April 21st, 2012
This event took place in December of 2004. The following is based on actual events.
Her name was Peaches. Well, that wasn't her real name. Peaches was her exotic dancing name. I guess strippers shouldn't use their real names. Come to think of it, I never asked the petite, light-skinned black girl her real name.
Peaches was beautiful. She had coco skin. Curly hair that went to the length of her shoulder. Her beauty isn't the only thing that stood out to me tonight. She was completely fucked up when she approached me. I'd like to say alcoholic fucked up, but when she spoke to me, I didn't smell a hint of it. I'm guessing she was Xanax, pill-popping, messed up.
I was working at a Gentleman's Club. Peaches' was a stripper, so I guess I don't blame her for being fucked up. If I had to sit on the dicks of men's laps all night, I'd probably pop a few pills myself.
I wasn't at the X-rated club for pleasure, though. Hell, I've only been to two adult clubs my whole life up until that time. I'm here on business. The city that I work for required the strip club to hire an off-duty police officer to work the front door. It wasn't a hard gig. Any officer who worked there had to make sure all laws were being adhered to, as well as city ordinances.
It was a hard detail to sign up for because of the high demand for officers willing to work it. The three hundred dollars a night had a lot to do with the demand, but I'm sure the naked women played a small role as well. At the time, I had no idea why Peaches approached me, a police officer in full uniform, but in the end, I wish she hadn't.
Before Peaches decided to make herself known, I arrived at the club at 9 P.M. I drove in on my Harley Davidson Road King police motorcycle. I was in the police motor unit then and assigned the police motorcycle, which I rode to all police functions. I wasn't the only person in that place who would have knee-high boots on.
Soon after arriving, I took my usual position at the front door inside the foyer. I sat on a high wooden bar stool to the left of the register just by the second entrance that customers pass through after they paid their cover charge. I would stand when it got busy and sit when it wasn't. The door girl who collected the money sat to the right of me. I always noted that she had a better-quality bar stool than the one I was using. It was padded vinyl with a back piece and armrests to relax. But I suppose if I had an ass like hers, they would take care of my backside too.
She sat behind the register, collected the cover charge, and also checked identifications. The cover was 10 dollars for single men, but free entry was available for women, couples, and veterans.
The club gets busy a little later, so I had time to settle in and prepare for the onslaught of patrons who would enter later that night. From my past experience working in this place, it always did. I was also dreading the crowds because that little room would get so hot with all the warm bodies standing inside it. That sounded like the perfect metaphor.
I sat on my wooden stool, feeling bored, when I happened to look to my left and saw a figure walking towards me. The club is dimly lit. The dim lighting gives the club a more intimate atmosphere and adds to the girls' fantasy as it hides any flaws they may have. I sat up from my slump to prepare myself for whoever was approaching me.
The figured silhouette got closer to me. I realized it was a dancer. It wasn't uncommon for them to walk to the entrance and talk to the door girl. When the silhouette emerged to the better-lit area, just inches from where I was sitting, I noticed her pink see-through lingerie had stood out against her perfectly skin-toned body. The lingerie she wore wasn't see-through enough to see her nude, toned body. However, it exposed enough skin to imagine what was beneath the areas that covered her unmentionables.
She didn't talk to the door girl when she got to the front desk. She began to speak to me.
"Do you have flowers...on your bed sheets?" she said to me, slurring her words and giving the appearance she was half asleep with her droopy eyes.
"What do you mean?" I asked, beginning to stand up from my stool.
My peripheral vision slightly peaked over Peach's head towards center stage, where I could see the latest girl dancing on the main stage from my vantage point.
"Well," Peaches said as she stumbled onto my vacated stool," I see things, ya know. I'm kinda psychic," she said loudly due to the music filtering out to us.
I then looked directly at her and gave her my full attention. "Excuse me," I said with a tone of sarcasm in my voice.
"I see things," she said adamantly, "You have an aura around you. I saw your aura from across the room. It compelled me to come to you. Your aura is telling me you're in pain," she raised her voice as she spoke due to the music intertwining with the people inside the foyer.
I was leaning my body towards her, trying to hear what she was trying to say. It was almost as if we were in a social atmosphere, and I was trying to hit on her. As she talked, an overzealous DJ would scream on the microphone.
"NOW! COME ON GUYS! She's really working it for you! Come on, don't be cheap. She's shaking that ass pay up!"
"So, do you have flowers or not on your bed sheets?" Peaches asked me again. This time, even louder. People in the foyer turned to look at us. I glanced over, smiled slightly at the patrons filing in, and then turned my attention back to Peaches.
"I don't know!" I shouted. "Why do you keep asking me this?!" I said while I began to laugh at her persistent question.
"Your aura is giving me a sign that you're in pain. Did someone recently die?" As she spoke, she would close her eyes and reopen them.
