the girls grabbed my leg.

“What the fuck are you doing? They are trying to give you money girl, fucking get it!”

The other girl was pissed. She hopped up on the bar, and laid herself down face first. Some guy put a dollar bill in between her ass cheeks, and she clenched her butt to pinch the cash. I was not doing that. I was not doing any of this. I had to get out. 

While pondering an escape plan, a college aged guy sat on the far right side of the bar. Immediately spotting my discomfort, he doled out the classic, “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” 

“I have no fucking idea!” I yelled over the deafening music. “I thought the dancing was more of a voluntary thing!” He laughed, and shook his head. “Yeah, you really fucked up if you’re not trying to strip.”

There was some safety in his understanding of my blunder. Lining the bar were starved mouths waving cash at me, but I tried to ignore them the best that I could. Until I couldn’t. 

“Senorita, shake that ass for Papi!” And with that, I was back on the table. This guy couldn’t be shaken off, his eager hands reached for my panties and yanked. Between his teeth was a five dollar bill that he dropped in my extended under garments. Without thinking, I retreated back to the college guy. To my dismay, the college guy claimed me as his own, and extended a five dollar bill of his own to the other side of my underwear. 

“What are you doing?” I yelled. 

“You don’t belong to that guy, you belong to me!” He sneered. I was not safe at all. With his declaration, the other guy came back over to me.

“You only dance for the white boy, seniorita? What about for $20? Bend over for me!”

One of the girls behind the counter reached up, and pulled my back down. The man glided the twenty dollar note across my thigh, and then did something I was not prepared for; he licked my cheek. Before I could even yell, a glass bottle went soaring my direction. I ducked even lower, and narrowly missed the thrown object. A crash exploded behind the bar. “What the fuck?” I asked. 

“IS THIS YOUR MAMMA’S HOUSE, PAPI? HUH? THIS IS THE QUIET DINNER YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE AT FUCKING LIAR!”

What appeared to be the licker’s acquaintance stormed through the room. She made eye contact with me. “And you wanna fuck this blonde stick, eh? THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT?” She picked up another beer bottle, and hurled it at my head. I dropped my entire body to the bar and again, dodged the soaring glass. It crashed into the back of the bar. A crowed built up in the middle of the room, and I rolled off of the bar top. Fuck this. Fuck this. I am so out.

I ran to the back of the room, grabbed my purse, and booked it to the front. “I’m so sorry girls, but I have to go. Thank you for you everything!” They shot back a glare. “You aren’t going anywhere girl, your shift ends at 4.” “FOUR?” It was 10:30 p.m. I would spend the next five hours clawing at the door before I would spend it behind used as a human dart board for vengeant girlfriends. Now, I was in panic mode. I furiously texted Gable.

“this was a bad idea. saying you were in a car crash or something, if i call you sound upset”

“not coyote ugly style, babe?”

Shit, he had never seen the movie either.

I excused myself from the girls, and went to the front. The bouncer saw me coming and closed the door. Towering I front of it, he extended his hand to stop me. “Did boss say you could go out or something?”

“I have to go, this isn’t working out.”

He shook his head, “I can only let girls out if the boss says so.”

Okay, time to kick things up a notch. 

“I JUST GOT OFF THE PHONE WITH MY BOYFRIEND AND HE WAS IN A CAR CRASH. YOU’RE GOING TO KEEP ME FROM THE HOSPITAL?!” I screamed as loud as I could. Everyone turned my direction, including the scorned assailant from before.

“Bitch has a boyfriend? Fucking hoe! Let her run back to her cripple assed man, get her the fuck out of here!”

If this woman is a regular enough to make requests to the bouncer, why would she be mad that her boyfriend was here? I wondered the social hierarchy of this bizarre clientele, but not long enough to miss my chance. The bouncer sheepishly stepped to the side.

I bolted out the door, and ran without looking until the passed the next block. Rummaging through my purse I pulled out a cigarette and my phone to tell Gable that I was coming home. And that Lady Madonna would not be coming with me.