(In)Fidelity

Taking your wife or lady friend with you to the strip club when you know she isn’t physically or romantically attracted to women is mistake central. It’s trial by fire and your relationship is metaphorical kindling. Once, this white man who looks like a grownup version of TJ from Recess, baseball cap and all, who regularly frequents the club stopped in with one of his girlfriends. He’s in his late 40s, maybe early 50’s, and his gal looked to be about the same age, possibly older. “TJ” loves young petite blondes. They arrived together and spent hours sitting at the bar, splitting a water bottle of vodka with her staring into her drink while he leered at the dancers. At one point he’s gone off to chat up a dancer, and she’s left sitting by the bar looking miserable. I went over to talk to her, maybe commiserate, but she’s in a foul mood.

Me: How’s your night going?

Her: Shouldn’t you be working? Why don’t you just go make your money?

I drop any good will I’d had toward her and walk off. She goes and sits in another spot, and TJ finds her and asks if he can get a dance. She agrees. The man buys not one dance, but an hour room, and I watch him and the dancer walk upstairs together arm in arm. I wonder, is she going to wait for him, considering this excursion probably wasn’t her idea in the first place? For a while she sits, her eyes glued to her phone as if she’s trying to escape from the outside world. But after a while, she gets up and leaves.

It’s upsetting that dancers get the blame for this kind of thing, as if we have any interest in anyone’s husband or boyfriend. At least we won’t follow you home and demand you leave your family. A man with a family is ideal. He won’t blow up your phone or expect the same from you. He’s discreet, and doesn’t try to be your boyfriend. The married man is the perfect customer.

This past weekend I saw one of my favorite regulars. He’s a Taiwanese hoodrat dentist, who’s also kind of a cutie. I’ve seen him several times before. He lives in New York and pops by the club when he needs to check on one of his dental practices in the area. Once he showed me the pictures in his phone, and I swear 99% of them were teeth. I’d been trying to see if I could get my wisdom teeth taken out for a discount, but that never materialized. Anyway, I saw him sitting with two people, a man and a woman, so I went over to give him a hug.

Me: Aaron!

He looked sheepish and initially just offered his hand, but upon realizing I was going in for a hug, gave me an awkward side hug, no hip-against-hip contact.

Him: Hey girl.

The speaker above us was blaring, so I leaned in to speak into his ear.

Me: Is that your girlfriend?

Him: One of many 😉

I turned to address her because she was staring at me. She’s hot kinda like a dancer. She’s in her late 30’s, maybe 40, Asian, she’s gotten her nose, lips and breasts done. Her hair is bleached blonde and looks like it was professionally blown out.

Me: Hi! Are you Aaron’s lady?

Her: Oh! So you know each other. I am his wife!

She smiles a smile that left me frost bitten. I threw on my folksiest smile and southern twang, and made my escape.

Me: Great to meet ya ma’am! See y’all ‘round!

I continued my night, avoiding them until the DJ announces it’s time for showcase. During showcase, all the dancers are corralled into the dressing room and then paraded on stage in a line, almost like a runway show, or a sushi conveyor belt. When we exit stage we’re supposed to sell the twofer special. Now, normally this is completely uneventful and not worth talking about, but as I’m walking on stage, I see them on the right hand side. She is staring daggers in my direction and beside her, Aaron is looking down, trying his darnedest to float away. I walk off and pretend that I didn’t see what I saw. I go over to talk to this old papi who’d been trying to get my attention all night, but she’s followed me and pulls me aside.

Her: Can I buy a lap dance for me and my husband? He’s been watching you all night.

Me: Uh, sure.

In my mind I’m thinking, there is no way he wants this, but also I am definitely going to charge them double. I look over at Aaron, who is avoiding us by staring into his phone.

Her: C’mon, we’re getting a dance.

Him: Nah, I’m good.

Her: C’mon, I saw you looking at her all night. Let’s go for the dance.

Him: I’m fine, but you two can go together if you want the dance.

Her: Let’s go.

Him: You go! If that’s what you want!

I’m exchanging looks with the papi. He’d shooed me off to go dance with them, saying to come find him later. I’m standing there, not trying to sell this dance at all. Aaron looks at me apologetically. Finally, she turns to me.

Her: I’m so sorry, would you please excuse us?

I grab papi and we go for the twofer special. Afterwards I realize to pay we have to cross directly in front of their table. I avert eye contact and walk swiftly to avoid any interactions, but when I turn around, Aaron is waving at me to come over. I optimistically thought, since he wanted me to come over, maybe they had resolved things and wanted that dance. I was wrong.

Him: Tell her we’ve never gotten a single dance together.

I squinted at him. Was he trying to be legalistic with me? We hadn’t gotten a single dance, we had gotten a Skybox set. So technically, no we hadn’t gotten that single.

Me: What?

Him: Tell her we have never danced together. I haven’t gotten a single dance with you.

It is not my job to lie. I was speechless to have been dragged into this petty domestic spat.

Him: Tell her!

Me: Uh, we haven’t gotten any dances together.

I looked at her with the guiltiest expression, and in that instance I confirmed all her suspicions. He turned to her.

Him: Babe, I have not gotten any dances with her. I don’t even know her.

Then to me.

Him: She thinks I have your number and we’ve slept together.

Me: We have definitely not slept together.

But I did have his number and he definitely had mine. And he definitely had tried to convince me to come back with him to his hotel after the first time we met. It is so obvious that this is a fabrication, and at this point my face looks like I took a giant bite out of the sourest lemon. Aaron finally releases me.

Him: Thanks sweets. That’s all.

Her arms are crossed and she looks down at me the way she probably internally looks down upon me. I stand up and go over to vent to a regular I like about the situation. He’s a big, very muscular, dark black Frenchman and former male stripper. He shakes his head in a typical French way, no care for American dramatics around infidelity.

Me: They’re gone now. I feel like I just broke up a relationship.

Him: I can’t believe they dragged you into it.

Me: It was absurd.

Him: Don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Asian women are very loyal. When I was living in Japan, the women would call the men “butterflies,” because it was commonly accepted they would flit about from one mistress to another. The women however, always stayed loyal.

I didn’t know what kind of Asian she was, or if she might culturally subscribe to this simplistic theory. I felt like nothing had happened between Aaron and me to warrant such anger, but who am I to understand what cheating means from one relationship to another? For one couple, an errant thought of another could be cheating. For another, it’s not cheating so long as it happens in another state and nobody finds out. In the end, I realized I don’t care. Straight people in closed relationships have already set a precedent for bad decision making and it’s not my job to help them live up to their own unsustainable relationship standards.