Robyn Crummer

December 2000

"Somebody leave the light on… green limousine for the redhead DANCING dancing girl… he's going to change my name… and when I dance for him somebody leave the light on just in case I like the dancing I can't remember where I come from."

-"Mother" by Tori Amos

ˆ

"Either [woman] must gracefully give way to the word, the Name of the Father and the Law, or else struggle to keep her child down with her in the half-light of the imaginary. Woman then stands in patriarchal culture as signifier for the male other, bound by a symbolic order in which man can live out his fantasies and obsessions through linguistic command by imposing them the silent image of woman still tied to her place as bearer of meaning, not maker of meaning."

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" by Laura Mulvey

ˆ

Cruising by JOY Men's Club at 60 miles per hour gives me only a moment to indulge my curiosity and explore my preconceived ideas of the women who work there. Victims. Drug-addicted. Desperate. Lost. Beyond my own limited imaginings, I know not what to expect.

I enter the club on a Sunday afternoon. The driving, pounding music pours through the opening doors. I cannot see beyond the dark hallway where a buffet table holds beef brisket under a red heat lamp with assorted side dishes. I follow the hostess into the lounge where my eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness. I make out female forms, candles, and the watchful eyes of several men.

"Miller Light, please," I ask the waitress as I ease uncomfortably into a padded velvet chair. I don't know where to rest my eyes. A thin dancer in a polka dot dress twirls and twists on the black and white checkered stage. The lights turn her flesh blue, green, and red. Women in various states of undress wander between the tables. They hug the men, kiss them on their cheeks, and sit on their laps. Several dancers gather around one man standing by the stage. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the fantasy that these women perform for their customers.

I glance around now that my eyes have become accustomed to the dark. I see the bare backs and buttocks of several women performing lap dances in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I am curious what happens during a lap dance but feel it would be inappropriate to stare. I feel very self-conscious and out-of-place. I imagine that my presence as a woman–fully clothed and writing in my notebook furiously–makes the men uncomfortable. I slouch down in my chair and look towards the stage for a place to rest my eyes. I slam my first beer and start my second, chain smoking the whole time.

ˆ

"Someone’s looking for Vivian?" I hear a woman’s voice yell over the pounding music. I turn to see a pale, curvy form bending down next to me, her stiletto leather boots causing her to stand in the awkward, fetishized pose of a female created for the desire of men. I introduce myself and Vivian takes a seat, wearing only a g-string, in the chair next to me. The huge swig from my beer makes my eyes water as I attempt to make conversation with this beautiful, confident sexual creature. I don’t know what to make of her, she seems so foreign. We yell a few pleasantries across the several inches separating us and I buy us another round. The smell of her perfume mingles with the smoke from my cigarette. "There are a lot of different types of women. The men seem to like me all right. I’ve got these," she says as she cups her breasts in both hands and laughs.

ˆ

I follow Vivian past the "Employees Only" sign into the dressing room. "They painted the walls green. I don't know, I guess it's supposed to be some kind of subliminal message to make us think of money," jokes Vivian as she slides a purple velvet dress over her head. She eases up onto one of the counters and looks at me. I clutch my papers and pen to my chest, conscious of how dressed I feel among the bare buttocks, breasts, and stocking-clad legs of the women moving about me.

I ask Vivian a few stilted questions about the safety of the club, how her family feels about her job, and the cost of outfits for dancers. The conversation feels strained in the glaring lights, in front of the mirrors, and in the absence of the pounding music. I can see Vivian in detail and much of her mysteriousness seems to fade before me. I see her dark blonde roots coming in next to her burgundy, curled hair. I can see hints of acne under her make-up and her eyes seem tired. She sits with her hands under her thighs and her shoulders curled forward. I sense modesty not present only moments before.

Vivian finds a bar receipt and tears it into two pieces so we can exchange information to set up an interview time. I glance at the scrap of paper and see her phone number and email address written in her bubbly handwriting.

"Just call me whenever. Afternoons and evenings are best for me and I work mostly weekends," Vivian trails off.

A man's voice yells from the hallway, "Vivian, you're on next!" She shrugs her shoulders and offers to walk me back to my seat.

ˆ

Sarah and I meet for dinner at Hyde Park Bar and Grill. While we order, Sarah tells me about her Masters’ degree at UT in Radio, TV, and Film with an emphasis on gender studies and critical analysis. "I am trying to find something low-fat. I'm kind of on a diet," she says more to herself than to me. I ask Sarah about her classes, and she describes the theory she has been reading by Laura Mulvey, Christian Metz, and Gail Rubin.

