Strip City: A Stripper's Farewell Journey Across America Read Online Free PDF Page B

months postproposal and four months since I gave up my Manhattan life. Randy and I live in an old railroad flophouse. The entire building was moved off the original foundation, put on a flatbed, and trucked into town from its site by the tracks. The house is confused—it was designed and added upon so haphazardly we can't tell whether it was meant to be a miniature Victorian or Mission-style bungalow. Perfect for us.
    We sit on the living-room floor together as I make plans for my trip. With the atlas and a dog-eared copy of the Exotic Dancers Directory open before me, I'm trying to put together a workable itinerary. I don't want to dance totally nude, so Georgia is out of the question, along with Washington, D.C., Oregon, Montana, and Alaska (I will have to reconsider the "no nudity" rule for Alaska. God, I'd hate to have to skip it). I'm past the point where customer contact seems worth it, so I'll aim for places that don't get any more extreme than table dancing—which eliminates a large percentage of clubs. Thankfully the strip-related media has advanced to the point where I can look this stuff up in a guide, or consult Web sites, which list everything from club hours, to levels of physical contact and exposure, to directions from the nearest airport. I don't know how I would have planned this trip if I'd wanted to take it ten years ago.
    When I circle a club in the guide, Randy slides the book around to see what I've picked. "Why there?"
    The answer varies: I want to see that state. I've heard a lot about this club. I like the name.
    Randy focuses more intently on my list.
    I ruffle his freshly cropped hair. "Are you okay? Do you not want me to go?"
    "Of course I don't want you to go! But I understand why you feel like you have to. I can't stop you."
    "Would you try to stop me if you thought you'd succeed?"
    "No," he says, ruefully. "I trust you. I have to. I have to or I'll lose you."
    I know Randy well enough to tell the difference between his separation anxiety and his genuine despair. If I sensed that he truly objected to me going on this trip, I wouldn't. But then, if he were the type to object to such a thing, I doubt we'd have hooked up in the first place. We share a bone-deep understanding of each other's daredevil streak, and we both know that sometimes satisfaction must be wrested from risk. Between the rodeo, the kick-boxing, and the stripping, neither of us has ever had to ask the other, "Why?"
    But understanding doesn't ensure ease. Even though Randy would never stand between me and my aspirations, he worries what the pursuit might do to me, to us. And while I wouldn't sacrifice what I need to do just for his appeasement, sometimes I worry about losing him nonetheless. I close the atlas and push my notepad aside for a while.
    The road trip is traditionally the undertaking of those on the cusp, people who have nothing to lose. I myself have everything to lose; I need to take this trip and at the same time I need to make sure it's all still here when I get back—mate, house, career. After some negotiation with Randy, I decide it'd be best to break the journey down into brief jaunts, maybe ten days at the longest. A drive here, a round-trip flight there, spread out over the course of a year.
    Randy is the main reason why I'm being careful about this expedition, but he also helped confirm my decision to make it in the first place.
    I asked him once, "Why do you think guys go to strip clubs? Not the ones who go every once in a while, but the ones who are there day after day?"
    "Well, usually a guy gets all hung up on a certain dancer, and he thinks that if he comes in to see her often enough he might have a chance."
    "What do you mean, 'a chance'? A chance that she'll go out with him?"
    "Well, yeah!"
    "You are kidding! "
    His illumination, this insight that hope, of all things, is part of the engine that drives the strip club economy, really gave me pause: Man, if I didn't clue in to something as simple as