Memoirs of a Cipher | Africa | Art | Music | Poetry | True Stories

The club was in the heart of Coral Gables, sequestered in an industrial park that catered largely to a Hispanic clientele. Because of the club’s anonymity and remote location, it attracted many locals, and later in the evening, after a night of South Beach partying, just as many high profile basketball, baseball and football players would file in with entourages and the occasional adventuresome wives or girlfriends.  For them it was another playground, a respite from the daily grind, groupies and paparazzi who all sought a piece of them.

The club’s disc jockey was a muscle bound, long haired, blond WASP northeastern transplant who came to Miami to pursue his undergrad degree in music from the University of Miami.  He had earned both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees, but saddled with loans and working on his post-doctoral, he supplemented his income by working here.  His steroid ripped body belied the depth of his intellect, but like her, he was an anthropomorphic conundrum wrapped in a prosaic package.

He drove a bright red Lamborghini which he parked nightly under the portcullis of the club. The tiny parking lot was sandwiched between a body shop and a private jet interiors manufacturer; and looked like the inside of a sardine tin, with high-end vehicles parked barely a hair’s breadth apart.

She arrived with club’s unaffiliated chauffeur, as she did most nights, and though it was not yet 8 o’clock, she was pleased to see the lot full.  Augusto, a Cuban, was an enterprising retired dock worker in his mid to late sixties. His rough visage was pock-marked and cratered and his skin bore an unhealthy grayish tinge of nicotine suffusion from too many years of smoking filter-less, hand rolled cigarettes.  His dark, squinty eyes peered lasciviously through thick, plastic rimmed glasses, and his breath always stank of mint engaged in a loosing battle with the odors of a committed alcoholic.

Augusto often wore sleeveless tee-shirts, a slick polyester windbreaker, and most visually disturbing, 70’s retro basketball shorts that hug thick thighs snapped to hairy atrophied calves, gartered at the knees with sock suspenders. As an ostensibly benign, old man providing a discounted transportation service to the girls, he was able to satiate his predilections for the youngest, most nubile innocents.   In addition to picking up and delivering girls to the club, he was a procurer of any vice, from drugs, to sex, to stolen merchandise.

Unattractive in the extreme, the moniker of chauffeur was bestowed upon him by the women and girls who employed his services.  No one knew quite how he got started, but his plied his trade through word of mouth.  For a nominal fee plus tip, the total often much less than the cost of a conventional taxi; one could catch a ride with several other girls, at the beginning and end of each shift.  For the young and inexperienced, who made barely enough each night to cover the house, Augusto often negotiated alternate payment methods.  He was egalitarian in his perverted pursuits, and would take payment from ugly, pretty, lesbian, straight, drunk or sober women.

Having come into the industry much older, hardened by life and its vicissitudes, she was immune to his wily ways and he knew it.  Abusers and users can sense weakness, and are equally adept at recognizing those who recognize them.  So, he was cordial and perfunctory when he picked her up from her South Beach apartment in his beige 1995 Jeep Cherokee. As they arrived in Coral Gables, the sun was setting over Coconut Grove and Biscayne Bay to the West.  The lunch crowd, normally quiet, broke and stingy, had long since departed to houses and cars in need of repair, not to mention wives and children in search of attention.

She exited the truck and reached into the seat behind to grab her duffel bag and makeup case.  An off duty police officer moonlighting to make ends meet, smiled and held open one of a set of double doors to allow her to enter. He was hustling like everyone else in Miami, surreptitiously working to perpetrate the illusion of affluence in respectable society. He was clothed in civilian shirt and jeans, but clipped his badge to his pants pocket, and carried a gun in a black shoulder strap across his broad chest.  His presence served both as a deterrent and reassurance to the patrons and girls.

As she passed the cloak room on her right, she noticed the confined neon lit space was empty except for a cash register.  She pushed through another set of double doors, which were covered in thick, burgundy leather which were intended to be classy while serving to dampen the loud music that blasted within.  As usual, it took a moment for her nose to adjust the odoriferous effluence of slightly dank, moldy smell of a carpet soaked with any number of alcoholic beverages, variants of tobacco smoke, and loads of cheap cologne and perfume.

