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Thursday, November 29, 2007
WATCHING SISYPHUS
Chaoter Ten
Chapter 10
The Beginning of the End
By the time Domini left The School of the Madeleine, she was an honor student. Taking no chances on her education, Barbara – through her parents – paid for her to continue in Catholic school at St. Mary’s, where she was given a partial scholarship by the school. This year, she would run for class President.
As they had in the past, Barbara’s parents took a back seat in the rearing of Domini. At some level, they recognized that to take control – which was second nature to Mr. Cormier – was to put another coffin nail in Tisa’s recovery. They still enjoyed their granddaughter and Barbara made certain to keep them in the loop with visits and art shows and school play invitations, but they were largely out of the picture. While this placed the burden of Domini’s future primarily on Barbara’s shoulders, they all agreed that it was probably best for Tisa not to feel that her father had taken up the reigns in getting Domini through this part of her life.
Domini’s mother was now living with a man named Doug, who seemed nice enough, for once --- more than nice. They had a tiny apartment on Alcatraz Street in Berkeley which was clean and well-kept. Doug didn’t drink to excess and he didn’t appear to be a bad influence on her. In fact, Doug had gotten Tisa to agree to start classes at Berkeley City College. There was a pharmacy assistant program at the school and companies like Walgreen’s and Target were hiring. The job had great health benefits and long term potential. Doug was focused on the long term. And Doug was focused on Tisa.
Tisa had met Doug at the Gold while she was cocktailing . . . The second time around. (Tisa’s first stint at the Gold had been cut short: Tisa had dropped some weight and had made it onto the stage, but had been terminated by TC – true to his admonishment – after he found out she was using hard, and more importantly, couldn’t control it. After a brief stint back at The Center, TC had let her back on the cocktail floor, where she had done well for the strippers, but told her never to ask her again to work the runway. “Face it, honey, you’re gettin’ a little long in the tooth for shaking your no-money-maker,” he told her. A cocktail position was all he was willing to give her).
Domini, now 15, was old enough to understand that her mother’s problems were not generally the result of someone else trying to sabotage her, but rather her own inability to pull herself out of her predicament. She also understood that the occasional sleepovers she had with her mother, and the weekly “family” dinners with her mother and Aunt Barbara were as close to a normal family life as she would get with her mom. For better or worse, her dependence on a mother that fit the mold was waning with her age and her social obligations.
In the years she had spent bouncing around, Domini mostly made her peace with her life. But recently, with Doug in the picture, she had begun to feel hopeful about her mother. In the past, those feelings of hope were always short-lived, because Tisa found herself back in rehab or worse, flitting from boyfriend to boyfriend, either staying clean as a dry drunk, or using again, Domini felt that Doug’s presence was the light at the end of a tunnel she’d been waiting a long time to find.
To the extent that anything can be normalized, over the years, Domini had grown accustomed to visiting her mother at The Christian Hand Recovery Center, where Tisa seemed to call home more than any other location. In fact, Domini discovered she was born there during one of her recent visits. Her mother seemed comfortable there and the staff liked Domini, which made Domini feel good about visiting. She even liked some of the old timers there, like Larry, Tisa’s friend, who had taken to calling Domini directly to check on her progress from time to time, and, when her mother wasn’t living at the Center, to check on Tisa’s progress, too. She and Larry could and did talk, even with Barbara’s and Tisa’s blessing. Larry helped Domini understand her mother in ways that no one seemed to be able to do.
Like Domini, Larry had never given up on Tisa. Domini could tell he loved Tisa in his own way, and Larry understood Domini’s love for her mother – no one else seemed to. When Domini did get frustrated, because Tisa lashed out at her, calling her a suck-up or a white girl, or accusing Domini of some sort of betrayal, Larry smoothed out the edges.
“She don’t mean nothin’ by it, Domini,” he would tell her. “That’s her way of telling you she’s sorry she didn’t have a bigger hand in raising you is all.”
“Do you think I’m the reason she keeps backsliding, Larry?” Domini carried with her a fear and some guilt, often perpetuated by Tisa herself, that Tisa’s life would have been different, and decidedly better, if Domini had not been born. Such fear gave rise to a feeling of responsibility for her mother now and in the future. All of Domini’s dreams for herself included a home for her mother, where Tisa would not have to worry about being cared for, and where all her needs would be met. She hated the feeling that she might be responsible for the way Tisa’s life continued to go awry.
“Domini, if anything, you’re the reason she doesn’t backslide more. Tisa loves you and wants to do right by you, but when she gets upset, well, you’re an easy target is all. And she gets upset a lot, because she’s frustrated with her own life and how it’s turning out.”
“I just wish she’d get better. Then we could live together and be a family,” said Domini, holding on to the fantasy. “Do you think she’s better now? Now that she’s living with Doug?”
“Well, only Tisa knows that, Domini. Alls I know is she’ll figure it out one of these days. On her own time frame. We all do, you know. I’m only afraid she ain’t gonna get any really special time with you before you’re off doing your own thing, going to college and all that. And well -- ” his voice trailed off.
“Well what?”
“Well, Domini, this might be a bit hard for you to hear, but I ‘spect someone should say it so here I go.” He took a deep breath and started.
“Well, if you’re right about this Doug character, that he’s giving Tisa what she needs right now, you might have to get more accustomed to sharing the spotlight with Tisa’s affections.”
“What do you mean? Mom’s had plenty of boyfriends before,” said Domini.
“Well, like I say, this one is a little bit different, see. Now that she’s staying clean and she’s been with him for awhile – a long time for her – I think it could be she’ll want to try to hang on to that. So maybe you shouldn’t count on your mother, you know, spending more time with you as things get better. If she thinks Doug is the only man to bring her through this, well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Mom has always put me first,” said Domini. “You’re the one who always tells me that.”
“Well, yes, it’s true that she has, but you know, you’re all grown now, child. She don’t need to watch out for you and you don’t need her to. You’re an honor student; and honor student now. You’re on your way. Of course she’s gonna always put you first, but, well, it might be Tisa’s time now, to work on a relationship that will last. Just don’t get discouraged is all, if she don’t pay you no mind.”
Domini was grateful for Larry’s perspective, even if she didn’t always agree with it. His promises weren’t empty and his words weren’t hollow. He helped her find her place in the family and in the world. Barbara would never openly criticize Tisa and Tisa tended to sugar coat her problems to Domini. Larry did his best to tell it like it was. “I’m too old to lie,” he would say. “Besides, it didn’t get me anywhere.”
“Do you think granddad was a bad father?” Domini asked him during one of their heart-to-hearts. Domini spent a good deal of time trying to reconcile the cognitive dissonance she experienced when she was around her grandfather. Mr. Cormier loved Domini as any grandfather loves his grandchild. When she was little, he was patient and kind. As she had gotten older, he was always calling to check in. She loved him greatly, but she knew from Tisa’s stories that he had been a terrible father to her, at least from Tisa’s perspective. Had he changed all that much from the days when Tisa was staying with him? Or was Tisa simply prone to hyperbole, like when she promised Domini a pony, or the myriad other things that Tisa had promised over the years.
“I ain’t never met your granddad,” said Larry in their phone call. “So I can’t say if he was a bad daddy. I don’t think so, though. He just didn’t know how to handle someone as sensitive as his oldest daughter. You know, there’s some of us out there more sensitive than others of us.”
“Mom? Sensitive? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” said Domini, somewhat surprised that he would use that term to describe her mother.
“That’s exactly what she is. She’s shy and she’s always been afraid of the world. She wears her feelings on her sleeve, which is why she is so quick to pounce on others. She’s like a porcupine who doesn’t have much bite – she just wants people to leave her alone. Oh, she can sting alright, but your mama don’t have enough power in this world to really take somebody out. That’s the problem. If she could just get herself a little power, she’d be all right. Nah, she’s a porcupine, not a panther.
