CW: Rape Pt. 2

I’d planned to work Friday after my meeting with Dino. Normally I would wear something I don’t mind ending up smelling like a strip club, because inevitably if I leave any object in the club for more than a few hours it ends up smelling like a combination of every perfume from Victoria’s Secret with a vague hint of body odor, but I’d decided to dress a bit more business like. I wore a green turtleneck and a skirt that went to my knees, paired with knee socks. I wanted to convey that I was cute enough for a Deja Vu poster, but covered up enough I couldn’t be asked if I might work a shift spur of the moment. I was worried it was going to be another disappointing situation where none of the managers communicate and I show up having to explain myself and present my social security card. Luckily, Dino was there, and after the manager gave him a ring, they led me upstairs. It was a pretty club with white opalescent couches, a glittery stage, and an overhead catwalk where dancers could slide down the poles onto the stage. On the flip side, it was empty— not even a DJ in the booth. It seemed like such a shame for such a pretty club to be empty.

I found Dino in his office, sitting at a desk looking into his computer screen. It was a luxurious office with a couple of couches, a wide screen TV across from a sprawling wooden desk, and a window that could have looked out to the street except that the curtains were drawn. I was very nervous. I wanted to talk to him about modeling, but in the interim between our first encounter and Friday, my mind had spun off to a million different possibilities. What if he wanted to teach me about the business of running a club? What if he agreed to mentor me? What if I could manage one of the clubs?

Him: Make yourself comfortable.

I took a seat on one of the sofas across from his desk. He was still at his computer. I crossed my legs at the knee, then reconsidered and decided to cross at the ankle.

Him: Did they show you around?

Me: No, but I peeked in on my way upstairs.

Him: What did you think?

Me: It’s really pretty. I love the catwalk.

Him: We redid all of it. Everything, refurbished. Did you walk around upstairs?

Me: Not really.

Him: We used to have our VIP rooms upstairs before we closed for renovation. The rooms all have couches and art work.

Me: That sounds nice.

Him: Don’t be so shy. Why don’t you come over here?

I obliged and stood beside him.

Him: Take off your clothes.

Me: I don’t feel comfortable. The door is open.

Him: I’ll close it.

I thought he wanted to see my body, like it was one of those nude modeling jobs where they needed to see what they were working with. My heart was beating rapidly. I took off my clothes and folded them in a neat pile and placed them on the couch where I had been sitting. I stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.

Him: Dance for me.

I started dancing in front of him. There was no music. I thought he wanted to see if I knew how to pose sexily.

Him: Come on baby, dance on me.

I danced on him and he started touching me. He put my nipples in his mouth. Before I knew what was happening, he had his penis out.

Me: Not without a condom!

It was the only thing I felt capable of speaking up about. He pulled a condom out of one of his filing cabinet drawers. I watched him put it on. He was finished in a few seconds.

I could hardly conceive of how I could walk out of his office utterly humiliated. I looked up at the security camera and imagined the management and bouncers watching us, looking at me like a worthless piece of nothing. I scrambled to get dressed.

Him: Here.

He pulled out $200 from his wallet. It was incredibly insulting. Now I felt not only tainted, but cheap.

Me: Give me a $1,000 at least.

Him: I don’t pay for sex.

I took the money. I hated it, I hated him, but I knew I would feel worse if I left with nothing.

Him: I hope you’ll come work here. It’s a good club.

I still had to get my car from the valet. I was hardly maintaining my composure, but if there’s anything years of emotional abuse has taught me, it’s how to appear normal after having the worst day of your life. I kept my eyes down all the way out of the club and drove to the other Deja Vu, where I was scheduled for a shift. I pulled into the parking garage and took a spot as far from anyone as possible. I needed a friend. I needed to talk to someone who could understand, who wouldn’t blame me or tell me something like, “Maybe it’s a sign you should change jobs.” I called my ex, because I knew she would understand. In that moment, I didn’t even have words to describe what had happened. I opened my mouth to talk, but I just cried. I was angry I was messing up my makeup. I was angry I was dealing with emotions right before a shift. I was angry that I had frozen up and done nothing. I was scared my partner would shame me, or leave me for cheating on him. Yet, I was determined to make it through as if nothing had happened. I could not have made it through that night if she hadn’t picked up the phone and listened to me.

I worked a whole shift that night and with the $200, I brought home $1,000 for the first time. It felt hollow. My partner was excited I had achieved my goal, but I hadn’t told him anything. I just wanted to relish his pride in me.

Rape is such a lonely experience. The moment is terrible, but the worst part is all the time after where you deal with it alone. I didn’t call it rape until I started therapy. I just labeled it “the incident” because I felt responsible. Why hadn’t I done anything? Why did I obey? Why didn’t I say “no”? My therapist told me that I had said “no” in a roundabout way. I had expressed I wasn’t comfortable getting naked with the door open. There was no moment where I expressed my consent. Complying isn’t the same as consent. She also noted that it was a situation with an obvious imbalance of power. As an employee, it’s my job to listen to and obey my boss. Here I was, doing as I was told. Women are conditioned to comply, keep quiet, and defer to authority. In coercive situations with significant power disparity, it’s easy to forget all that you’ve learned and go back to that latent socialization we’re endlessly conditioned to internalize.

I still blame myself. It’s humiliating to grapple with the fact that I didn’t defend myself. I’ll live with this trauma forever, but Dino will continue on without realizing how he hurt me. That’s how this shit works, isn’t it? I’m writing this story, even though it’s very painful, because maybe it will protect another girl. Maybe another girl will read it and maybe she can avoid my mistakes. The law won’t protect us, but maybe we can protect each other.