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Behind every good woman...

Meet Evie's Personal Assistants Lisa Hahn  & Jordan Chase

      "We're the ones who make the big decisions," 22 year old Jordan Chase tells us. "Like Aloha Thursdays�"

     "Totally our idea," Lisa Hahn agrees.

     "�and the thing about chargers for cellular phones in the bathroom stalls�"

     "Ours," Lisa says with an emphatic nod. "Definitely."

     "Everyone thinks Evie comes up with those, but�"

     "She's way too busy," Lisa says, and it's quickly obvious they like to finish each other's thoughts.

     Statuesque and naturally blonde, Jordan worked as an escort in London before signing on with Vatican's Best Escorts at the tender age of sixteen. A year ago she came to Evie's attention after running down an elusive carton of Black Cherry Ripple ice cream.

     "Evie's real particular about her ice cream," Jordan explains. "And when she wants something�"

     "She wants it right fucking now," Lisa chimes in. "Excuse my Dutch."

     "Is that why your finger's in my dyke?"

     "Shut up!" Lisa giggles and rolls her eyes, but she doesn't move her hand from between Jordan's creamy thighs.

     "Anyway, so I found some Ben & Jerry's�"

     "Evie's favorite."

     "�and after that, I dunno," Jordan says with a shrug. "She didn't exactly tell me I was her new assistant, but every time I started to leave�"

     "Evie would say, �Where do you think you're going?' and Jordan would just kind of stand there."

     "I did not!"

     "You so did! God! Like you wouldn't even sit down for a week!"

     "I had that butt plug thingy, remember?"

     "Excuses, excuses�"

     Lisa just turned seventeen a week ago and the former Berlin call girl has been with Evie for the last three years. Cute, sexy, and prone to giggling fits, the self-described nymph spends most of the interview fawning over Jordan.

     "She loves me," the blonde says with a shrug. "We kinda have a thing."

     "A serious thing," Lisa says. "Like eighteen inches long and super thick�We like to bump butts."

     "It's a double-headed dildo," Jordan explains. "We kind of get on our hands and knees�"

     "Chinese doggy style."

     "�and we get it in our pussies and push ourselves backwards until�"

     "Our butts bump."

     "�and then, you know, we fuck each other silly," Jordan finishes while Lisa just giggles happily.

     "I love butt bumping."

     "You're retarded."

     "I am not!"

     "Bump butting sounds dumb."

     "It's butt bumping!" Lisa rolls her eyes. "Duh!"

     "Whatever," Jordan sighs. "Are you going down on me or what?"

     "Right here?"

     "Don't let her fool you, Lisa loves showing off."

     "I've got a seven inch tongue," the girl boasts. "I can make out with her cervix."

     "She really can. It's pretty amazing."

     "You wanna see? I'll prove it�Spread your legs, Jordan, they wanna see!"

     "This is why we never get interviewed," Jordan tells us, but we really don't know how to respond to that. It's probably better if we just sit quietly and enjoy the show.