To her right was a raised area enclosed by brass railings.  Inside this area, ringing the walls, were burgundy leather sofa benches bolted to the wall, with mirrors running from the heads to the ceiling all around.  Adorning each of these panes was a string of elaborately designed neon lights which cast an anemic glow. Positioned irregularly about, were round mahogany bar tables, chairs on casters, and cheap, beveled red and orange candle holders providing additional dull illumination.

In front of her was a stage that had two walkways, with a brass pole in the center of each.  Brass guard rails lined the stage to prevent falling, and floor to ceiling mirrors lined the back wall reflecting a centrally 35 foot bar from which the bartenders in its center served patrons seated around the outer perimeter. One of the most unique features of the venue was a 1500 gallon coral reef aquarium balanced on a steel reinforced frame above the heads of the bartenders.  It was amazing and quite surreal in both its size and capacity.  Inside vibrant blue, pink, yellow and orange coral reefs complimented other exotic flora that played host to a variety of salt water marine life, including baby sharks and stingrays which swam hypnotically through crystal clear water lit by overhead lights.

The set-up provided patrons with the maximum visual stimulus, so they could imbibe while looking at the fish above or swivel around to watch the stage.  Patrons were treated to stage shows which ran every fifteen minutes each approximately ten minutes long. Usually the first performance consisted of a single performer, who upon the completion of the song, would be joined by another performer for a second song before exiting the stage through the DJ booth.  When it was slow, usually between shifts, it was not uncommon for a single performer to entertain for two songs, with brief instrumental intermissions.

Passing through this main area, she approached the rear of the club, where to her left hung a velvet rope stretched between two poles that barred entrance to a glass partitioned VIP room.  This was usually where the high-rollers, entertainers and sports figures chose to spend their time because of the sequestration it provided them.  Because of the high cost associated with utilizing this area of the establishment, only the rich celebrities or criminals could afford to reserve and use the room.

Through a green painted metal swinging door with a round glass portal, lay the kitchen.  Patrons could order typical Cuban food such as Yucca con mojo, which is made with mojito: olive oil, lemon juice, sliced raw onions and garlic, Cuban sandwiches, Papitas Fritas  (French Fries), Arroz con Pollo (Rice and Chicken), Black Bean, Corn and Tomato Salsa, Ropa Vieja (Shredded Flank Steak in a tomato sauce base), Chicken Fingers, and Flan with a Cafecito, to name a few.

The girls had to pass through the kitchen to reach the back stairs which led up to the second floor offices and dressing room.  Once inside the room, she greeted, in Spanish, “mommy” as the house mother was called.  As usual she was seated before a small black and white analog TV, to which a metal hangar was attached to improve reception.  As usual she was watching Telemundo, which featured her favorite soap operas and variety shows.  Tonight, she was enrapted in a variety show featuring Celia Cruz, also known as the Queen of Salsa; she was one of the most beloved Cuban entertainers.

One of the few non-Latinas to work in the club, her basic knowledge of Spanish was honed, polished and dialected with Cuban aphorisms.  She listened to and comprehended the rapid conversations of the girls around her as she removed her street clothes.  Then she donned a floor length black Lycra dress, cut low, and held together by a simple brass ring set just above her solar plexus. A thigh length slit open to one side provided a discreet, but tantalizing glimpse of bare accentuated calves.  The impossible arch of her six inch Plexiglas shoes plus the three inch platform gave her the illusion of height; and elongated her legs to goddess proportions. At five foot seven, in heels she became an amazon, accustomed to towering over the short statured men in the smoke filled lounge.

After one final check, she repacked her things and descended the stairs and retraced her steps back onto the main floor.  In the darkness of the area adjacent to the kitchen, she quietly but efficiently surveyed the room as she mentally prepared to engage for the evening.  As she looked around the room she noticed the usual assortment of low level criminals, body guards, Mafia minions, recent parolees, drug dealers and users, undercover cops, spoiled rich kids, psychotics, misogynist, serial rapist, preachers, elementary school teachers, alcoholics, barely legal boys, businessmen and fathers.  Sprinkled here and there were some women, including one of her most ardent admirers, an androgynous looking female who went by the name Chris.

They all had one thing in common, individuals in search of relief from the harsh realities of the world of life. From the moment they paid their entrance fee and blurred the edges of reality with the two-drink minimum, they were transformed into potentates.

To be continued……….