Whole III

Lucy reapplied her fuchsia lipstick as she elegantly crossed her legs, while anxiously waiting for a customer to call on her. It was still fairly early on that Saturday night, and she hoped she generated more business than she had the rest of the week.

The slow economy and the soaring gas prices seemed to be affecting her job as a dance hostess as well. The random ICE raids which were becoming more frequent, affected her job as well in a sense.
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Most of the men who patronized this establishment, and paid by the hour to dance with her and the other women, were mostly lonely immigrants. Most did not speak enough English so as to venture to a regular dance club, and simply ask a woman to dance and offer to buy her a drink.

To ameliorate their loneliness they came here every week. They paid for a little bit of human touch; they paid for the illusion that we were a loving couple dancing cheek to cheek, or those bold ones who groped for a feel of the curves their hands circumvented.

One had to be pragmatic. One had to let the wandering hands slide, for it meant securing a tip, and a repeat customer. One had to produce or get kicked out. The girls that did not meet a quota were laid off.
This place after all, was not a bad gig. Looking at the chipped nail polish on her big toe, Lucy reminisced that this was heaven compared to her first gig up North.
In Salinas, she had worked like a beast in the fields. She endured back breaking labor, the oppressing sun, and the abuse by the field managers. That was the worst. Just about ninety percent of the women were sexually accosted and even molested by the field managers.

It was disgusting, to endure the rancid odor of the bodies saturated in sweat and dust. It was a daily occurrence; it was a life of perpetual fear of whom he would pick on. One was tense and anxious, yet more afraid of going hungry, or the single mothers of not being able to feed their kids, or of being deported.

Lucy lowered her top to better display her wares. Yep, this job in this air conditioned hall, beat having to bend over for work, for men... for mere survival in squalid conditions.

Lucy stood up to circulate the room, with the intent to hustle for a customer. She seductively walked over to the bar where only soda pop was allowed to be served. There he was; she eyed Jose as he was buying a Coke. She zeroed in on her target and smiled sweetly, carefully camouflaging her bad teeth, and her despair.

That is how our love affair began. It was not love per say. He did not pay anymore to strange women to dance with him. He had me now, and together we made a whole of our American dream.


to be continued...