Sarah picks the mushrooms off of her pizza and piles them on the side of her plate, "So, we were reading this theory in one of my film classes about how Vietnam vets find affirmation of their masculinity in Rambo movies. You know, in one space he was tough and strong and won honors. Then, in another space back home, he feels emasculated." She takes a bite of pizza and continues half-way through her bite, "He can go to these "Rambo" movies and feel like he did back in Vietnam. It's a form of release, a place where he can reclaim part of himself."

ˆ

Some dancers can become cold and calculating after awhile. A jaded dancer only thinks of paying her bills and sees men only for how much money they will pay. As Vivian dances, she scans the crowd for regulars trying to find the most profitable mark. But it’s most important to Vivian to seek out the customers whom she enjoys visiting with, who only touch her gently, and who consistently pay her well.

During the second song, a man stands at the edge of the stage. Vivian recognizes him immediately as one of her regulars, a married Gulf War vet. "Come see me when you're done," he says as he slips a bill in her g-string. In a few minutes, Vivian pulls on her dress and finds his table. He always buys several lap dances and Vivian enjoys his company. He has always been polite and relaxed.

Vivian begins her lap dance to a slow song. She looks him in the eyes several times as she slithers next to him and caresses herself. His eyes seem distant. Vivian wonders what he thinks, wonders how his mind works. The song ends and Vivian sits down next to him.

"I'm kind of an asshole," says the man with a smirk. Vivian wonders what he really means.

"If you would just stop and be nice to people, you would be surprised how nice people would be back," replies Vivian with a coy smile. The man faces forward and begins to weep. Vivian caresses his head and comforts him, knowing he will share when he's ready.

"No one has shown me the amount of intimacy in the last five years than you have shown me in the past five minutes." The man confides in Vivian that his wife won't sleep with him anymore. Since he returned from the Gulf War, he has gained weight. Now, his wife only makes fat jokes and criticizes him about his appearance. He seeks Vivian's company because she makes him feel attractive again.

Vivian feels like a kind of sexual therapist at times like these. She sees how much pain her attention alleviates in her customer. She provides a space of fantasy where he can feel affirmed and where he can feel like a better man.

ˆ

Sarah and I have a great time talking about how much we have in common: communication studies, funny sex and drug stories, difficult friendships. We are both Cancers, born about a year apart. We are very emotional and struggle with insecurity in our relationships. We talk about pain, generosity, and how difficult it is for us to express our emotions. Sarah and I talk about healing, energy, and how our bodies remember our emotions and experiences even when our minds cannot. We both read a lot growing up and share many similar childhood experiences. Sarah describes her need for attention and affirmation stemming from her childhood, "Yeah, I do have a bruised inner child. Every since I was 11 years old, I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be Audrey Hepburn in 'My Fair Lady' when she puts on the dress and everybody looks at her like 'Who is she?'" I nod my head with memories of myself at 12 performing in school plays and hoping for someone to notice me.

Sarah sips her Bud Light and leans back in her chair, "I am emotionally weak. I am dependent on my boyfriend as a daddy-type figure. I'm a very insecure person...even though it doesn't seem like it." Sarah hints at troubled past relationships. It seems like we can finish each other’s sentences. I find myself in awe at how much Sarah and I are alike.

Sarah is painfully honest, exposing her emotional vulnerability to me a practical stranger only hours before. She is constantly thinking and deeply insightful. She confesses much of the inner workings of her mind sometimes talking for minutes at the time. I find that her life is not a succession of disconnected memories. Rather, she has constantly tried to make connections and find meaning in her experiences. Even though I have known her only a few hours, I can tell she has felt a great deal of pain.

ˆ

"I have to go make some money now," explains Vivian as she shows me to my table. She is on-deck for her three dances. Goldie, the blonde African-American dancer preceding Vivian, finishes her final grind on the man standing at the side of the stage, gathers her dollar bills, and disappears behind the glittering mirrors.