“The world is a painful place to her. It’s the reason she needs something to escape with – some pain pills or uppers or what not. The strength of this here cocktail of life for some of us is too strong to take sometimes without a little ice.”
“What can I do to make things better,” she asked.
“You can be yourself, little Domini,” said Larry. “You’re just as sweet as you were the day you were born, and that’s all you can be.” Then, he added, “You know, lotta people don’t realize that your mama had a lot of chances to let you go. She was told to put your up for adoption more than once. Then, when your daddy left years ago, she coulda put you up, but she held on to you and cared for you right here in this Center. This ain’t no easy place to raise a child, but she hung in there.”
Domini smiled to hear how selfless her mother was; it was rare that anyone saw what Domini saw. Larry continued. “You know what the first thing she talks about when she’s here is? You! She’s loves her some Domini. You are her heart, girl. Without you, she says, her life would not be worth living.”
Once, when Larry and Domini were having a weekly phone call, he asked her, “Do you know why she named you Domini? Because you were her savior. Now if that ain’t reason enough to love your mama, I don’t know what is.”
Domini was glad Larry saw what others could not. Larry saw what Domini wanted desperately to believe and did believe. It helped her get through the rough patches. She just wanted to have a normal family, like the families her friends came from. They had a mother and a father. They had siblings. They didn’t live with their aunts. If there was some hope that she could have that in her life, she wanted to make it happen.
Sometimes Domini made it happen in her mind, a trick she’d learned when she was little that had not faded with time. She tried desperately to remake bad holidays – where Tisa had been too stoned to show up -- into good ones. She tried to reinterpret her mother’s phrases in a way that would portray Tisa in the best light. She wanted to have a parent who was there for her.
“You got a funny sense of what’s normal, Domini,” said Larry, when she confided in him that she wanted her family to be more like the girls with whom she went to school. “What counts about a family ain’t that they look good on a Christmas card; what counts is that they do right by each other. Plenty of families out there look normal, but there’s bad mojo in their family. Look at your Aunt Barbara. Who could ask for someone better than her?”
It was Barbara who got up early every morning to make Domini’s breakfast and lunch. It was Barbara who took her vacations during Domini’s school breaks so that she could take Domini to museums and plays. Barbara was the “parent” who showed up at Generations Day at school. It was Barbara who went to the school plays; who baked the cookies for the fundraisers; who washed Domini’s track uniform and picked her up from special study events. The daily grind was Barbara’s to endure. She did it without thanks and without any perceived bitterness toward her sister. Of Barbara Larry said, “she’s a saint, pure and simple. That don’t mean your mama is any less of a person. They got different qualities, see. Barbara, she’s steady, like a rock. Your mama, she’s a free spirit. She’s gonna go out big.”
Larry had a way of describing people that cut through to their essence, and Domini looked forward to speaking with him because he managed to relieve some of Domini’s psychic struggle with the way things were with Tisa. His way of telling the truth seemed to resonate with Domini. Most importantly, Larry could tell the truth without demonizing her mother.
Larry described Tisa to Domini as an orchid: fragile, fickle, and under perfect conditions, breathtakingly beautiful in a way that could touch your soul. An orchid like Tisa was never built to take the weight of the world weather-beating her. But the world recognizes only Darwin’s theories, and orchids rarely thrive sitting on the back porch of someone’s house or growing wild in some vacant lot. Orchids had to be protected, tended to, cared for, talked to, loved, and understood by their caretakers to need more attention than the other plants in the garden. No one would ask an orchid to be an oak tree, Larry said, but that was exactly what people were trying to do with Tisa.
Barbara, Larry said, was a rose.
“Roses they love abuse. You can put a rose out in your yard surrounded by Ivy and rosemary and all kinda plants. You can forget to water that girl for weeks; you can forget to turn the water off and leave her drowning. You can take that rose and do just about anything you want to it, and it still comes out lookin pretty good. That is your Aunt Barbara.” She had been made to take the toughest punishment and still come through. If you looked at the sisters in this respect, Larry said, everything became clear.
Larry had some years ago acknowledged that Tisa would never quite make it in the same way that other people did. She needed help for everything, including raising a child. That’s why she had called in Barbara. Doing so didn’t make her a bad person or a bad mother; in fact, it made her a good mother to know her limitations; at least the way Larry saw it. Domini shouldn’t take it personally that Tisa could not attend to Domini’s needs day in and day out. Rather, Domini should appreciate that Tisa had done Domini a great service by realizing her limitations and allowing someone like Barbara in to help.
“And now that Doug is in the picture, you might have to cut her some more slack. Just remember that she loves you, even if she don’t always express it. Doug is her lifeline right now and with orchids, well, a lotta times they only get one chance to blossom.
Tisa knew she was an orchid, even if others mistook her for a thorny rose. For Domini, whether it was true or not, it made Domini feel good to know her mother was a good woman, deserving of a better world. Domini hoped that Doug could be the start of that world and that whatever Larry was alluding to would not come to fruition.
Doug had certainly guided her toward a real career, which was more than any other boyfriend or person had done. Tisa was going back to school to be a pharmacy assistant, she announced one week at dinner. This was especially good news to Domini who found it difficult to tell her classmates that her mother worked at the Solid Gold Club. When her friends asked, Domini told people that she worked in the hospitality industry, as a waitress, but the vagueness of her response always gave rise to suspicions that Domini was not being completely forthcoming. There was no shame, however, in a mother who was in school. Domini began to place her hopes in Doug’s influence.
Doug was the latest of Tisa’s men. He didn’t smell, his clothes fit, he was polite, he had more than beer in his refrigerator. He had begun showing up at dinners with Barbara and Domini, at Tisa’s request. He was the first of the men who entered and exited Tisa’s world to make any overture of wanting to be part of her family, and the first man Tisa ever brought to dinner more than once.
In the beginning, Doug was quiet and polite, preferring to listen to the women engage in their conversations. Over time, he began to talk about himself in response to questions from Barbara and Domini. Doug had big plans for himself and for Tisa. They had been together 4 months. In Domini’s memory, it was the longest stint her mother ever had with a man. She had even moved her clothes out of the collapsible cardboard box set of drawers she used, and put them in his wooden bureau.
Barbara and Tisa knew Doug had met Tisa at The Gold. He had come in on a construction crew for a birthday celebration, and Tisa had been his waitress. He appreciated the fact, he said, that Tisa was a waitress and not a stripper: showed she had some integrity, he said. Tisa never disclosed her brief and unsuccessful time on the runway. As far as she was concerned, it was old news and not worth repeating. Someday she might tell him about it; and she might tell him about the relapses, and the Christian Hand Recovery Center. But not today. For the time being, she was a cocktailer at the Gold who he found quiet and reserved.
After TC had given Tisa her job back, she had become more subdued. The runway, as Maxine predicted, had not been the cash cow Tisa had hoped. Not only did the younger girls move faster and with more energy, but they got bigger tips. Men threw bills at them faster than they could pick them up.
During the few weeks she managed to hang on to the pole, she never once got asked to perform as a private dancer, where the cash flew with abandon. And though the cocktailers did their best to give her equal lap time, their incentive was the tips they got and frankly, Tisa wasn’t bringing them in. If she hadn’t been fired for her drug use, she would have been relegated to Tuesday lunch shifts or some such other slow day. The skin game was a young woman’s game.
For reasons Tisa could not fully understand, her fellow co-workers seemed not to care about her failure on the pole. Coming back they treated her no differently, and were happy to have her selling lap dances again. The girls even protected her, to the extent that was possible, from herself, making sure she was keeping clean, despite the drug emporium happening around her. Maxine even took her to a few NA meetings. Tisa was not a frequent visitor, but neither was she resistant any longer to the possibility that there might be a better way to run her life, and that there might be people in the world actually smarter than she was.