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Make your reservation now for the Third Annual Sexual Climatology Symposium being held at the luxurious Wailea Beach Hospice this upcoming July 2011. Hosted by Vatican's Best Escorts, discussion will focus on Morality in the Workplace and the Proliferation of Internet Pornography in Today's Corporate Environment. A complete schedule of events and list of guest speakers will be made available March 01 2011. As in previous years, complimentary escorts will be furnished by VBE to all pre-registered participants. Please see our website for additional information and online registration.
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Love on the Rox
Have a drink with Roxanne Jones
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Gender: Female	Age: 25
Hair: Brunette	Eyes: Brown
Ht: 5' 9";	Bust: 34B
Wt: 121 lbs	Waist: 22"
Hobby: Oil Wrestling	Hips: 34"
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Ethnicity: A bit of everything
Personality: Work hard, but play harder
Prefer: Cocks, Motorcycles, Hardbodies
Available: After a good workout
Affiliation: VBE (VP HRO)
Location: In my office usually
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�They named a drink after me,� Roxie Jones says with a smile. �Seriously. A Love on the Rox. Have you had it?� No, we have to admit, and the young woman shakes her head. �I�ll never be famous,� she sighs. �Anyway, you guys are doing a profile on me? God! I�m like the most boring person here. All I do is work. What do you want to know?� How did you end up as VBE's VP of Human Resources? �You should ask Evie that one. I was a stripper working out in Vegas, dancing in a revue and turning a few tricks in the parking lot, that sort of thing. It�s not as glamorous as it sounds. Vegas is kind of a dump really, once you get behind the scenes. �Anyway, I met Evie after a show one night. She was in town with J.W. [Marriott] and had some time to kill, so she was at the club and somehow she picked me out of fifty other girls. I mean, we all look the same in our costumes, but Evie came back to the dressing room and invited me to her hotel. I was like, 'You know I�m not queer, right?' "Yeah, right! That woman fucked me upside down, side-ways, and inside-out! Some serious fucking, you know? Tongues, fingers, toys�Shoot, Evie fucked me with her foot. It was so weird, but good weird. I came like ten times before I even got her panties down.� And that�s how you got the job? �Well, that�s how I met Evie. I have no idea why she offered me the HRO job. I mean, look at me! I�m so not-qualified it isn�t funny, but here I am. I handle all personnel matters. Hiring, firing, where people go, what they do when they get there, health coverage, pension plans, benefits. It�s a huge job and sometimes I just want to jump out the window, but that would probably hurt.� It�s a long ways down, we agree. �No kidding,� she laughs. �I should have asked for an office on the second floor. I could survive that. Anyway, I guess I�m doing okay. I have a lot of girls helping me and at least I don�t have to worry about sexual harassment suits or anything silly like that. In our business the employees complain if they�re not getting groped, you know? Like go ahead, grab my ass�I know you want to. Tell me to suck your dick, I don�t mind. It�s all part of the job.� And Roxie loves her job. �Yeah, I really do. I get paid way too much, I still get to hook on weekends, and when I screw up, Evie calls me onto the carpet and I spend an hour sucking her pussy. What�s not to love?�

Actor Weds Escort!

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Edward James Olmos and his 15yo bride-to-be, VBE Teen Escort Maria Trinidad

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Just a year ago, Oscar winning actor Edward James Olmos adopted a fourteen year old escort named Maria Trinidad. Last month at the Latino Film Festival, he announced his engagement to Maria and expressed his thanks to VBE for making his life complete. �I didn�t realize how close we would become,� Olmos said. �I bought her thinking it would be nice to have a pretty girl around the house. I never expected to fall in love.� That�s exactly what happened though and a source close to the actor told us, �Eddie�s a great guy. He�s got a heart the size of Florida and when Maria entered his life, she really filled some deep holes. It�s not easy dealing with the fame and pressure, so we�re all happy for him.� Olmos has been filling some holes himself according to the Hollywood gossip mill. �Well, he�s Latino! You know how hot those men are!� tabloid queen Sally Z. told us over the phone. �He�s been nailing that poor girl every chance he gets. It�s no wonder she looks so bow-legged all the time. Everyone knows Eddie has a huge dick!� Maria was unavailable to comment on her upcoming nuptials, but a close friend and VBE Teen Escort Jovelyn Reyes told us that the girl is in love. �Head over heels,� Jovelyn insists. �I talk to Maria everyday and all she can talk about is Eddie. How he bought her a diamond bracelet or a new car, how he eats her ass for an hour before he fucks her. She always was into the anal stuff, so maybe that�s why they get along so well. All I know is I wouldn�t want that big slab of Mexican meat pounding my donkey every night! It�s enormous!� Well, apparently Maria doesn�t mind and bow-legged or not, she�ll be walking the red carpet come January 16th and exchanging vows with the man of her dreams. Congratulations, Maria, you deserve it.

