Strip Your Way to Stardom

One day I would thank him. Those were his exact words.

Stripper Pimp never used the word stripper. He preferred the lovely euphemism, "dancer." If I wanted to accelerate my path to Hollywood stardom, "dancing" was my best option.

His arguments sounded plausible:

1. I'd make over $1,000 a week, "more than a doctor." OK, the doctor part sounded stupid to me even then; surely doctors made more than $52,000 a year. But since I was perpetually down to my last $20, and I absolutely, positively didn't want to work another sucky secretarial temp job, $52,000 sounded like Lotto.
   
   
2. If I wanted to proceed quickly through this business, I needed money. Money for pictures, money for mailings, money for wardrobe, money for demos, money for the gatherings where the important people were. Not to mention, money for moving out of my great aunt's house. Money for a hamburger. Money for a long-overdue oil change.
   
   
3. I'd be a much better performer because of it. He was very reassuring on this point. If I could stand alone on the stage (butt naked) and command the attention of an entire room, it would forever change the way I walked into a casting director's office or sang onstage. Stripping – no, make that "dancing" – would be the ultimate confidence booster.
   
   
4. I'd look better than I ever looked in my life, and men would love me for it. I had recently starved my size 10 frame down to a size 6. But in size 2 Hollywood, I thought I needed to lose 10 more pounds. Dancing was all the exercise I'd ever need, Stripper Pimp purred.

There was only one drawback, really. I'd have to deal with the "psychological" aspect, and as my manager and presumed friend, he'd be there for me.

It all sounded like ... horseshit. But a part of me believed it.

Because ultimately, Stripper Pimp was vocalizing what I deeply and secretly believed about my place in the world as a young women – as this word-for-word excerpt from my diary reveals.

Part of me is relieved. I have been so embarrassed and so ashamed and so secretive about being a nympho and a freak and a slut and an exhibitionist. If I can use that shameful part of me to my advantage, then it will be a tremendous relief!!!!

And the other thing is, women aren't rewarded for being smart and for being good. They're rewarded for being sexy and loose. Maybe it's time I got some rewards. Maybe it's time I started profiting from my pussy. Monetarily and professionally. Because I don't want to work a 9 to 5. I really, really, truly don't. Maybe I'll become a call girl. And get AIDS and die.

So even though the first words out of my mouth were no, Stripper Pimp and I both knew that it was just a matter of time before I said yes.

(Stripper/Casting Couch Diaries Part 5 of 17: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17)
(Stripper/Casting Couch Lessons Learned 1-2: 1 2)

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