Tisa’s attitude change was born more of practical thinking than enlightenment. At some level, she still believed the best way to get ahead was to put oneself in a position to get a good man. The problem was just that she was running out of time.
Prior to meeting Doug, Tisa had figured her days on the outside were numbered. She was fresh out of rehab and had, at least in her mind, fully exhausted her possibilities and prospects, at least if she was going to try to get clean. Even Larry was not hopeful that she could survive any more relapses. And the state was tired of spending money on her. They had threatened that any future relapses might not simply get her another stint at the Center, but rather a nice room in the county jail. Except for a brief few hours in a holding cell a few years back when she had been arrested for disorderly conduct at a Fuddrucker’s, she’d never spent any time in jail. She was quite certain, however, that it wasn’t going to be the country club she’d come to know at The Christian Hand Recovery Center. She had to do something and with no man on the horizon, she started listening and thinking.
There was only Tisa left in Tisa’s life. Tisa, and the girls at the Gold, who were only too happy to offer advice if they were asked. Tisa hadn’t noticed before. Through them, and in particular through Maxine, Tisa began to understand that there was no quick fix to her predicament and no sugar-coating who she was any longer. She might have learned it that day 14 years ago when she and Larry were playing the Lawyer Game and the man who walked by saw her as nothing more than a junkie. She might have learned it through her various job interviews. She might have learned in standing with her court appointed attorney as he attempted to get her treatment instead of jail time. But she saw it clearly now: Tisa was a junkie. She worked at a strip club where she had been a failed stripper; her sister was raising Tisa’s daughter; and she had no reason to believe that her life would change any time soon. With the threat of jail looming, she had one final opportunity to stay clean. Her daughter, now well into her teens, was quickly growing up, and in the past 15 years, Tisa had done very little to bring them closer. This was it and it had to change.
No longer able to hide her past from her fellow employees, she had lost her power over them; she was no better than they were. They never seemed to care either way, but Tisa cared. Being lower than a stripper gave her a humility that The Center and the courts had never managed to achieve. She kept her head down, tried to be kind, and worked the tables so that the women who were still bringing in the dust on the runway would shake a little down to her. It was then that Doug came into her life.
Doug admitted to Barbara and Domini at one of their weekly dinners that it was Tisa’s beauty and grace that had first grabbed his attention. She was gorgeous, he said, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had begun coming by The Gold, just after his shift, to visit with her. He never stayed, instead popping in just long enough to see when her shift was over, so he could take her for coffee. In the beginning, she was resistant, especially since his only offer to her was coffee, but he had gotten through to her over time. Besides, she wasn’t taking men up any longer on their offers to grab a smoke or a snort: acknowledging an addiction meant you couldn’t rationalize a little partying here and there. Coffee was safe..
Initially, Tisa had other concerns, too. Doug worked construction, which had been a little too “blue collar” for Tisa. She wanted someone who was a businessman, a guy in a nice suit and a pair of Stacy Adams shoes, who could take her to dinner at places she could be seen. He looked like a grease monkey and his taste in coffee houses was always tempered by his budget for the month; usually, they ended up at some local diner. Maxine stepped in to remind Tisa that most of her boyfriends who claimed to be businessmen were nothing but hustlers, mostly living off scams and government paychecks, or worse, living off of her. At least this one had a real job.
So Tisa let him visit and eventually, coffee turned to dinner. Dinner became dinner and a movie. Tisa didn’t care for the fact that Doug was not forthcoming with bits of jewelry or other tokens of semiprecious affection, but she had nothing better going, and he didn’t abuse her or demand sex when she wasn’t interested. Tisa was also smart enough to hold on, at least for a little while, to a man’s attention if he was doing right by her. For Tisa, it was a perfectly fine relationship. For him, it was love.
It wasn’t long before – at least according to Doug – he realized this was someone he could really build a life with.
Although his life was regimented and budgeted, Doug paid for the occasional dinner with Barbara and Domini. It was the first time that Tisa was treating them and always an impressive show. Doug didn’t do it often: it wasn’t part of the plan. He explained to Domini that he liked the fact that Tisa was an independent woman. He thought her willingness to do what it took to make ends meet (even if it meant working at The Gold) showed a special drive and an inner strength. After all, The Gold was clearly beneath a woman who had been accepted to Hayward State (a small lie on Tisa’s part); he was sorry she had to stop because of her mother’s illness (a bigger lie on Tisa’s part). And naturally, because she’d had a bad reaction to some pills, had decided to give custody of her only child to Barbara (a slightly bigger lie). It was all so commendable that she would do anything to support her family, even work at a strip club so that Domini would have all the money she needed for private school.
He recognized The Solid Gold Club for what it was and didn’t criticize her decision to work there; after all, she could bring in a good bit more there than at the local Denny’s down the street. Didn’t they all agree? In short, he said, he had found a beautiful woman who had a few hard knocks, but was willing to do what it took to better herself.
In order to make sure that Domini didn’t suffer financially, Doug announced one day, and to make sure she had enough money for whatever she needed, Doug had invited Tisa to give up her tiny studio and move in with him. Together, he said, they could go places.
For her part, Domini liked Doug. She hoped her mother loved him as much as he obviously loved her. If nothing else, Doug supported Domini’s no-so-secret dream that her mother’s life could have a fairy tale ending that would put them all in a home somewhere with a backyard and a dog. That alone should be enough for Tisa, whose entire existence could fit into three plastic garbage bags and a small cardboard dresser.
But there were other things to like about him, too, like his appearance and his kindness. Even Barbara had mentioned, cautiously, that she thought he might be the first stable force in her life in years. Barbara remarked to Tisa that she had noticed a real change in her overall demeanor. Larry, who’d only been told about Doug through Domini and who generally did not like Tisa relying on men to get her through her life, thought this one sounded like a keeper, but he reminded Domini that her life might not improve with Doug’s presence.
Doug had plans for the two of them and he was not going to let his early life of hard knocks keep him down. He had been working at a filling station for the past 5 years, and over time had gotten to know the owner very well. It started as part time work on Saturdays, when he wasn’t working construction. Over time, he had begun working nights to help the man out. The owner had no children and so had made a deal with Doug to turn over the gas station within 5 years to him. All they had to do was work out the retirement plan, which amounted to a monthly income for the man instead of a flat buyout. That was fine for Doug, who couldn’t have afforded the place anyway. It was a win-win for everyone and it was Doug’s ticket out of low-level construction jobs. The owner was showing him the ropes. Soon, Doug would quit construction all together. An honest day’s work, Doug said, was going to get him somewhere.
Tisa had never had anyone properly support her in her drive to better herself, Doug said, but those days were over. Now was the time to get Tisa in to school, while he was a manager. He was making good enough money that if she needed to quit her job, he could support her while she studied. Then, with any luck, she’d be a pharmacy assistant in 3 years and they’d be on their way. He had already started saving for a house -- $15.00 a week was all he could afford, but it was a start – and he was sure if they kept their noses to the grindstone, they could grab a piece of the American dream. Domini watched his enthusiasm. It was infectious. It was perfect.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Domini felt comfortable going over to her mother’s house. Other men she’d spent time with had been creepy in one way or another. Some were dirty and slovenly and kept a home in similar condition. Others were just out of it, lounging in a chair and staring at her in a funny way. Still others wanted to lecture her like they were her father. The men in Tisa’s life were why Barbara had never encouraged dinners hosted by Tisa: you never knew what you’d get.
The unrest that Domini had felt all these years about her mother’s security was beginning to wane. With Doug, she felt a sense of calm that her mother would finally be alright. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders that allowed her to focus with greater intensity and joy on school and friends.
The night that Doug revealed his plans to Barbara and Domini, she confided in Barbara that she was really grateful for Doug’s presence in her mother’s life. Barbara was noticeably quiet in her response.
“What, you don’t like Doug?” asked Domini.