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- Evie featured this month in Vogue Magazine (again)

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This article marks the 100th appearance of Evelyn Swan in Vogue Magazine

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�The hundredth issue? Really? I didn�t know that,� Evie Swan replies. �What�s the record?� Nobody knows, but considering Vogue only puts out 14 issues a year (including the special Holiday and Summer issues) some rough calculating means that she�s been featured in every single issue for the last 7 years. �Since I started VBE, I guess.� Evie scratches her blonde hair and shrugs. �What else do they have to talk about? Fashion was invented by women. A lot of people like to blame men, but it�s not true. Guys would�ve stopped with underwear, but all the rest of it�Blame women.� Evie holds up her hand while she takes a phone call from Asa Boutros-Ghali, the former UN Secretary-General�s grandson. �Traveler�s checks? Are they American Express? Good�Okay, sure�It�s ten thousand for a weekend�No, you don�t have to bring any condoms.� Evie rolls her eyes. �Great, I�ll meet you in Paris then�Bye.� Evie puts her phone away. �I love my job. Sorry about that. What were we talking about? Oh! Fashion, yeah�You know, Freud said a woman�s purse is symbolic of her vagina. Do you know what he said about men�s wallets?� Everyone aboard the private jet looks at each other and shrugs. �See?� Evie laughs. �Nobody knows. Nobody cares. A wallet doesn�t mean anything because it belongs to a man, but everything a woman has, whatever she wears, has to mean something and it�s always sexual. We wear lipstick to make our mouths look like vaginas. We masturbate with our Fendi handbags and our skirts rise and fall with our bio-rhythm. She must be ovulating, she�s wearing the pink panties today.� We don�t have to wonder about Evie�s panties. �I�m not wearing any,� she confesses, but we already knew that. She doesn�t have any pubic hair either. �Mid-life crises. You know, some women go out and get a personal trainer, some women hire a new pool boy, I decided to shave my snatch. Isn�t that a terrible word? Snatch. It sounds so cool, but it�s kind of nasty. It sounds like a pocketbook.� The wheels are turning already as Evie wags a finger at Lisa, a 17 year old escort from Berlin and one of her personal assistants. �Get Sherry on the line. I want to look into a line of accessories. Handbags and pocketbooks. We�ll call it Snatch. We�ll come out with a line of vibrators too, nice ones made of leather. They can come with the purses, kind of a matching set. Designer dildos for the woman on the go. We�ll put secret pockets inside, you know? Snatch. That�ll work, right?� It sounds good to us and everyone is nodding enthusiastically, taking notes as Evie�s ideas come a mile a minute. �We do it right, maybe they�ll put me on the cover of Vogue�� she muses and then breaks into a wry smile, ��again.� -

Fluffer to Valley Girl: Former Teen Escort Molly makes the move

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What�s a Fluffer? �It�s someone who helps get porn stars ready for a big scene,� Molly tells us. �It�s mostly hands and mouth, a lot of oral just to warm the guy up. The Fluffer has to be kinda careful though because if she does it too well the guy might blow all over her face and then she�s in trouble. Nobody ever blames the man, it�s always the Fluffer�s fault for some reason.� Seventeen year old Molly certainly speaks from experience. �I started fluffing for my dad when I was twelve. Both of my parents were in the porn business, so I kind of grew up around it. One day I was on the set and the girl who was supposed to be fluffing didn�t show and I said, �Hey! I can do it!� and I just got on my knees and started blowing my dad. It kind of freaked everybody out at first, but then it was cool.� Didn�t Molly ever want to get in front of the camera? �I wouldn�t have minded, but my folks were always kind of strict about stuff like that. They saw a lot of pretty girls come up fast and then go down even faster. My mom especially, she had a lot of horror stories about being a teenage girl in the porn business and she wanted me to do something else. She�s the one who pushed me to be a teen escort and if it wasn�t for her, I never would have joined VBE.� That was over four years ago and after living and working at the Palm Springs Hospice for a year, Molly was put up for adoption. �I didn�t mind. I made some great friends and learned a lot about the business. I learned a lot about taking care of men, you know, cause reality isn�t like a porn movie at all. So it was a really good experience for me and then I got auctioned off to this really great guy here in the Valley. Yeah, I�m a total Valley Girl now, but it wasn�t that hard to adjust really. The hardest part is having the same guy banging me night after night. I�ve been doing it for almost two years now and I�m totally faithful, cause he owns me and everything, but I kind of miss the variety too.� Does Molly have any plans for the future? "Well, of course. Duh! I�m going to be eighteen in like ten months or something and I really want to go back to VBE and maybe work my way through college. I think I�m pretty smart, so I�ll probably apply for some programs. I�d like to be a veterinarian cause I like animals a lot. My mom made a lot of movies with dogs and horses, so maybe it�s in my blood. Anyway, we�ll have to see what happens when I start applying. You know, I�ll do whatever VBE wants me to basically, I just don�t want to end up working at the mall or something. That would suck.� In the bad way, we�re sure. �Yeah, you get it�Hey, you wanna see my tits? They�re so awesome! Check these puppies out�� Our interview ended rather abruptly at that point. Sorry. -Ed.

