Prologue – Birthday Suit
On the midnight of my twenty-first birthday, I am naked except for a pair of five-inch stilettos. I writhe and gyrate on a tiny stage in front of six smelly, leering men in a midtown Manhattan basement. The walls are mirrored. Through the mirrors’ film of smoke, grit and sweaty fingerprints I can see my expression – it is the portrait of complacency, and doesn’t betray a thing.
My body is in one place. My mind is in another. Briefly it dawns on me that I might very well remember this moment for the rest of my life. I consider the irony, and return to the act at hand.
I stop in front of one of the men, lick my lips, wiggle my hips and squat down, exposing myself. I tap my garter and force a suggestive smile. This is the signal for him to give me money. He isn’t cooperating. He’s sitting back against the wall as far as he can, pretending not to look at my face or between my legs.
“Come on, honey,” I call out, “Today’s my birthday.”
He doesn’t believe me – I can see it on his face. Why should he? We tell them lie after lie. We don’t even give them our real names.
So many of these men seem to reserve the same derision for us that they would set aside for the biblical whore. As if we have forced them somehow into the room and made them watch us – as if we are responsible for their guilty lust, and for their ambivalence.
“Let’s do it, babe,” I jeer. “Come on, you’re enjoying the show, aren’t ya?”
I hate nights like this one. Most often, the men are well versed in strip club etiquette, and they give us our stage money without too much trouble. But on some nights they hang back and wait for us to coax and wheedle. On these nights, I feel like a carnival exhibition. Like a shrill, desperate harpy calling a tune no one hears. Nights like these are humiliating.
The time crawls, and lends itself to morbid self-examination – where did I go wrong with my life, and how did I end up here? I’d probably be thinking about it even if it wasn’t my birthday. But it is, and I’m hyper-aware.
“Aw, come on,” I sigh. Too much of my own personality bleeds into my voice. I loathe myself – I’m losing control. I’m putting the mind behind the body onto the auction block. This is the biggest gaffe you can make. If you allow it to get personal, you’ll surrender yourself in the transaction every time.
He gets up out of his chair, and hands me a dollar. He is embarrassed. We both are. His embarrassment, however, comes across to me as contempt. Which he’s not trying hard enough to hide.
“Here you go. Happy birthday,” he says. His voice is oily. Jovial. It makes me want to kick him in the eye. He returns quickly to his seat.
I stuff his damp, dirty, crumpled dollar bill into my garter, and finish the set with my back to him, hugging the pole.
Tomorrow night I will celebrate with friends. I will be drunk and stoned before I meet them, we’ll visit several bars in the East Village, and they’ll be carrying me home before midnight.
In the First Avenue tunnel, I will lean my head out the window of the cab, vomit copiously, and then pass out. When our taxi arrives in front of my building, I will rise just long enough to start a fight with the cabbie that requires four people to hold me down. Afterwards, I will pass out again.
This is my life. Sometimes I can delude myself into believing that living this way frees me from the responsibilities of the straight world. In fact I’ll defend my lifestyle to the hilt, usually to those who have not asked for an explanation. I use the whip-smart, zealous logic of the seasoned hypocrite.
During my rare, uncomfortable moments of clarity, I tend to rely on chemical aid. I cram anything and everything that promises to alter my moods into my ninety-pound, rail-thin body. Sleep does not bring peace, but I crave it during every waking moment, and often yearn passively for death, though I’d settle for a death of the senses. I think that is what I’m trying to achieve. Onstage, I glance into the mirror, past the mask and the myth. I see myself all too clearly. Then I quickly look away.
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September 29th, 2008 at 10:27 pm
Hi Lauri,
I hope you are well. It is me your former neighbor, from Astoria. I saw your post on Craigslist, as I was looking for some possible gallery ads to send pictures of my paintings, when I came across your post and website.
Ryan and I live elsewhere in Queens, now, Maspeth actually. Joe had to sell the house. Margret and her degenerate family moved to Florida.
Anyway, I love your story, so far. I’ll send you pictures of the 10 paintings, I just had in a gallery in Soho, tommorow.
Bernadette Corcoran
October 28th, 2008 at 2:09 am
Hi Bernadette,
I read your Prologue – Birthday Suit here. It’s really well written….I also love to write although I havent written on such a subject ever.
So, Did u get to meet any other artists and writers for possible future collaboration? I’d love to be with u as an artist and/or writer…lemme know how to proceed further in this matter.
October 28th, 2008 at 7:58 am
Thanks Bernadette, in fact I have met some great people all over the web. I’m always open to collaborate. Let me know what you have in mind.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:16 pm
This is good stuff. I’m going to come back and keep reading. I like the confessional, memoir-style tone.
November 15th, 2008 at 7:44 am
Welcome, Beth. Glad you like it so far.
November 17th, 2008 at 12:19 pm
thanks for this – I look forward to the next page. I have known and “loved” strippers my entire life and always wondered what is behind that face in the mirror. I’m aware of the guilt and shame of men and voyeurs and have successfully broken those binds.
January 8th, 2009 at 10:29 pm
Hello Lauri
Having just read the prologue, I think you absolutely made the right decision in not making it lighter, or making your protagonist more “likeable.” Her nature, and how clearly she sees herself, are exactly what sold me on reading more. If I picked this up in a bookstore, this prologue would ensure that the book went home with me. Something more “chick lit,” by the current, hi-fructose definition, would be left on the shelf.
I may write more as I read further. I wish you much future sucess!
January 8th, 2009 at 10:29 pm
…er success…
January 28th, 2009 at 12:14 pm
Hi Lauri,
One of the members at webfictionguide.com recently submitted your story for inclusion in our listings. You can find the listing here:
http://webfictionguide.com/listings/servicing-the-pole/
Best regards!
Chris.
April 20th, 2009 at 2:59 pm
hi lauri,
your writing is really good. i especially love this line: ‘I use the whip-smart, zealous logic of the seasoned hypocrite.’ You have some real introspection and wisdom that comes across in your story.
have you ever checked out open salon.com? i just started posting my story there.
June 10th, 2009 at 7:15 pm
This is still as awesome as the time I first read it on Authonomy, what seems like a life-time ago.
June 25th, 2009 at 8:39 pm
Easily some of the best writing online. Amazed to see this level of detail (for free or for a fee). Keep up the good work, and thank you for opening my eyes to a new thing.
June 26th, 2009 at 1:26 pm
Thank you very much.
September 5th, 2009 at 4:55 pm
Hi Lauri, I can’t wait to read more of this book. I respect and admire your convictions regarding the publishing world.
December 31st, 2009 at 9:36 am
lauri, wow! Powerful & brilliantly written… Nice work. I finally had some time to sit back & catch up on some reading. Im a fan!!
Happiest of New Years!- Just got dumped with a foot of snow, makes the city so pure… call me when In NYC…love always Zoe xx