“No, I like Doug just fine, Domini. I just don’t want you or anyone else to get their hopes up about him. We don’t know him just yet and I don’t know how Tisa feels about him.”
“Well, mom’s starting school because of him,” said Domini in his defense. “And she’s not at The Center. That’s progress.”
“Those are all great things,” said Barbara. “I’m really hoping this works out for Tisa. But it’s a long way from being a done deal. School sign-ups are two months away. That’s a long time. Let’s just see how things turn out, first before we start considering Doug to be the second coming. I like him, I really do; I just don’t want to see you hurt, Domini.”
“Mom was right about you,” said Domini. “You’re just like grandpa. You don’t want her to succeed. You want her to fail.:”
“I’m sorry you think that, Domini. Nothing could be further from the truth. What happens if Doug turns out to be a bad guy? Or worse, what happens to your mom if the two of them fall out? I know it’s hard to understand, but I don’t want your relationship with your mom to suffer if things don’t work out between her and Doug,” Barbara offered a weak smile. Tisa walked to her room, closed her door, and flung herself on her bed.
Domini had spent the better part of her life conflicted about her sister’s and her mother’s roles, and their relationship to her. Even Larry’s descriptions didn’t help. On the one hand, Barbara had always taken care of her and had never said an unkind word about Tisa to Domini. Barbara had made sure Domini had a place to stay, food to eat, and clothes to wear. Barbara had always shown up to every parent-teacher event to which she was asked, and had stayed home to do homework or bake cookies or help Domini get her lines straight for the school play. When she needed someone, Barbara had been there.
On the other, Barbara was so different from her mother that her very existence made Domini feel that everything her mother represented was wrong in life, a feeling that she could not reconcile with the love she maintained for Tisa. If one of them was right, then the other had to be wrong. And she could not fathom that her mother was completely wrong. So this had to work.
“You gotta forgive your sister, too, sometimes,” said Larry, pursuant to a phone call from Domini about Tisa’s update and Barbara’s response to it. “Remember that your aunt done put her life on hold, waitin’ for your sister to get better. That was 8 years ago, child. She got a right to be skeptical.”
“Nobody asked her to do it. If she didn’t want to take care of me, she didn’t have to.”
“It ain’t never that easy, Domini. Family don’t turn its back on family. Besides, you owe your auntie a ration of gratitude. I know you never asked to be born, but child, you got chances you wouldn’t of never had without Barbara. You need to recognize that. Let’s just see how things unfold.”
True to her promise, Tisa enrolled in the evening Pharmacy Assistant program at Berkeley City College. TC and the girls at The Gold were only too happy to let her work the day shifts to accommodate her schedule, especially since the day shifts invariably yielded smaller tips than the evening shifts. She also cut back to 3 days a week, making her overlap with school only one day. Doug picked up the slack. He also made certain that she studied. More like a father sometimes than a boyfriend, he asked to see her homework when he came home from the night shift. Frequently, she hadn’t completed it. By the end of the first quarter, she was forced to drop two of her three classes and she took a C in the only class she did manage to keep. Doug was patient. Domini was less so.
“A leopard don’t change its spots overnight,” said Larry. “For her to even show up to class, that’s miracle in my book. I don’t know, but I’m guessing she wasn’t a real student when she was in high school to begin with. This is your opportunity to give her that help you been wantin’ to give her.”
“What do you mean?” Domini asked.
“Well, last time we talked you said you made the honor roll. Seems like you do know how to study, right? So you might could maybe give her some tips?”
“I could do that,” Domini said excitedly. “I could help my mom!”
“Yes, I do think that you could, Domini. But don’t help too much now. Remember what we talked about with Doug and all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, see, this is hard, Domini,” said Larry, pausing for a brief time on the phone. “See, the thing is, you helpin’ your mom is a great thing, and I’m glad you’re excited to do it. Remember, though, that this here relationship she’s got with Doug is the most important thing that she’s got going.”
“But that’s why I want to help her. Don’t you remember it was Doug who wanted her to go to school. If I can help her to do go, that will help her hold on to her man and that will be good for them,” said Domini.
“I know it seems that way, darlin’, and I know you want to help, and I want you to help. See, it’s like this: You’re almost all grown now. I know you don’t think so, but really, you’re closing in on 16, and you have your own life now. Your mama will always love you, but you don’t need raisin’ by her no more. She’s on her way to worrying about herself, now, and she sees Doug as the only thing she’s got to save her. Ain’t nothin’ gonna get in the way of that, not even her daughter.
“The best way to help, is to come over and study with her when he’s not home, or maybe write some things down for her. Don’t hurt her pride, now. Let her be the mama. Just let her know you know it’s been a long time since she was in school, you know, and that you might could give her some tips is all.”
Domini was her mother’s daughter. She didn’t like this criticism of her mother, especially coming from the one man she had always counted on to bolster Tisa’s self-image. Her mother would never abandon her for some man and she told him that.
“Oh, honey, I’m not saying that she don’t love you no more; And I’m not even saying that she’s a bad person. The Lord knows we all need someone to lean on. You got to understand it from her perspective. She’s had a hard life and as much as she’s tried to do right and make it and get comfortable, well, she’s had a hard life. Doug, here, well, she’s not young no more, see. So, I just don’t want you to feel bad, you know, if she tells you that you’re spending too much time around the place. Doug is her first priority in a way. I know that sounds tough, but don’t be hard on your mama. Just help her the way you know you can.”
Domini knew how the world worked, and it didn’t work that way. Her mother would not forsake her for some man. Her mother had spent her life trying to get Domini to move in with her; it wouldn’t make any sense now to have Tisa turn Domini’s extra visits away. Best of all, Domini would be helping her mother with her schoolwork. No sooner had she hung up the phone did she call her mother.
“How about a study group?” She was exited to help Tisa in a way that would further her goals. It was the perfect solution for both of them, Domini explained, because it would give them more time together. “I could come over and see you after school on the days when I don’t have practice. Then we could study together, you know, and maybe you could even test me a little bit and I could test you.”
Tisa was silent on the other end.
“Mom, don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“Domini, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but your mama don’t need no help from her daughter. I think I know how to study. I’m in college, not high school.”
“No, I know, mom,” said Domini, still hopeful, “I was just thinking that we could study together, you know, at the same time. And maybe it would give us a chance to spend some time together, just the two of us.”
“Yeah, OK, you can come over. But you need to leave by 9. Doug comes home and 9 and he don’t need you to be here, know what I mean?”
The Beginning of the End
By the time Domini left The School of the Madeleine, she was an honor student. Taking no chances on her education, Barbara – through her parents – paid for her to continue in Catholic school at St. Mary’s, where she was given a partial scholarship by the school. This year, she would run for class President.
As they had in the past, Barbara’s parents took a back seat in the rearing of Domini. At some level, they recognized that to take control – which was second nature to Mr. Cormier – was to put another coffin nail in Tisa’s recovery. They still enjoyed their granddaughter and Barbara made certain to keep them in the loop with visits and art shows and school play invitations, but they were largely out of the picture. While this placed the burden of Domini’s future primarily on Barbara’s shoulders, they all agreed that it was probably best for Tisa not to feel that her father had taken up the reigns in getting Domini through this part of her life.
Domini’s mother was now living with a man named Doug, who seemed nice enough, for once --- more than nice. They had a tiny apartment on Alcatraz Street in Berkeley which was clean and well-kept. Doug didn’t drink to excess and he didn’t appear to be a bad influence on her. In fact, Doug had gotten Tisa to agree to start classes at Berkeley City College. There was a pharmacy assistant program at the school and companies like Walgreen’s and Target were hiring. The job had great health benefits and long term potential. Doug was focused on the long term. And Doug was focused on Tisa.