Vivian appears in the doorway leading to the stage as the Red Hot Chili Peppers surges through the speakers. She struts to the pole wearing the same purple, fur-trimmed mini-dress and black lace-up boots. Her eyes are hooded and she swings her long burgundy hair as she twirls. A man approaches the side of the stage and waits for Vivian’s attention. In her six-inch heels on stage, Vivian towers above him, seemingly feet taller and many times stronger. She undulates around the stage once, making him wait. Then, she crawls on her hands and knees and performs a sort of abbreviated lap-dance. She rubs her head against his crotch, throws her head back, sits down and puts her legs around his waist. The second and third song play until Vivian wears only her g-string as she rubs, wiggles, and wraps herself around the men. She kisses each one on the cheek as he slips his folded bill in her g-string. She continues her dances on the smaller second and third stages before returning to her waiting lap dance customers.

ˆ

"You should really try dancing. You’d know better what I feel like up there," says Sarah during dinner.

"I don’t know," I reply hesitantly, "I wonder if it will interfere with my ability to be a massage therapist."

"Nah, there’s lots of girls who work and are massage therapists. No one finds out."

Although Sarah tells me it will not interfere with my academics, something inside of me still resists the idea of dancing. I wonder, despite all our similarities, what difference between us makes it alright for one and not the other of us to perform naked among strangers?

I talk it over with my closest friends for a week. "What if when you tell the man you are getting involved with that you stripped and he has a problem with it?," says one of my roommates. I hear a messages of an oppressive, patriarchal system speaking through her question and I feel furious and overwhelmed. I understand what I’m up against: it may never be possible for one woman to inhabit the sexual space of the strip club and the secure space of the relationship simultaneously. A woman must choose between the whore and the virgin.

I am angry with myself….I choose the virgin.

ˆ

I am in the middle of describing my expectations for a journalism project when I notice Sarah looking over my shoulder and smiling. She giggles and whispers, "Those guys over there are playing D&D. I used to play that a lot. I love role play." She looks at me and I return a dumb stare. I shake my head to indicate I do not understand.

"They're playing Dungeons & Dragons," she explains, "I have always really been into fantasy since I was a little kid. I read fantasy novels all the time." Sarah reveals that her character was a vampire named "Vivian".

"What appeals to you about fantasy and role play?"

Sarah leans forward excitedly, her eyes wide and sparkling, "I love performing and observing all at once. It's like a whole different person with other priorities and reactions but still a part of me."

ˆ

"What's Vivian like?" I ask Sarah. Our plates have long been removed. The bill has sat untouched for some time. I feel much closer to Sarah and do not fear asking too personal of a question.

"Vivian’s sophisticated, extremely vampish. She performs the perfect, artistic self. She enjoys a privileged form of hedonism and she’s in control of everything around her. Things happen around her and she can choose to participate or watch." Sarah explains without hesitation. Her face has a slight smile as she describes Vivian with much affection. Sarah continues after a pause, "There is no little girl in Vivian, no childlike fears. But, she does desire to be cared for on some level. She’s strong, capable, and doesn't rely on anyone. She relates to everyone as a woman, not as a girl."

ˆ

Later, Sarah explains a theory she studied some time ago about the connections and contradictions between Puritanism and capitalism co-existing in our culture. Sarah feels that Vivian occupies a space, the dance club, where competing impulses of society are reified.

"On one hand," explains Sarah, "there are the Puritan ideas that it's not okay to be sexual, to enjoy the sex act. On the other hand, there are the capitalist ideas...you know, the whole Ben-Franklin-'How To Be a Good American'-bullshit of accumulation of possessions with the wife being the symbol of status. She is essentially an object to obtain." Sarah takes a drink of her beer and continues, "You know, dancers are doing a 'bad' thing but in the club they are desired....It's a mental state. None of those sexual issues matters in the club. The dancers want to be the Lauren Bacaul, the woman--smart, beautiful--the one who gets married at the end. The P.T.A. wife. Unfortunately, in our culture most of them cannot be both the sexy, fun female and the one who gets it all in the end." Sarah pauses, "Dancers want to be the 'It Girl', the one men can't take their eyes off of. But they also go home to the reality of shitty boyfriends at night."

A few moments have passed after Sarah finishes passionately describing this latest bit of theory. Her tone becomes more solemn and with a hint of some sadness she says, "I was told when I was growing up that I'm never going to be anything because I fucked too early. Dancing is like my middle ground between being the star on Broadway or in Hollywood and being the slut."

Sarah feels determined to honor both the sexual and the academic parts of herself. She does not believe she must split one from the other. She interrupts my latest reverie, "I don't care what anybody says. I can be an academic. It's my weapon against the patriarchy, against the system."