"No," I said. "Everything is good here." I motioned my arms around my body to reflect that my aura felt fine. I didn't understand what she meant, so I gave her a generic answer.
"Let's go! Let's go! Come On Guys! Shout, scream, make some noise! Let's go for the sexy Molina!" the DJ exclaims.
"I don't know. I sense pain. I'm psychic." she told me with a straight face.
"What did you say? You're psychotic?" I knew what she said, but her questions started getting to me.
"I'm psychic!" She shouts, "Is someone sick? Your aura tells me you will be in pain for something now or in the future."
I could only look at her with disbelief and no honest answer for her.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I feel fine and don't know anything bad going on with me or my family. What's your stage name?" I shout over the crowd.
"Peaches. My name is Peaches, and I see the future."
"Peaches? Peaches, the stripper?" I said."Have you been drinking? What are you on right now?"
"I'm on nothing," she stated. I could see that I upset her.
"Sorry, but you just see it. I don't mean to offend you," I said half-heartedly. I don't know if I was weirded out, afraid, or just annoyed.
Peaches smiled at me and said, "No. Not offended. I just want to make sure you're okay. I didn't like the aura around you."
"What do you mean by aura? You've said it a few times now."
"You know. You're glow. It indicates your level of happiness. Your aura tells me something is wrong with you now or in the future."
I couldn't tell her what was happening to me because I didn't know what was happening to me. After we talked briefly, her future was about to be announced over the PA system.
"Okay, guys," the DJ announced, "get ready for the Georgia peach. Coming to the stage for you, the one. The only! Peaches!" The DJ announced her name as if he was anticipating seeing her naked, and the crowd cheered as if everyone else in the club was waiting for her as well.
With that announcement, Peaches smiled at me. She extended her hand and brushed my shoulder. I didn't think she wanted to leave me. She exited my chair, stumbled in her high heel pumps, and slipped away in the darkness, never to see me again. She was lost in her world of the strip club and on her way to the center stage and her reality of life.
I watched her walk away as I stared into the darkness, ignoring all the activity around me. I just thought about what she said the rest of the night. My bad aura was my concern until I worked the end of my shift until about 5 AM. Even though I was tired, I rode my Harley home. It was a long night. My ears were ringing badly.
"How do they deal with the loud DJ every night," I thought.
I stumbled to my front door like Peaches did in her high heels, only I was in my work boots. I had decided to shower when I woke up later in the day. I went straight to bed after undressing out of my police uniform. It was early Sunday morning, and I didn't want to sleep long. It was football Sunday, after all.
The morning went fast. I opened my eyes and just stared at the ceiling. I didn't want to move. I glanced at the clock placed high on a shelf on the far wall of the master bedroom. It was almost noon. I needed to get up and venture out to start my day. The shades were drawn, but the room was lit enough for me to notice the flowers on our bedsheets.
"Mimie!" I shout. "Mimie!" I yelled again.
Mimie, my wife of seven years, burst into the room.
"What is it? What's wrong?" she worriedly said.
"Where did these flower sheets come from?"
"My mom sent them months ago. Why?"
"When did you put them on?" I asked, "Were they always on our bed?"
"No, I put them on last night," she said. "What's going on?"
"Well, Peaches, the stripper, said that I was gonna be in pain because of aura and flower sheets," I said.
"Peaches, the stripper, said what? Who the hell is Peaches?" Mimie said with a sound of disgust in her voice.
"I didn't ask Peaches her real name. She's the psychic stripper at the club where I worked last night. Peaches is just her stage name. Peaches said my aura concerned her and that I would be in great pain. She said she saw flower sheets on my bed and even asked me about the sheets," I said to Mimie as loud as if I was trying to talk over the DJ.
"Let me get this straight. Peaches, the stripper, said you're going to be in pain because of flowers on the sheets," Mimie said sarcastically.
"YES!"
"Chris, honey, go back to sleep." Mimie said in a matter-of-fact tone, "By the way, it isn't 1 PM. That clock is wrong. You have yet to set the clocks back an hour. It's after two o'clock, and you're missing the Dolphin game."
"But Mimie Peaches, the stripper Peaches," my voice crackling.
"I know Chris. Come on, football is on. Maybe the Dolphins will lose today, and they will be your source of great pain."
I just couldn't believe there were flowers on my bedsheets. This had to be a coincidence. However, sadly it wasn't. A few days later, on December 23rd, my dad's mother, my grandmother, died. We weren't expecting it.
For years, Mimie and I would talk about Peaches, the stripper, and laugh with amazement at what she saw that night. I wish I could find her now and ask her about my aura. Is it healed? Is it gone? And while she's at it, what are the lotto numbers.
I will forever know her as "Peaches, a psychic stripper." Nice.
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Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.
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