A dense crowd of sailors in dress whites crowded around the single-stage, lavishing tips on each dancer that appeared from behind the blood-red curtain at the far end. The small, round, pedestal tables dotting the room were just big enough for one dancer and two or three flyboys on their first night back from sea duty, hungry for booze and pussy. I remember wondering why these girls thought they had a chance of snagging a naval aviator, and whether it had ever actually happened.
I first noticed Laurie two songs into her set. She was new, and the guys didn't quite know what to make of her. Sandwiched between blonde, tanned, beach-bunny types, Laurie was a stark contrast. Tall, slim, but very hard-bodied, her skin was the whitest I'd ever seen. Jet black shoulder-length hair flared and bounced as she danced, always falling exactly back into place when she was still, as though it had a memory all its own.
Even her dancing was unusual. One minute her moves were feline, stalking prey stageside. The next, she was playful and laughing, as though she was having the time of her life. For the first time that night I was staring, and she was returning looks that bumped my pulse another notch. Her last song was a slow blues tune. She writhed and stretched on the stage floor under blue lights, eyes closed, as though she was alone, stroking and fondling her milky thighs and breasts. She had hushed the raucous place into silence while assuring us her thoughts were miles away.
It wasn't long before she was sitting at my table. I didn't even have to ask, and I was sure I was the luckiest guy in the place. Thinking back, it's hard to imagine believing the fantasy that seemed so elusive at the time. A waitress arrived, and I ordered drinks. Hers was tequila, a double.
Yes, this was her first night. She was from Missouri. No, she didn't know a soul here yet. She liked Billie Holiday. She had a probation officer - something about a misunderstanding with an old boyfriend. Yes, she'd like another double. Sure, she'd love to go to my car for a buzz. She raved about my Toyota as though it was a Ferrari. We smoked most of the homegrown stashed recklessly under the front seat. We drank, she danced, and I struggled to stay in touch with reality until the club closed. I hated to see it end. But, as they say, all good things...
I made my way to the car, a little concerned about how I would make it home in my altered state. Laurie was waiting, leaning against the front edge of the hood, watching me with an evil grin. Her ride had gone without her, could I take her home? Now, I wasn't a strip club regular, but I was pretty sure this didn't happen often. Dancers just didn't go home with customers, right? Right.
She tossed the large canvas bag filled with her work gear into the back and I drove on auto-pilot, heart pounding like it might explode out of my chest.
"Show me the beach? It must be beautiful at night."
She seemed immune to the pot and tequila, still playing the sensuous siren against the playful tease with such unaffectedness that I doubt I could have refused her anything.
I parked the car just off the road, squeezing it into a break between two twenty-foot dunes. It must have been after 3:00 AM, but there was enough of a moon to make the white sand glow like new-fallen snow. The water sparkled in the distance as small waves quietly collapsed onto the beach, leaving the sand flat and slick after a slow retreat.
Laurie was so awed by the scene, one I had by then taken for granted, that she sat quietly and stared for a long time. Then, suddenly, she reached forward and brought the radio to life. Looking at me with her playful grin, she said two words that are etched into my memory to this day.
"Watch me."
Ten feet in front of my car, Laurie danced for me. I remember Billy Joel playing on the radio. I remember her perfect white breasts quivering just a little as she slowly pulled the t-shirt over her head. I remember how her hips wiggled a few times as the faded cut-offs she shed inched down her firm thighs, finally falling in a small dark heap in the sand. I remember her hands, busy between her spread legs, one in front, the other behind, and how her dark hair fell to cover her face as her fingers did a dance of their own.