Who Are You? – A lesson in “keepin’ it real”

I was an underage runaway in Santa Ana desperately in need of a job. A ‘kind’ man who owned a high class club ‘took pity’ on me and hired me to work for him (I later learned that he had hidden plans for me but that’s another story). When I arrived he gave me my ‘costume’.  A wig, brown with silver highlights, a lot of makeup, black velvet spiked heels and a skin tight black skirt like all the other hostesses wore. With my tiny waist and large breasts the overall effect was reminiscent of someone named Dolly. Add in my southern accent and that quickly became the pet name given me by the ‘regulars’. For the first few evenings the ‘ladies’ at work helped me transform from a mere 15 year old into a ‘grown’ woman who looked a little young for her age. They insisted on the blonde wig as a salute that other Dolly and were quite pleased with their efforts. I was relieved when I finally mastered the techniques of looking older and could manage it myself, I appreciatedthe “ladies” help but it could get a bit overwhelming at times.

I served drinks to, and occasionally played billiards or poker with, mostly middle aged business men who were generally very polite even when they made a pass at me. I figured I wasn’t really fooling anyone, I mean even with all that fluff I was pretty sure I still looked like a kid. A southern accent is for some reason, a treat to middle aged businessmen in California and many of the regulars would do just about anything to get me to talk to them. The atmosphere in the club was never low class or threatening and despite the fact that many of the ladies would leave with a gentlemen and everyone knew she was getting paid it still didn’t seem like actual prostitution. It seemed more like dating a guy who liked to give you things. I found it easy to justify what they did and even though I couldn’t bring myself to do it I didn’t hold it against them.

‘Steve’ came in several nights a week usually accompanied by one elderly businessman or another. I wasn’t allowed to work their table; they liked their scotch served by hostesses that were willing to leave when they did. My boss was cautious about me being involved in that side of the business, a fact that I was grateful for.  Still, over the course of time Steve began to talk to me when I was passing. Grabbing my arm and asking me to bring him things like a napkin, lime or something else equally silly and obviously unneeded. Some of the ladies in the back teased me about him being “sweet on me”.  The hostesses who often left with them told me he only came to the club to pick up “dates” for his clients and had never expressed an interest in any of the hostesses himself. They seemed to think I’d made some kind of conquest. I thought he must be a pervert who liked young women.

We started to play poker together whenever he had a client who liked to play and they needed a fourth person to round out the game. He always played well and after eliminating all the others in the game he would let me win. I didn’t mind, I needed the extra cash. I was a mediocre player who only won because I was playing against rather drunk, middle aged, businessmen who kept their eyes on my cleavage rather than their cards. I found myself liking him despite the still nagging suspicion as to his possible motives. He was sweet, funny and never got drunk. The last guy I dated was a drunk and I’d had quite enough of that.

He had a nice laugh, a sweet smile and managed to wear a suit and tie without looking stuffy in it. We found many things that we had in common which was strange given the vast difference in our age and social standing. I learned that he was a young lawyer in his dad’s firm; he was single and 30 years old. He seemed sweet and was very flirty. I had to remind myself often that he was way too old and way out of my league. He didn’t hide the fact that I was his favorite hostess at the club, asking loudly each evening when he came in “Is my Dolly going home with me tonight” to which I always answered “Not now not ever dirty old man” at which point he would look stricken and order up a drink to ‘drown’ his sorrows. It was pretty much harmless fun and it gave everyone in the place a good laugh.  He loved to tease the clients he brought in that he’d do their case for free if they could get me to go home with them.

So one morning when I found him waiting outside casually leaning against the hood of his car after we locked up I was only mildly surprised that he was waiting for me…….

                                           Possibly more later… we’ll see…

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