Tisa had met Doug at the Gold while she was cocktailing . . . The second time around. (Tisa’s first stint at the Gold had been cut short: Tisa had dropped some weight and had made it onto the stage, but had been terminated by TC – true to his admonishment – after he found out she was using hard, and more importantly, couldn’t control it. After a brief stint back at The Center, TC had let her back on the cocktail floor, where she had done well for the strippers, but told her never to ask her again to work the runway. “Face it, honey, you’re gettin’ a little long in the tooth for shaking your no-money-maker,” he told her. A cocktail position was all he was willing to give her).
Domini, now 15, was old enough to understand that her mother’s problems were not generally the result of someone else trying to sabotage her, but rather her own inability to pull herself out of her predicament. She also understood that the occasional sleepovers she had with her mother, and the weekly “family” dinners with her mother and Aunt Barbara were as close to a normal family life as she would get with her mom. For better or worse, her dependence on a mother that fit the mold was waning with her age and her social obligations.
In the years she had spent bouncing around, Domini mostly made her peace with her life. But recently, with Doug in the picture, she had begun to feel hopeful about her mother. In the past, those feelings of hope were always short-lived, because Tisa found herself back in rehab or worse, flitting from boyfriend to boyfriend, either staying clean as a dry drunk, or using again, Domini felt that Doug’s presence was the light at the end of a tunnel she’d been waiting a long time to find.
To the extent that anything can be normalized, over the years, Domini had grown accustomed to visiting her mother at The Christian Hand Recovery Center, where Tisa seemed to call home more than any other location. In fact, Domini discovered she was born there during one of her recent visits. Her mother seemed comfortable there and the staff liked Domini, which made Domini feel good about visiting. She even liked some of the old timers there, like Larry, Tisa’s friend, who had taken to calling Domini directly to check on her progress from time to time, and, when her mother wasn’t living at the Center, to check on Tisa’s progress, too. She and Larry could and did talk, even with Barbara’s and Tisa’s blessing. Larry helped Domini understand her mother in ways that no one seemed to be able to do.
Like Domini, Larry had never given up on Tisa. Domini could tell he loved Tisa in his own way, and Larry understood Domini’s love for her mother – no one else seemed to. When Domini did get frustrated, because Tisa lashed out at her, calling her a suck-up or a white girl, or accusing Domini of some sort of betrayal, Larry smoothed out the edges.
“She don’t mean nothin’ by it, Domini,” he would tell her. “That’s her way of telling you she’s sorry she didn’t have a bigger hand in raising you is all.”
“Do you think I’m the reason she keeps backsliding, Larry?” Domini carried with her a fear and some guilt, often perpetuated by Tisa herself, that Tisa’s life would have been different, and decidedly better, if Domini had not been born. Such fear gave rise to a feeling of responsibility for her mother now and in the future. All of Domini’s dreams for herself included a home for her mother, where Tisa would not have to worry about being cared for, and where all her needs would be met. She hated the feeling that she might be responsible for the way Tisa’s life continued to go awry.
“Domini, if anything, you’re the reason she doesn’t backslide more. Tisa loves you and wants to do right by you, but when she gets upset, well, you’re an easy target is all. And she gets upset a lot, because she’s frustrated with her own life and how it’s turning out.”
“I just wish she’d get better. Then we could live together and be a family,” said Domini, holding on to the fantasy. “Do you think she’s better now? Now that she’s living with Doug?”
“Well, only Tisa knows that, Domini. Alls I know is she’ll figure it out one of these days. On her own time frame. We all do, you know. I’m only afraid she ain’t gonna get any really special time with you before you’re off doing your own thing, going to college and all that. And well -- ” his voice trailed off.
“Well what?”
“Well, Domini, this might be a bit hard for you to hear, but I ‘spect someone should say it so here I go.” He took a deep breath and started.
“Well, if you’re right about this Doug character, that he’s giving Tisa what she needs right now, you might have to get more accustomed to sharing the spotlight with Tisa’s affections.”
“What do you mean? Mom’s had plenty of boyfriends before,” said Domini.
“Well, like I say, this one is a little bit different, see. Now that she’s staying clean and she’s been with him for awhile – a long time for her – I think it could be she’ll want to try to hang on to that. So maybe you shouldn’t count on your mother, you know, spending more time with you as things get better. If she thinks Doug is the only man to bring her through this, well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Mom has always put me first,” said Domini. “You’re the one who always tells me that.”
“Well, yes, it’s true that she has, but you know, you’re all grown now, child. She don’t need to watch out for you and you don’t need her to. You’re an honor student; and honor student now. You’re on your way. Of course she’s gonna always put you first, but, well, it might be Tisa’s time now, to work on a relationship that will last. Just don’t get discouraged is all, if she don’t pay you no mind.”
Domini was grateful for Larry’s perspective, even if she didn’t always agree with it. His promises weren’t empty and his words weren’t hollow. He helped her find her place in the family and in the world. Barbara would never openly criticize Tisa and Tisa tended to sugar coat her problems to Domini. Larry did his best to tell it like it was. “I’m too old to lie,” he would say. “Besides, it didn’t get me anywhere.”
“Do you think granddad was a bad father?” Domini asked him during one of their heart-to-hearts. Domini spent a good deal of time trying to reconcile the cognitive dissonance she experienced when she was around her grandfather. Mr. Cormier loved Domini as any grandfather loves his grandchild. When she was little, he was patient and kind. As she had gotten older, he was always calling to check in. She loved him greatly, but she knew from Tisa’s stories that he had been a terrible father to her, at least from Tisa’s perspective. Had he changed all that much from the days when Tisa was staying with him? Or was Tisa simply prone to hyperbole, like when she promised Domini a pony, or the myriad other things that Tisa had promised over the years.
“I ain’t never met your granddad,” said Larry in their phone call. “So I can’t say if he was a bad daddy. I don’t think so, though. He just didn’t know how to handle someone as sensitive as his oldest daughter. You know, there’s some of us out there more sensitive than others of us.”
“Mom? Sensitive? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” said Domini, somewhat surprised that he would use that term to describe her mother.
“That’s exactly what she is. She’s shy and she’s always been afraid of the world. She wears her feelings on her sleeve, which is why she is so quick to pounce on others. She’s like a porcupine who doesn’t have much bite – she just wants people to leave her alone. Oh, she can sting alright, but your mama don’t have enough power in this world to really take somebody out. That’s the problem. If she could just get herself a little power, she’d be all right. Nah, she’s a porcupine, not a panther.
“The world is a painful place to her. It’s the reason she needs something to escape with – some pain pills or uppers or what not. The strength of this here cocktail of life for some of us is too strong to take sometimes without a little ice.”
“What can I do to make things better,” she asked.
“You can be yourself, little Domini,” said Larry. “You’re just as sweet as you were the day you were born, and that’s all you can be.” Then, he added, “You know, lotta people don’t realize that your mama had a lot of chances to let you go. She was told to put your up for adoption more than once. Then, when your daddy left years ago, she coulda put you up, but she held on to you and cared for you right here in this Center. This ain’t no easy place to raise a child, but she hung in there.”
Domini smiled to hear how selfless her mother was; it was rare that anyone saw what Domini saw. Larry continued. “You know what the first thing she talks about when she’s here is? You! She’s loves her some Domini. You are her heart, girl. Without you, she says, her life would not be worth living.”
Once, when Larry and Domini were having a weekly phone call, he asked her, “Do you know why she named you Domini? Because you were her savior. Now if that ain’t reason enough to love your mama, I don’t know what is.”
Domini was glad Larry saw what others could not. Larry saw what Domini wanted desperately to believe and did believe. It helped her get through the rough patches. She just wanted to have a normal family, like the families her friends came from. They had a mother and a father. They had siblings. They didn’t live with their aunts. If there was some hope that she could have that in her life, she wanted to make it happen.
Sometimes Domini made it happen in her mind, a trick she’d learned when she was little that had not faded with time. She tried desperately to remake bad holidays – where Tisa had been too stoned to show up -- into good ones. She tried to reinterpret her mother’s phrases in a way that would portray Tisa in the best light. She wanted to have a parent who was there for her.
