The Cooch Girl

I take a drag of my cigarette, then slowly exhale. The smoke hangs heavy in the still, dry air. After a quick scan of the headlines across the newspaper, I look out over the brown, shriveled corn fields surrounding the lot and wonder if this damn drought and economic depression will ever end so I can go back to a normal life. I wonder if I’d even know what normal is again.

 

“Cleo!” Bambi sticks her head out the back flap of the tent. “Get a move-on, girlie! Jimmy’s gettin’ antsy and wants us girls out on the bally.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her. “I’m coming.” After taking one last drag, I toss what’s left of my cigarette in the dirt and grind it out. I leave the paper on a table, then turn and slip into the tent. I pause long enough in the dressing area to check my make-up and costume.

 

I can hear Jimmy barking directions out front and I grimace. He’s always like this the first show after a set-up in a new town. It’s not like we don’t know the routine. I climb the steps to the inside stage and step through the curtains to the outside bally platform. It’s hot even with the sun beginning to sink beneath the horizon. Dust clings to the clear light bulbs strung high across the front of the platform.

 

“Ah, there you are, Cleo, darling,” he drawls and I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. He struts over to me and walks around me and arranges my skimpy, sequined belly dancing bra top over my ample breasts and chides, “Now, now, Cleo, you know better than showing off your gorgeous titties before the show.”

 

“Whatever, Jimmy,” I say and give a couple of hip tilts making the fringe on my skirt separate and expose my bare leg. “I thought you wanted to clean the midway.” I wink at Bambi over his shoulder and she giggles.

 

He shakes his head and then barks, “Alright ladies, to your places!”

 

There are six of us girls. We spread out on the platform. Bambi, in her short 1920's backless, beaded flapper dress and I in my skimpy Turkish belly dancer’s garb are in the middle, with Jimmy in his tuxedo between us at the microphone.

 

His voice, deep and resonating, booms over the midway and draws gawking rubes who start to gather in front of the bally. “Citizens of Goodwill, let me draw your attention to an array of lovely ladies whose mission it is today is to delight and amaze you with their many charms.” Jimmy turns and waves an arm in a gesture that encompasses us all and we dutifully smile and wiggle our bodies at the crowd.

 

I decide to break routine and start blowing kisses to the audience. I catch Jimmy’s eye and wink at him. He frowns at me but continues his spiel.

 

“Our sweet, little Bambi here will endear herself to you with her version of the Charleston, just wait until you see her swing!” Jimmy does a theatrical roll of his arm to introduce her. Bambi does an adorable little curtsey.

 

Then he walks up and down the line introducing all the girls and finally comes to me and says, 

“When our lovely Cleo performs inside our tent for you, you will be amazed and confounded at her ability to wiggle and shake!”

 

He turns to face the large crowd in front of the bally and booms in his mesmerizing deep voice, “That’s it girls. It’s show time! Take it back inside. Folks, buy your tickets here and over there, and follow the ladies to the tent. Go now!”

 

From the other side of the curtain, we can hear a scuffling of feet as the crowd shuffles toward the ticket sellers and we scramble to the vestibule that keeps us out of sight until it’s time for each of our acts. I’m last on the line up since Jimmy thinks I have the most enticing act and can generate the most interest in getting the crowd to pay for the blow-off acts.

 

Louise is first. Her stage name is Lotus Flower and I watch her through a crack in the curtains. She’s dressed as a Geisha girl and is swaying to an oriental tune. She slowly opens her kimono and the men start hooting and hollering. With a teasing look, she closes it and gets shouts of “NO!” and “Take it off, baby!” After a series of false starts, Louise sheds the kimono and is down to just a g-string and heels. While she does a shimmy and her breasts are bouncing all over the place, Jimmy pipes in with an insinuation there could be more to see in the after show blow-off.

 

In the middle of the third act, Jimmy breaks in to remind the crowd that touching the dancers is off limits and the next time someone tries, the show is over and there would be no refunds.

 

Bambi comes up beside me and peeks through the curtain.

 

“The rubes are a rowdy bunch tonight,” she says and I can hear the concern in her voice.

 

“Yeah,” I concur, “but you can bet Jimmy and the boys are on top of it. You know how protective he is of us.