Temple of Good and Evil

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The Jews have Jerusalem. The Catholics have Rome. The Muslims have Mecca and the Hindus have...Cows. Vatican's Best Escorts have the Sexual Jihad and its birthplace, the Temple of Good and Evil. At the edge of a cornfield near Bellona Nebraska, the Temple is located on the very spot where Evie wrestled with the Angelic Demon of Love. The modest structure was built over the remains of Saint Paul, Evie's lover and pimp in those dark days before the Jihad. "He's been the foundation for everything that's come after," she said in a 2007 interview. "I loved Paul very much, but he couldn't follow the path I'd been put upon. I fought for him, but I wasn't yet strong enough to defeat the angel sent to test me. The Universe demanded a sacrifice if I was going to lead our people out of bondage and I did what I had to do." Little factual information is known about the man who brought Evie from her Central American origins to the United States. Earlier in her career, shortly after starting VBE, she described him as a "bestial man, very crude" and "a petty man; always angry at everyone", but over time Evie has painted Paul Marsdan in a gentler light. "He took care of me when I had nobody else in the world. Paul fed and clothed me, he taught me a great many things about myself and I'll always be grateful to him." His body was found in March of 2001 in the field where Evie's temple now stands. The coroner's report indicated that he had been bludgened to death, but no murder weapon was ever found. Evie was questioned by police and subsequently released without being charged. No suspects were ever arrested and the murder remains a mystery. "You know what happened," Evie said in an interview with Time Magazine late last year. "In your heart you know what the Universe knows. Everybody does. It's no secret if you only close your eyes and listen."

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Welcome to the Palm Springs Hospice

The Longest Dance (cont'd)

     And so now, making a porn flick was just another step along that strange twisted path. I wondered if I'd be dancing in a month, humping chrome for 20 bucks in tips and all the propositions I could handle. I'd considered it, you know, off and on from time to time. Jen liked her job, she thought of it as therapy for men, and for some of the girls too.

     "You should try it, Trish," she'd tell me. "It's like a little power trip, being up there, all those guys watching, just wanting you so bad." She giggled. "It makes me feel good, sometimes."

     "How about the other times?" I asked.

     "I don't remember." Jen shrugged.

     I'd been to the club a bunch of times. Met the girls, met Jen's boss, a nice guy named Ken who looked like he'd be doing anything else but running a strip club. He wasn't fat, or balding, or greasy. He had an MBA and a wife and two kids. He didn't hit on the girls, although a couple had tried more than once to hit on him. He was cute as hell. And he was persuasive.

     "Patricia! Heyi! Great to see you again. You want a drink? Coke?" He'd wave at Doris. "How's school?"

     And we'd chat for a few minutes, sitting at the end of the counter while one of the girls danced. Every now and then he'd look at her, or at the other girls, hustling drinks in their little thongs and bustiers.

     "Sammi's a great dancer," he'd say, gesturing at a petite Vietnamese woman grinding it out to NIN's 'The Perfect Drug' with wild abandon. "She pulls down three grand a week minimum, and reports two at the most. Asian girls are hot, Patricia. Everybody wants one. You should think about moonlighting."

     I'd smile at nod. "Yeah, I think about it, but with my course load I'd be sleeping instead of dancing."

     "Just do yourself a favor, Trish, enjoy yourself, whatever you do." Ken would pat my hand gently and smile and wander back to his office to check some books, or behind the bar to check the stock, or into the dressing room to see if his girls were okay. He was always busy, but always relaxed too. He enjoyed his job.