“You got a funny sense of what’s normal, Domini,” said Larry, when she confided in him that she wanted her family to be more like the girls with whom she went to school. “What counts about a family ain’t that they look good on a Christmas card; what counts is that they do right by each other. Plenty of families out there look normal, but there’s bad mojo in their family. Look at your Aunt Barbara. Who could ask for someone better than her?”
It was Barbara who got up early every morning to make Domini’s breakfast and lunch. It was Barbara who took her vacations during Domini’s school breaks so that she could take Domini to museums and plays. Barbara was the “parent” who showed up at Generations Day at school. It was Barbara who went to the school plays; who baked the cookies for the fundraisers; who washed Domini’s track uniform and picked her up from special study events. The daily grind was Barbara’s to endure. She did it without thanks and without any perceived bitterness toward her sister. Of Barbara Larry said, “she’s a saint, pure and simple. That don’t mean your mama is any less of a person. They got different qualities, see. Barbara, she’s steady, like a rock. Your mama, she’s a free spirit. She’s gonna go out big.”
Larry had a way of describing people that cut through to their essence, and Domini looked forward to speaking with him because he managed to relieve some of Domini’s psychic struggle with the way things were with Tisa. His way of telling the truth seemed to resonate with Domini. Most importantly, Larry could tell the truth without demonizing her mother.
Larry described Tisa to Domini as an orchid: fragile, fickle, and under perfect conditions, breathtakingly beautiful in a way that could touch your soul. An orchid like Tisa was never built to take the weight of the world weather-beating her. But the world recognizes only Darwin’s theories, and orchids rarely thrive sitting on the back porch of someone’s house or growing wild in some vacant lot. Orchids had to be protected, tended to, cared for, talked to, loved, and understood by their caretakers to need more attention than the other plants in the garden. No one would ask an orchid to be an oak tree, Larry said, but that was exactly what people were trying to do with Tisa.
Barbara, Larry said, was a rose.
“Roses they love abuse. You can put a rose out in your yard surrounded by Ivy and rosemary and all kinda plants. You can forget to water that girl for weeks; you can forget to turn the water off and leave her drowning. You can take that rose and do just about anything you want to it, and it still comes out lookin pretty good. That is your Aunt Barbara.” She had been made to take the toughest punishment and still come through. If you looked at the sisters in this respect, Larry said, everything became clear.
Larry had some years ago acknowledged that Tisa would never quite make it in the same way that other people did. She needed help for everything, including raising a child. That’s why she had called in Barbara. Doing so didn’t make her a bad person or a bad mother; in fact, it made her a good mother to know her limitations; at least the way Larry saw it. Domini shouldn’t take it personally that Tisa could not attend to Domini’s needs day in and day out. Rather, Domini should appreciate that Tisa had done Domini a great service by realizing her limitations and allowing someone like Barbara in to help.
“And now that Doug is in the picture, you might have to cut her some more slack. Just remember that she loves you, even if she don’t always express it. Doug is her lifeline right now and with orchids, well, a lotta times they only get one chance to blossom.
Tisa knew she was an orchid, even if others mistook her for a thorny rose. For Domini, whether it was true or not, it made Domini feel good to know her mother was a good woman, deserving of a better world. Domini hoped that Doug could be the start of that world and that whatever Larry was alluding to would not come to fruition.
Doug had certainly guided her toward a real career, which was more than any other boyfriend or person had done. Tisa was going back to school to be a pharmacy assistant, she announced one week at dinner. This was especially good news to Domini who found it difficult to tell her classmates that her mother worked at the Solid Gold Club. When her friends asked, Domini told people that she worked in the hospitality industry, as a waitress, but the vagueness of her response always gave rise to suspicions that Domini was not being completely forthcoming. There was no shame, however, in a mother who was in school. Domini began to place her hopes in Doug’s influence.
Doug was the latest of Tisa’s men. He didn’t smell, his clothes fit, he was polite, he had more than beer in his refrigerator. He had begun showing up at dinners with Barbara and Domini, at Tisa’s request. He was the first of the men who entered and exited Tisa’s world to make any overture of wanting to be part of her family, and the first man Tisa ever brought to dinner more than once.
In the beginning, Doug was quiet and polite, preferring to listen to the women engage in their conversations. Over time, he began to talk about himself in response to questions from Barbara and Domini. Doug had big plans for himself and for Tisa. They had been together 4 months. In Domini’s memory, it was the longest stint her mother ever had with a man. She had even moved her clothes out of the collapsible cardboard box set of drawers she used, and put them in his wooden bureau.
Barbara and Tisa knew Doug had met Tisa at The Gold. He had come in on a construction crew for a birthday celebration, and Tisa had been his waitress. He appreciated the fact, he said, that Tisa was a waitress and not a stripper: showed she had some integrity, he said. Tisa never disclosed her brief and unsuccessful time on the runway. As far as she was concerned, it was old news and not worth repeating. Someday she might tell him about it; and she might tell him about the relapses, and the Christian Hand Recovery Center. But not today. For the time being, she was a cocktailer at the Gold who he found quiet and reserved.
After TC had given Tisa her job back, she had become more subdued. The runway, as Maxine predicted, had not been the cash cow Tisa had hoped. Not only did the younger girls move faster and with more energy, but they got bigger tips. Men threw bills at them faster than they could pick them up.
During the few weeks she managed to hang on to the pole, she never once got asked to perform as a private dancer, where the cash flew with abandon. And though the cocktailers did their best to give her equal lap time, their incentive was the tips they got and frankly, Tisa wasn’t bringing them in. If she hadn’t been fired for her drug use, she would have been relegated to Tuesday lunch shifts or some such other slow day. The skin game was a young woman’s game.
For reasons Tisa could not fully understand, her fellow co-workers seemed not to care about her failure on the pole. Coming back they treated her no differently, and were happy to have her selling lap dances again. The girls even protected her, to the extent that was possible, from herself, making sure she was keeping clean, despite the drug emporium happening around her. Maxine even took her to a few NA meetings. Tisa was not a frequent visitor, but neither was she resistant any longer to the possibility that there might be a better way to run her life, and that there might be people in the world actually smarter than she was.
Tisa’s attitude change was born more of practical thinking than enlightenment. At some level, she still believed the best way to get ahead was to put oneself in a position to get a good man. The problem was just that she was running out of time.
Prior to meeting Doug, Tisa had figured her days on the outside were numbered. She was fresh out of rehab and had, at least in her mind, fully exhausted her possibilities and prospects, at least if she was going to try to get clean. Even Larry was not hopeful that she could survive any more relapses. And the state was tired of spending money on her. They had threatened that any future relapses might not simply get her another stint at the Center, but rather a nice room in the county jail. Except for a brief few hours in a holding cell a few years back when she had been arrested for disorderly conduct at a Fuddrucker’s, she’d never spent any time in jail. She was quite certain, however, that it wasn’t going to be the country club she’d come to know at The Christian Hand Recovery Center. She had to do something and with no man on the horizon, she started listening and thinking.
There was only Tisa left in Tisa’s life. Tisa, and the girls at the Gold, who were only too happy to offer advice if they were asked. Tisa hadn’t noticed before. Through them, and in particular through Maxine, Tisa began to understand that there was no quick fix to her predicament and no sugar-coating who she was any longer. She might have learned it that day 14 years ago when she and Larry were playing the Lawyer Game and the man who walked by saw her as nothing more than a junkie. She might have learned it through her various job interviews. She might have learned in standing with her court appointed attorney as he attempted to get her treatment instead of jail time. But she saw it clearly now: Tisa was a junkie. She worked at a strip club where she had been a failed stripper; her sister was raising Tisa’s daughter; and she had no reason to believe that her life would change any time soon. With the threat of jail looming, she had one final opportunity to stay clean. Her daughter, now well into her teens, was quickly growing up, and in the past 15 years, Tisa had done very little to bring them closer. This was it and it had to change.