Bambi wraps her arms around my waist and rests her chin on my shoulder. She whispers, “Maybe so, but I don’t think I want to turn any tricks with this crowd. I’m not even sure I want to do the blow-off.”

 

I secretly agree with her, but money is money and I want to make as much as I can while I can.

 

“That’s up to you, honey,” I tell her, “but you better square it with Jimmy before he makes appointments for you.”

 

I cast my gaze over the crowd. Dozens of thin, dried-up farmers dressed in dirty shirts and overalls crowd around the stage gawking at semi-nude women. Their faces are like weather worn leather--- parched and cracked. Only their eyes dance with an excitement I doubt they’ve felt in long, long time, living as they do, in this withered, god-forsaken place in Oklahoma.

 

The record player starts playing the Charleston. “Sugar,” I tell Bambi, “you’re up.” I turn and give her a hug and a gentle shove towards the stage entrance. “It’ll be fine.” To myself, I say, I hope.

 

Jimmy’s baritone introduces Bambi and she skips onto the stage smiling. Her routine is exaggerated and she flounces over the stage with wide kicks and bouncing breasts. When she unfastens her dress and tosses it aside, the crowd roars in approval. Then she squats and does that knee wagging, hands crossing Charleston thing. The crowd pushes closer to the stage.

 

The natives are restless. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I can tell Jimmy senses it too because I see him signal to a couple of the boys---big, muscular men who keep things orderly---and they move in front of the stage with their baseball bats at the ready. This crowd could turn ugly and I have yet to do my act.

 

I’m waiting at the side of the stage when Bambi comes scurrying off. She’s wide-eyed and pale. “Oh, shit,” she gasps. “I thought they were going to rush the stage, Cleo.” Her voice quivers.

 

I give her a hug and say, “But they didn’t, did they? Jimmy’s on top of it, like always.”

 

I let go of her and step toward the stage. She grabs my arm and looks at me with a desperate, wild look in her eyes. “Don’t,” she says, “don’t go out there.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her and gently remove her hand. She’s left red marks on my forearm.

 

Just when I expect Jimmy to announce my act, I hear him talking to crowd.

 

“Now, gentlemen,” he says, “I’m going to have ask you to step back from the stage. Our little Cleo doesn’t like to be crowded while she performs and I know you want to see her wiggle and shake her exquisite feminine form for you.”

 

I peek through the curtain and see him striding back and forth across the stage. He’s puffed up and looks downright menacing even as he smiles at the men. They’ve backed away from the stage. The boys and their bats have room to keep them at bay.

 

Jimmy continues to talk and the tension in the air dissipates then he cues the music. I smile. Good ol’ Jimmy, he’s giving the masses a breather to calm down.

 

“And now,” he booms, “heeeeere’s Cleo!”

 

I enter the stage on my tip toes and begin to belly dance in time with the music. The farmers start clapping and whistling. My hips shimmy and vibrate as I snake my arms across my chest, then up and down and out to the sides. I turn around and do hip drops—swinging my hips back and forth in rapid succession. Shouts of “Oh yeah!” and “Shake that ass, sweetheart!” ring out from the crowd. My abdomen undulates as I tiptoe forwards and backwards on the st

age. I do hip thrusts as I unfasten my bra top and then do shoulder dips after my breasts are freed. There are more wolf whistles and guffaws. When I turn around and shimmy my hips someone yells, “Oh fuck, I want a piece of that ass!” For a few more minutes I jiggle and wiggle all the while keeping a close watch on the cheering crowd. They’ve inched closer. When the music ends, I give the audience a wave and a smile and run back behind the curtain.

 

Jimmy is giving the after show spiel for the blow-off. “As I mentioned earlier, gentlemen, some of the ladies have an encore but as it isn’t part of the regular show, there’s an additional charge if you’re prepared to indulge yourselves.”

 

There are some loud complaints, and then Jimmy says, “I know, I know. I completely understand, but you kind gentlemen must agree, these ladies are certainly worth the price. It’s a mere dollar for the sight of a lifetime!”

 

Bambi comes over to me with a wide-eyed look of surprise on her face. I smile and nod. “See, I told you Jimmy’s looking out for us.” I hide my own surprise. Jimmy has doubled the usual ding fee. 