     I wasn't sure if I enjoyed anything. I was sitting there, looking at the phone, thinking those thoughts. I should have done some reading, or writing maybe, but I didn't. Thinking about Ken had made me lonely for some reason, the way thinking about those other people hadn't. I decided to go see Jenny dance, have a cherry coke and see the men seeing her. I wasn't sure it would make me any happier, but it was better than sitting around that empty house. I threw on a black cotton skit, a white halter, some little white panties and some black heels. A long burgundy silky trench coat thing that weighed all of six ounces, and fluttered around me like angel wings, would keep me safe and warm. For 300 bucks I wore it every chance I got.

     It's a long bus ride from our apartment all the way out to Sea-Tac, but I don't mind the bus all that much. There's a certain sense of belonging in that constant transition, going from one place to another. The rest of the world is shut out, except through strange greenish windows, and the whoosh of the doors when they open. People are isolated from each other, insulated by the knowledge that this closeness is temporary and forced. I like it. Many people don't, but I do. People only ride the bus when they have to; I've done it just for fun.

     I got off finally, after transferring twice, just a block down from the garish sign that proclaims "Exotic Dancing!" and a smaller one, but still readable from the corner, "No Cover With Room Key!" I've never quite understood if there was some deal going on with the hotels there or not. Maybe something to keep the hookers out of the piano lounge at the Marriot, the concierge sends his guests to the club if they're looking for action.

The Cereus Lounge offers Live Sex Shows after sunset

     Across Federal Way, there's a bunch of dirty liquor stores, a tattoo place and some massage parlors, and an adult bookstore. They all look terribly seedy actually, and rather out of place. I think Ken mentioned the town was trying to get rid of that particular lot, put an Olive Garden or something there. So the whole family can eat pasta and look at the businessmen wandering into the high class strip club across the street. 

     Ken's been under a lot of pressure too, but he has the local vice on his payroll, so he knows when he's going to get checked. The cops come in once a month, maybe twice, checking his liquor license, the girl's employment sheets, some customer ID's maybe. Once in awhile they'll put an uncle inside, an undercover cop, to see if he can get a prostitution bust. But Ken runs a pretty clean place, not a hundred percent, but close to it. The girls who hook pretty much do it on their own time and there's no dark corners for 20 dollar blowjobs or anything. 

     The girls are all 21, or at least have an ID that says they are. Like mine, an Oregon State ID that's real, with a Klamath Falls library card, a Social Security Card, a real live Visa Card, and a OSU student ID that an anarchist friend hooked me up with. They really are mine, I mean its my face on both of the ID's, but the name is Brenda. I didn't have any choice though and it didn't cost me anything, so I don't complain.

     Wanna know how you get a real fake ID? ... [deleted in the interest of national security -Ed.] ... Okay, so now you have a new birth certificate, a job history, an education, a bank account, a credit card, a SS number, and a driver's license, and you are now somebody else. Like a brand new Brenda, for example.

     Now, you do all that only if you really want to disappear; if you want to go into the Anarchist's Protection Program. Just don't get caught, because you have violated about 30 state and federal statutes and they are going to burn you at the stake if they find out. The government doesn't want anyone to be invisible but themselves. If all you want is a fake ID to get in a club? Find the guy on campus selling them, he shouldn't be too hard to locate. But be prepared to have it confiscated; you'd better buy three or four at least.

     It was almost 9pm by the time I arrived at the club, dark and cool, but at least it wasn't raining. I pushed open the door and saw Rambo sitting there, the big bouncer who checks ID's, collects the cover, and walks the girls in and out if they want. Believe me, around closing time they want. Some of the customers just want one more peek, and they sit in their cars waiting�staring. It's happened to me, and I don't even dance. I just stare back usually, but most of the girls working there just want to get home safe and sound.

     Rambo looks like Rambo, kind of, he's big and muscular with a special forces tattoo thing on his arm, short black hair and just generally looks like he'd kick the shit out of just about anybody and their 3 friends. I like him too, he's pretty funny, he was in Vietnam right at the end I guess, when everything was really bad. But he doesn't talk about that. He talks about how they used to give laxatives to Vietnamese people, telling them it was chocolate.

     "We went to this little village once," he told me. "And they were all Viet Cong, you know, the war was about over so everybody was jumping on Ho's boat anyway. And they were always asking for stuff, food and medicine, and chocolate, man they loved that Hershey's. So one day we started passing out ExLax, cause it looks just like chocolate. The next day we're back on patrol and we come back to this village and all these people, men, women, children, everyfuckinbody is waving their arms and backing away 'No chocolate, Joe! No chocolate!' shit, we coulda won that war if they'd given us more ExLax."

