I took one look at her and thought, 'Snow White'. She had skin whiter than mine (though her sister was a dark as the average Mexicana) and a cap of curly black hair: dead ringer for the Disney Version. Except the costume was off. I mean almost totally off. She had a G-string, maybe I'd even call it G sharp, some six inch heels with teensy straps, and this guazy thing. I sat down and waved her over to my table--she looked upset and split. Go figure. I asked the waiter what was up and he smiled, 'It's her first night. I'll tell her you're buying her a drink.' I got her story--some urgent need for cash before Christmas, her sister had told her about El Caballito, she herself had suggested dancing here, her sister had doubled up laughing, then helped her pick some clothes. No buttons, no hooks, no friction. Easy on, easy off, breakaway if grabbed. And sexy, of course.
Drinking with me calmed her down a little, an older guy not panting for her (not on the outside, anyway) and watched the other dancers, picking up moves, asking my advice. I was about falling in love when her sister called her up to dance. She walked towards the stage then turned to me...I wished her luck.
Judged as a dancer, even as a naked dancer, she sucked. She had mentioned that she was worried because she never went dancing and didn't know how. She had that right. But with her body how bad could she do? She would do a few moves for awhile, then glance to her sister, who would pantomime another lick, laughing loudly.
Her sister, by the way, was the boldest dancer in the place. And let me point out that El Caballito is a pretty raunchy place. It's full of lower class Mexican men and even classlesser tourists, all baying for a touch of female flesh. The girls dance on garishly mislit runway to show off the goods, then are up for bids for table dances. Which are catch as catch can. The typical is to alternate some hootchie cootchie on the table top, glancing off the bolder hands stabbing up along thighs, maybe kicking a beer into the lap of the overly familiar. Then there's the lap segment, in which the dancer drops into a lap and does some gyrations, or straddles or...hell, you know. This can get pretty wild. It can also get crowded, you see a girl go down under as tossing sea of hands. The bouncers aren't interested in anything that isn't causing harm--the rules are, you can do whatever the girls allow, or whatever you can get away with. That's the scene Snow White was about to walk into, and the one her sister dominated like a puppet mistress.
Her sis took chances out there, flashing it right in faces, then flicking it away, spurning clinches like a matador, always twisting just out of reach of a hand, a hooking arm. I saw one guy just lose it and dive across a table trying to tackle her. She spun off it and kicked him off the table onto the floor. His mates went wild, so she jumped off onto his chair, then his chest, did a few grinds and was back on the table before anybody laid a glove on her. On the other hand, in a man's lap she was pretty clingy and definitely industrial strength erotic, even affectionate. Most fun a guy can have with his clothes on. One night she even gave me a nice kiss before sliding off me and back onto the table. At the end of the song, she steps through a broken field of grabbies onto the runway and vanishes. Until somebody ponies up the next $3.
I doubt Snow White will ever make into that league. She couldn't figure out to handle the table stuff, so she'd just plot in a guy's lap, pull his face into her bosom, and start doing a rocking horse winner. But first she had to get through her first dance. She handled what a lot of girls say is the tough part, stepping out of panties wearing big shoes. But she obviously had no gift for movement or rhythm, in spite of her sister's coaching.
What she didn't know was--and this is significant--that right over her head was a big television, which was showing a soccer game as she danced. She was looking at her sister, the other girls, reading the men's reactions, a new kid trying hard to do good. She did a little locomotion step her sister had telegraphed to her, and there was a quick titter (if you will) or excitement in the room. Finally, a clue. She kept doing the move, but it never worked as well. Mostly because the enthusiasm had been for a daring drive towards the Guadalajara goal on the screen above her head. So she looked at her sister, who suggested leaning over. Which, game to please, she did. And immediately the room erupted in angry boos and curses--largely due not to the sight of her, but a heinous foul on the on-screen striker. She jerked upright in a sort of panic and stepped back, wide-eyed. Well, no more of that stuff. She kept rigidly erect for the rest of the dance. So did I. Her sister was helpless with laughter, rolling on the stage--no hope from that quarter, so she toughed it out. I was busily writing an article in my head on the subliminal impact of media on performance arts. Actually, this is it.
As soon as she finished there was a hubbub of action for her--new kid in town. Beautiful, built, young, and naive--what could be better. So she stepped up on a table surrounded by totally drunk working class ruffians and started dancing. She was immediately waist deep in a sea of rough hands. They were all over her and it looked like she was sinking. I was feeling a little downcast myself. Then she looked up, to escape the reality of it, I think, and saw the soccer game. Light dawns over MarbleHead. She seemed to just sort of transcend, glanced down at the guys and just sort of drew herself up out of it, at the same time letting them have her. Sorry if you were expecting some movie rally, where she kicks them all in the face or jumps down and leaves.
They didn't treat her as bad as the next table, a bunch of American tourists who I immediately thought of as 'the Seven Dorks' and had me about on the point of going over and kicking butt. 'Hands off that maiden!' would I have said? 'She's mine to exploit!' perhaps? What? She lost a little something at that table, I think, and went to the next one ready to do her job, let guys handle her for money. I don't think she really had the picture before that. The next table she came to was mine. She brightened up a bit, asked me how she'd done. I told she was doing just fine. She just slid onto my lap, leaving me suddenly holding a tight, padded, white torso of a beautiful dancer in my arms, feeling beautiful breasts against me, looking right into the eyes of Snow White. She didn't even get on the table, just sat there and rocked up against me, alternating lying back against the table, her breasts tumbling before her, and wrapping her self around me, warm breath and sweet nipples right in my ears. Then the song was over. I told her she'd done just fine. She knocked me over with a smile and went over to do something disgusting with some other jerk. On the screen, a goal shot was narrowly deflected. The place went wild.