“He’s thinning the crowd out, because he knows most won’t pay that much,” I tell her.

 

“I’ve got to get ready,” I say and start back toward the dressing area, then pause and look back at her. 

“You don’t have to, you know. Jimmy will understand. Especially with this crowd.”

 

She nods, but I have no idea what she’d decided as I hurry off.

 

By the time I get back to the stage area, wearing a short, see-through wrap, the boys have collected the ding money and cleared the non-payers out of the tent. Three of the other girls are also dressed like I am. Bambi isn’t. I peek out front. The crowd has been reduced to about a quarter as many.

 

When Jimmy asks, “Who’s working after the show?” I turn around and say,”I am.” Three of the other girls also confirm they are, but Bambi isn’t one of them. I don’t blame her.

 

“Okay,” he says. “We’re going to do the blow a little different tonight. I don’t want you all out there at once. Improvise your routines. Utilize the snorting pole. Tease the bastards, but stay away from the edge. Louise, you’re up. I’ll cue you when to come in and when you’re done.”

 

He walks out to the front and cues the music and then Louise. I don’t watch.

 

The sounds of the midway filter through the tent and I can hear the sounds of the carnival: the organ music of the carousel; the squeals of children; the call of talkers; laughter. It occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time I actually laughed with sheer amusement.

 

“For our finale, I present to you, Cleoooooo!” Jimmy introduces me and I shake off my reverie and run out onto the stage. I flutter my wrap and let the audience see I’m butt naked under it. They clap and hoot. I do some acrobatics, cartwheels, splits, showing the men what they paid extra to see: my cooch in all it’s bushy glory. I do high kicks holding on to the snorting pole. My grand finale, though, is when I lay on my back, spread my legs and raise my hips directly in front of the audience. I wait and then squeeze my pelvic muscles and shoot a ping pong ball at the stunned men. I leap to my feet and dash off stage.

 

There is a hush, and then I hear: “Holy shit.” “How’s that even possible?” “Fuck.”

 

I’m in the dressing area sittin at a vanity and touching up my make up when Jimmy comes in. He puts his hand on my shoulder and meets my eyes in the mirror.

 

“Some show,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Still meeting his eyes in the mirror, I ask, “So, how many you have lined up for me?”

 

“Six.”

 

I nod.

 

“I want Bull outside your tent. Just in case.”

 

“Fine.” I start to apply red lipstick.

 

“Cleo,” he says, but I interrupt him. “I know, Jimmy. I know.”

 

The cooch tent is in the livin’ lot, at the back of the carnival. Inside, there are six cubicles with a cot in them and a curtain across the makeshift doorways.

 

In front is a group of men milling around. They know why each of them are there for...waiting for their turn to fuck someone. They are antsy, and I assume most are already hard. I wonder how many of them have wives and family waiting for them somewhere on the midway, with no idea what their husbands and fathers are going to do.

 

The other girls and I slip in the back way, unobserved while Jimmy and Bull, the biggest and brawniest of the boys, go to the front. Jimmy sorts out who’s going to which girl and escorts them inside. It’s not long before the sounds of grunts and exaggerated moans can be heard and one by one, men leave in a hurry with their hats pull low over their faces.

 

The last man I see is a scrawny, ugly one with three missing front teeth and pig-like eyes.

 

I hand him a condom and he gives me an odd look.

 

“I ain’t wearing no rubber to fuck a whore,” he says.

I look at him and shrug. “It makes no mind to me if you fuck me or not. You’ve already paid. But you aren’t fucking me without one.

He spits on the ground. “I done tol’ you. I ain’t gonna do it.”

 

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll just call Bull in here, and he’ll toss your ass out like the trash you are.” I smile, but I don’t feel it reach my eyes.

 

His eyes narrow and he swears a string of vulgarities that in my other life would have made me blush. 

Now, I just look at him and wait.

 

“You fuckin’ bitch.” He slides his overall straps off his shoulders and fumbles putting the condom on a penis that is as scrawny as he is.

 

While he grunts and pokes me with his pencil dick and I pretend to enjoy it, an unexpected tear trickles down my cheek and I wonder when this became normal.

© October 2, 2012 All Rights Reserved