     I had to give Rambo a hug before he'd let me in, he does that with all the girls, but I don't mind. He doesn't try to grab any ass or anything, though I wouldn't mind that either. I told him he should let his hair grow out, since he was sporting a new buzz. "Shit Trish, you ever seen what happens to hair in a bar fight?" He shook his head and I could sympathize. A girl named Cynthia had kicked my ass once in school by grabbing my hair and kicking me in the cunt. I don't really remember how bad that kick had hurt, but my scalp was still burning 6 years later.

Drinking and Dancing at the Desert Palms Disco (Wet T-shirts Optional)

     I went into the large room where the customers sat, and sat down at the end of the bar. Very few people actually sat there, of course, they liked to crowd the two stages, although only one was being used tonight. Doris smiled at me, she was setting up drinks for one of the girls. Doris is older, she'd been a dancer for a long time and now she pretty much ran the place and let Ken worry about business. She kept the girls in line, watched the customers, and kept the bouncers on their toes. She'd been pretty once and still looked okay under the soft lights, but you could tell there'd been some rough miles.

     "Hey Patricia."

     "Hey Doris. Can I get a cherry Coke?" I asked. That's a regular old Coke and a bowl of cherries. I'd put about six in the glass and stir it up. Like a little kid, I guess, but I liked it.

     "Sure. You come to dance?" She always asked me that, like it was inevitable, which made me nervous because her little finger knew more about people than I ever would.

     "Nah, I just wanted to get out." I thanked her as she put my drink down on a napkin in front of me and slid the cherries over.

     "I gave Jen your message. You sure you wanna do that?" she asked, wiping her hands and looking motherly at me. That was one of her jobs.

     "Uh, I guess, money is money, right?"

     "Yeah, it all spends the same, but it ain't all worth the same, ya know?" I just scratched my head while Doris spoke. I didn't know anything about the porn business, but it seemed like one little movie wasn't any big deal. "You've got a good head, Trish, that's all I'm saying; you don't need to be using your ass."

     "Ah, it's just one job, one movie, Doris, come on. You sound like I'm already some kinda porno queen."

     "I'm just saying..."

     "There's lots of girls that just do it once or twice," I said, trying to convince both of us. "They get a quick fix and move on, that's all I'm doing, okay?"

     "Yeah, yeah, okay. Hell, you might even like it." She laughed and shook her head and then Candy showed up with her tray and an order. "Three buds, a soda and lime, and a noisemaker straight up, please Doris honey." She smiled at me. "Hey pumpkin, what's doin?"

     "Hi Candy, just getting some motherly love." I grinned at Doris and she wagged her tongue.

     "Well, you start lookin' for sisterly love and I'll be around, huh?" Candy laughed and reached for some ashtrays.

     "Incest is best!" I told her and watched as she hefted her tray and rolled her dark eyes at me.

     "That's what you always say, but I'm still...waiting!" she sang the last word softly, teasing me.

     Candy, whose real name was Cardinelle, looked an awful lot like me. So people had gotten to calling us sisters when I came around, which honestly wasn't as often as I'm making it sound. Maybe four or five times a month at the most. She might have been 22 maybe and had a small, tight body, boyish in the same way mine was, with her narrow hips and small breasts, but her ass and legs were super-fine, and she had such a pretty face. Her parents had emigrated from Venezuela, but she'd been born here in Seattle. Candy was also a lesbian and made passes at everyone. She'd slept with half the dancers, probably more than half, and one of these days I knew she'd sleep with me too. I looked forward to it, but the teasing and waiting was too much fun right then, I think, for both of us. 

     That, and also it's nice to have something saved up for a rainy day, you know what I mean? If a time came when I really just needed to be with someone, not for love, or even lust really, but just intimate physical contact, I knew Candy would be there. That may not make a lot of sense to some people, but to those who understand...