No longer able to hide her past from her fellow employees, she had lost her power over them; she was no better than they were. They never seemed to care either way, but Tisa cared. Being lower than a stripper gave her a humility that The Center and the courts had never managed to achieve. She kept her head down, tried to be kind, and worked the tables so that the women who were still bringing in the dust on the runway would shake a little down to her. It was then that Doug came into her life.
Doug admitted to Barbara and Domini at one of their weekly dinners that it was Tisa’s beauty and grace that had first grabbed his attention. She was gorgeous, he said, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had begun coming by The Gold, just after his shift, to visit with her. He never stayed, instead popping in just long enough to see when her shift was over, so he could take her for coffee. In the beginning, she was resistant, especially since his only offer to her was coffee, but he had gotten through to her over time. Besides, she wasn’t taking men up any longer on their offers to grab a smoke or a snort: acknowledging an addiction meant you couldn’t rationalize a little partying here and there. Coffee was safe..
Initially, Tisa had other concerns, too. Doug worked construction, which had been a little too “blue collar” for Tisa. She wanted someone who was a businessman, a guy in a nice suit and a pair of Stacy Adams shoes, who could take her to dinner at places she could be seen. He looked like a grease monkey and his taste in coffee houses was always tempered by his budget for the month; usually, they ended up at some local diner. Maxine stepped in to remind Tisa that most of her boyfriends who claimed to be businessmen were nothing but hustlers, mostly living off scams and government paychecks, or worse, living off of her. At least this one had a real job.
So Tisa let him visit and eventually, coffee turned to dinner. Dinner became dinner and a movie. Tisa didn’t care for the fact that Doug was not forthcoming with bits of jewelry or other tokens of semiprecious affection, but she had nothing better going, and he didn’t abuse her or demand sex when she wasn’t interested. Tisa was also smart enough to hold on, at least for a little while, to a man’s attention if he was doing right by her. For Tisa, it was a perfectly fine relationship. For him, it was love.
It wasn’t long before – at least according to Doug – he realized this was someone he could really build a life with.
Although his life was regimented and budgeted, Doug paid for the occasional dinner with Barbara and Domini. It was the first time that Tisa was treating them and always an impressive show. Doug didn’t do it often: it wasn’t part of the plan. He explained to Domini that he liked the fact that Tisa was an independent woman. He thought her willingness to do what it took to make ends meet (even if it meant working at The Gold) showed a special drive and an inner strength. After all, The Gold was clearly beneath a woman who had been accepted to Hayward State (a small lie on Tisa’s part); he was sorry she had to stop because of her mother’s illness (a bigger lie on Tisa’s part). And naturally, because she’d had a bad reaction to some pills, had decided to give custody of her only child to Barbara (a slightly bigger lie). It was all so commendable that she would do anything to support her family, even work at a strip club so that Domini would have all the money she needed for private school.
He recognized The Solid Gold Club for what it was and didn’t criticize her decision to work there; after all, she could bring in a good bit more there than at the local Denny’s down the street. Didn’t they all agree? In short, he said, he had found a beautiful woman who had a few hard knocks, but was willing to do what it took to better herself.
In order to make sure that Domini didn’t suffer financially, Doug announced one day, and to make sure she had enough money for whatever she needed, Doug had invited Tisa to give up her tiny studio and move in with him. Together, he said, they could go places.
For her part, Domini liked Doug. She hoped her mother loved him as much as he obviously loved her. If nothing else, Doug supported Domini’s no-so-secret dream that her mother’s life could have a fairy tale ending that would put them all in a home somewhere with a backyard and a dog. That alone should be enough for Tisa, whose entire existence could fit into three plastic garbage bags and a small cardboard dresser.
But there were other things to like about him, too, like his appearance and his kindness. Even Barbara had mentioned, cautiously, that she thought he might be the first stable force in her life in years. Barbara remarked to Tisa that she had noticed a real change in her overall demeanor. Larry, who’d only been told about Doug through Domini and who generally did not like Tisa relying on men to get her through her life, thought this one sounded like a keeper, but he reminded Domini that her life might not improve with Doug’s presence.
Doug had plans for the two of them and he was not going to let his early life of hard knocks keep him down. He had been working at a filling station for the past 5 years, and over time had gotten to know the owner very well. It started as part time work on Saturdays, when he wasn’t working construction. Over time, he had begun working nights to help the man out. The owner had no children and so had made a deal with Doug to turn over the gas station within 5 years to him. All they had to do was work out the retirement plan, which amounted to a monthly income for the man instead of a flat buyout. That was fine for Doug, who couldn’t have afforded the place anyway. It was a win-win for everyone and it was Doug’s ticket out of low-level construction jobs. The owner was showing him the ropes. Soon, Doug would quit construction all together. An honest day’s work, Doug said, was going to get him somewhere.
Tisa had never had anyone properly support her in her drive to better herself, Doug said, but those days were over. Now was the time to get Tisa in to school, while he was a manager. He was making good enough money that if she needed to quit her job, he could support her while she studied. Then, with any luck, she’d be a pharmacy assistant in 3 years and they’d be on their way. He had already started saving for a house -- $15.00 a week was all he could afford, but it was a start – and he was sure if they kept their noses to the grindstone, they could grab a piece of the American dream. Domini watched his enthusiasm. It was infectious. It was perfect.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Domini felt comfortable going over to her mother’s house. Other men she’d spent time with had been creepy in one way or another. Some were dirty and slovenly and kept a home in similar condition. Others were just out of it, lounging in a chair and staring at her in a funny way. Still others wanted to lecture her like they were her father. The men in Tisa’s life were why Barbara had never encouraged dinners hosted by Tisa: you never knew what you’d get.
The unrest that Domini had felt all these years about her mother’s security was beginning to wane. With Doug, she felt a sense of calm that her mother would finally be alright. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders that allowed her to focus with greater intensity and joy on school and friends.
The night that Doug revealed his plans to Barbara and Domini, she confided in Barbara that she was really grateful for Doug’s presence in her mother’s life. Barbara was noticeably quiet in her response.
“What, you don’t like Doug?” asked Domini.
“No, I like Doug just fine, Domini. I just don’t want you or anyone else to get their hopes up about him. We don’t know him just yet and I don’t know how Tisa feels about him.”
“Well, mom’s starting school because of him,” said Domini in his defense. “And she’s not at The Center. That’s progress.”
“Those are all great things,” said Barbara. “I’m really hoping this works out for Tisa. But it’s a long way from being a done deal. School sign-ups are two months away. That’s a long time. Let’s just see how things turn out, first before we start considering Doug to be the second coming. I like him, I really do; I just don’t want to see you hurt, Domini.”
“Mom was right about you,” said Domini. “You’re just like grandpa. You don’t want her to succeed. You want her to fail.:”
“I’m sorry you think that, Domini. Nothing could be further from the truth. What happens if Doug turns out to be a bad guy? Or worse, what happens to your mom if the two of them fall out? I know it’s hard to understand, but I don’t want your relationship with your mom to suffer if things don’t work out between her and Doug,” Barbara offered a weak smile. Tisa walked to her room, closed her door, and flung herself on her bed.
Domini had spent the better part of her life conflicted about her sister’s and her mother’s roles, and their relationship to her. Even Larry’s descriptions didn’t help. On the one hand, Barbara had always taken care of her and had never said an unkind word about Tisa to Domini. Barbara had made sure Domini had a place to stay, food to eat, and clothes to wear. Barbara had always shown up to every parent-teacher event to which she was asked, and had stayed home to do homework or bake cookies or help Domini get her lines straight for the school play. When she needed someone, Barbara had been there.