I sit motionless, letting all the information sink in. In a moment, I realize how precarious the position women must hold between the "slut" and the "wife", between being sexual and being good, between mystery and exposure. I compare my experiences with Sarah's and see how every woman negotiates with oppression in her own way.

ˆ

It is several weeks after our first meeting when I stop by JOY on my way home from work to see my friend. I have to wait in the entrance while the hostess finds Vivian. "Robyn!" I turn to see Vivian rushing toward me and I meet her embrace. She grabs my hand and we run through the dark lounge, past the men's watchful eyes, and into the dressing room. I briefly recognize the absence of my discomfort from our initial encounter. We sit in the dressing room while she finishes her dinner. We share about our days since our dinner at Hyde Park. She confides, "I had a really great time with you the other night. You are really easy to talk to." For a moment, I am taken off-guard by her genuineness and affection. I wonder at my discomfort for a time. I see that although it is Vivian who sits before me, it is Sarah who talks to me.

"Thank you," I reply, "You are so sweet to help me with this project. I had a good time too. I would like to keep in touch, if that's okay with you."

"I would love that. C'mon, let's go have a drink."

Out in the lounge, I sit down with Vivian and order us a round. We hunch together over our little table, talking about the status of our current relationships and gossiping about the other girls. She laughs at my amazement at the dancer named "Montana" who can move her dress up her butt by flexing her muscles.

Vivian pauses and stares at me for a moment, "I want to give you a lap dance." She grabs my hand before I can reply. "Let's go!" she exclaims and leads me to the padded seats that I noticed during my first anxious visit.

At the start of the next song she stands up and faces me. Vivian brushes her bare skin against me. She sits with her back to me, between my legs and drops her head back. She closes her eyes and stands. As the dance ends, she sits down beside me and we embrace. Before this moment, I have only been able to see Vivian and Sarah separately. We sit without speaking, holding each other, and watching the happenings of JOY go on around us.

My curiosity about the strip club space first inspired me to begin this project. I wanted to develop a relationship with a stripper (I believe dancer is the preferred term) and get a personal account of the motivations and experiences of a person in this line of work. I was not disappointed with the experience as it offered me infinite possibilities for representations and themes.

During one of our conversations, Sarah and I began discussing the music of Tori Amos. Sarah was such a fan and suggested several songs to me. She also felt that Tori Amos personifies the virgin/whore split that I refer to in my paper. While writing my piece, I listed to Tori Amos’ Little Earthquakes to put me in an angry, sexual frame of mind.

The richness of Vivian’s and Sarah’s personalities eventually led me to write several scenes where they were depicted as two separate women. I did not want to depict her as if she had split personalities for she has incorporated each part of herself into all aspects of her life. I wanted to use Vivian and Sarah as metaphors for the split between virgin and whore that all women live with in our society. I wanted Vivian/Sarah and I to also symbolize this split as we sit together in our last scene. I also wanted she and I to symbolize the different ways that women negotiate this split. I have placed no value judgement on either Vivian/Sarah’s choice to dance or mine not to dance. By describing my decision-making process, I wanted to illustrate what is at stake for a woman who chooses to strip and how it can be perceived by society–no matter what her intentions.

A discovered an interesting change in myself during this project. I describe my discomfort at the beginning of the piece and my lack thereof at the end. Through the course of the project, I spent approximately 10 hours and $100.00 in JOY. I cannot pin-point the exact moment that I ceased to be uncomfortable. I just became accustomed to the atmosphere, the bare skin, the watching eyes, and the smell of perfume, restaurant, and cigarette smoke. I got to the point where I just didn’t care anymore. This transition symbolizes for me the way our culture has become accustomed to women being characterized as commodities. My change over the course of the project has also revitalized my passion for combining intimate narratives and women’s issues.

Works Cited

Amos, Tori. "Mother." Little Earthquakes. Atlantic Records, 1991.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology: A Film Theory Reader. New York: Colombia University Press, 1986.

I have neither given nor received aid on this examination nor have I seen anyone else do so. I received help on my rough draft from the Debby Ellis Writing Center. Celina Flores, Kristi Carl, and Dr. Julie Thompson proofread my profile. I would also like to thank Bob-O March and

Alan Suderman for the use of their Y-chromosomes to get us into JOY.

________________________________