     Jen finally noticed me and gave me a little wave from a table on the far side of the stage. She was sitting with a couple guys, they looked like shoe salesmen from Salt Lake City. The running joke was that the worst pervs always turned out to be Mormons. As far as anyone knew there had never been a Mormon in the club, perv or otherwise, not that anyone would know, it's just a silly club thing. Any guy who is a little too touchy, or starts making propositions involving animals, jelly donuts, or vacuum cleaners is automatically labeled a Mormon, like a secret code:

     "See that guy at the stage?"

     "Him?"

     "No, no...The one with the Texaco cap. He's a Mormon."

     "Yeah?"

     "Had his dick out when I brought him his beer, tried to tip me with it. I told him if he does it again Rambo's gonna introduce him to Wally."

     "What an idiot. Thanks for word."

     "Sure. Talk at ya later."

     Wally was the side of the building. Hard cold brick and a few guys had bounced off him, some of them two or three times. But once was usually enough. You get bounced a couple times and you're not getting back in, after the first warning it's criminal trespass to walk through the door.

     I think the Mormon thing had been started by a dancer named Sheila, who wasn't really Sheila, but a lot of the girls don't like to use their real names and she was Australian, so it fit. Some words just twisted her pretty little ears. Or maybe she was partly deaf, I don't know. But the story is that one of the other dancers had been telling Sheila the exact conversation I told you a second ago, except the other girl hadn't said 'Mormon' at all. She'd said '...He's a moron.' Sheila, wanting to spread the good word, told all the other girls that the guy was a Mormon, with her big green eyes and Billabong accent. No one was quite sure what the guy's religion had to do with it, but eventually everyone had a good laugh, even Sheila, although she never lived it down.

     After that, all the pervs were Mormons.

Girls Nite is always popular with Mothers and their escort "Daughters"

     Jen got up a few minutes later, coming to the bar for more drinks and to say hi. She was wearing white and the black lights made her glow. "Hey Trish, what's going on?" She looked at Doris. "Another pitcher and an iced tea."

     "Bud Light?"

     "Yeah." Jen was drinking the tea and the guys would think they were buying her some kind of alcoholic drink. It costs ten bucks for a shot glass. "So..." She looked at me. "You're gonna do it?"

     I nodded. "Yeah, sure...Somebody's gotta keep an eye on you." I smiled and sucked on a cherry.

     "Heh, I got all the eyes I need right now." She glanced over her shoulder at her two customers. "I bet you a dollar I'm doing a lap dance in five minutes."

     "A whole dollar?" I widened my eyes. "Now that's real confidence!" I laughed at her.

     "Thanks Doris." Jen watched as Doris wrote Jenny's name on the receipt and stuffed it in a jar.

     The girl's didn't get paid by the hour or anything. They got half their tips from dancing, half of whatever they made for table or lap dances, plus 10% of the drinks they sold. A good night for Jen was around 700 dollars; a bad night was maybe three hundred. That's the good thing about being next to the airport and all the hotels, a lot of guys came in with the company credit cards and a couple clients. Table dances were 20 bucks a pop, lap dances were 50, and for a good tip a girl like Jen could make a guy cum in his pants. I've seen it happen.

     There were a few locals too, guys who lived or at least worked nearby. Some of them were good tippers, but generally they weren't. They'd stop in to feel good, because after a few times everybody got to know them and people relaxed a bit. The girl's would say hi to a guy by name and if it was payday give him some special attention because they always got generous. Some guys had been coming in for years, and they were like part of the furniture, like brothers almost, minding their own business, or maybe hoping someday, somehow they'd get lucky with one of the girls. They all had favorites, and some of the guys would bring little presents, or flowers sometimes.

     It was an awful lot like walking a razorblade with those guys though, because they were right on the edge of being inside, but no one would invite them that one little step further, you know? They were always outside looking in, and the girls took advantage of it, mercilessly at times. Until once in awhile a guy would just...wake up. And realize he was wasting his time and his money. Sometimes they got pissed, made a big fuss, but usually they just disappeared. It was a part of the business I didn't totally understand or trust, part of the reason I resisted the idea of dancing maybe. Not that I wouldn't totally use an idiot, I could give a fuck less, but just that I'd rather avoid the temptation.

Don't miss the upcoming Western USA Teen Auction
Feb 9th 2011 at the Palm Springs Hospice Resort & Casino