On the other, Barbara was so different from her mother that her very existence made Domini feel that everything her mother represented was wrong in life, a feeling that she could not reconcile with the love she maintained for Tisa. If one of them was right, then the other had to be wrong. And she could not fathom that her mother was completely wrong. So this had to work.
“You gotta forgive your sister, too, sometimes,” said Larry, pursuant to a phone call from Domini about Tisa’s update and Barbara’s response to it. “Remember that your aunt done put her life on hold, waitin’ for your sister to get better. That was 8 years ago, child. She got a right to be skeptical.”
“Nobody asked her to do it. If she didn’t want to take care of me, she didn’t have to.”
“It ain’t never that easy, Domini. Family don’t turn its back on family. Besides, you owe your auntie a ration of gratitude. I know you never asked to be born, but child, you got chances you wouldn’t of never had without Barbara. You need to recognize that. Let’s just see how things unfold.”
True to her promise, Tisa enrolled in the evening Pharmacy Assistant program at Berkeley City College. TC and the girls at The Gold were only too happy to let her work the day shifts to accommodate her schedule, especially since the day shifts invariably yielded smaller tips than the evening shifts. She also cut back to 3 days a week, making her overlap with school only one day. Doug picked up the slack. He also made certain that she studied. More like a father sometimes than a boyfriend, he asked to see her homework when he came home from the night shift. Frequently, she hadn’t completed it. By the end of the first quarter, she was forced to drop two of her three classes and she took a C in the only class she did manage to keep. Doug was patient. Domini was less so.
“A leopard don’t change its spots overnight,” said Larry. “For her to even show up to class, that’s miracle in my book. I don’t know, but I’m guessing she wasn’t a real student when she was in high school to begin with. This is your opportunity to give her that help you been wantin’ to give her.”
“What do you mean?” Domini asked.
“Well, last time we talked you said you made the honor roll. Seems like you do know how to study, right? So you might could maybe give her some tips?”
“I could do that,” Domini said excitedly. “I could help my mom!”
“Yes, I do think that you could, Domini. But don’t help too much now. Remember what we talked about with Doug and all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, see, this is hard, Domini,” said Larry, pausing for a brief time on the phone. “See, the thing is, you helpin’ your mom is a great thing, and I’m glad you’re excited to do it. Remember, though, that this here relationship she’s got with Doug is the most important thing that she’s got going.”
“But that’s why I want to help her. Don’t you remember it was Doug who wanted her to go to school. If I can help her to do go, that will help her hold on to her man and that will be good for them,” said Domini.
“I know it seems that way, darlin’, and I know you want to help, and I want you to help. See, it’s like this: You’re almost all grown now. I know you don’t think so, but really, you’re closing in on 16, and you have your own life now. Your mama will always love you, but you don’t need raisin’ by her no more. She’s on her way to worrying about herself, now, and she sees Doug as the only thing she’s got to save her. Ain’t nothin’ gonna get in the way of that, not even her daughter.
“The best way to help, is to come over and study with her when he’s not home, or maybe write some things down for her. Don’t hurt her pride, now. Let her be the mama. Just let her know you know it’s been a long time since she was in school, you know, and that you might could give her some tips is all.”
Domini was her mother’s daughter. She didn’t like this criticism of her mother, especially coming from the one man she had always counted on to bolster Tisa’s self-image. Her mother would never abandon her for some man and she told him that.
“Oh, honey, I’m not saying that she don’t love you no more; And I’m not even saying that she’s a bad person. The Lord knows we all need someone to lean on. You got to understand it from her perspective. She’s had a hard life and as much as she’s tried to do right and make it and get comfortable, well, she’s had a hard life. Doug, here, well, she’s not young no more, see. So, I just don’t want you to feel bad, you know, if she tells you that you’re spending too much time around the place. Doug is her first priority in a way. I know that sounds tough, but don’t be hard on your mama. Just help her the way you know you can.”
Domini knew how the world worked, and it didn’t work that way. Her mother would not forsake her for some man. Her mother had spent her life trying to get Domini to move in with her; it wouldn’t make any sense now to have Tisa turn Domini’s extra visits away. Best of all, Domini would be helping her mother with her schoolwork. No sooner had she hung up the phone did she call her mother.
“How about a study group?” She was exited to help Tisa in a way that would further her goals. It was the perfect solution for both of them, Domini explained, because it would give them more time together. “I could come over and see you after school on the days when I don’t have practice. Then we could study together, you know, and maybe you could even test me a little bit and I could test you.”
Tisa was silent on the other end.
“Mom, don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“Domini, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but your mama don’t need no help from her daughter. I think I know how to study. I’m in college, not high school.”
“No, I know, mom,” said Domini, still hopeful, “I was just thinking that we could study together, you know, at the same time. And maybe it would give us a chance to spend some time together, just the two of us.”
“Yeah, OK, you can come over. But you need to leave by 9. Doug comes home and 9 and he don’t need you to be here, know what I mean?”
Monday, November 26, 2007
Chapter Nine
Chapter 9
1999 – Complications
It had been the longest time she’d stayed clean: 5 years. In fact, she wasn’t totally clean, but she was mostly clean. And since Tisa had always maintained that she wasn’t a drug addict, mostly clean was fine. A little wine now and then was fine. A little pot. She didn’t take people’s pills any more nor did she bother with needles. She was clean enough.
She had not fared so well on housing. The court determined Domini would remain in the custody of Barbara until Tisa was in a stable living situation. Practically speaking, that meant she had to stay in one place for a period of 9 months and then she could file a petition that would be ruled on within 30 days. Barbara had promised Tisa that she would not oppose any custody bid of Domini and the judge said, pending successfully staying clean and being stable, the court would allow her to regain custody of the child, though such custody would be heavily supervised and she would have to submit to drug tests as a condition of keeping the child. It wasn’t fair. The judges knew it wasn’t fair. Every 8 months or so, she would do something that upset her usually racist or mean or useless landlord and he would kick her out. The court knew that something would happen, not just to her, but to anyone, just about every 9 months. It was another wedge driven between her and her daughter.
There was also the suggestion that Tisa get – and keep – a job. The Christian Hand Center’s program was open and always available to Tisa and all “alumni” but Tisa had issues with the types of jobs being offered to Center graduates and she preferred to go it on her own. Larry continued to offer his support in the form of phone calls and he always made it known that she could come down and work with him at the Center if she needed some training.
She was no longer 20, but Tisa was still beautiful. She didn’t have the dew of youth on her skin, but neither did she need it; she still turned the heads of all but the very youngest of men who passed her on the street. Her hips were narrow and still tight., her skin was smooth and her smile still white. Tisa knew, however, that her days were numbered. She had little time left to stabilize her living situation and milk whatever she could from her physical characteristics. Securing a good man would take work, but it was her best hope.
Domini, who was already 13, was mostly grown and in all likelihood would come out just fine. So Tisa was now Tisa’s concern. What about me, she wondered. It was either money or men. Maybe someday Domini would take care of her, but those days were still a ways off. She still kept her weekly dinners with her daughter, who despite having been raised primarily by Barbara, remained surprisingly loyal to her mother. They discussed Tisa’s next move.
“Maybe you could go back to school,” suggested Barbara, predictably. “Is there something that you thought you might like to do?” They were eating at King Tsin on Solano. The food wasn’t great but it was cheap, and affordable for Barbara, who was always the one who paid.
Now that Tisa was living outside the Center, they would have dinner twice a week at Barbara’s house, and once a week at a restaurant. Barbara always made it a point to refrain from correcting or disciplining Domini when Tisa was in the vicinity. It only created conflict. Tonight, they were having dinner at King Tsin, which was Domini’s choice. Tisa had suggested Fenton’s Creamery, but Barbara put the kibosh on that, much to Tisa’s consternation. Somewhat overprotective, Barbara worried about an ice cream parlour as a choice because the ice cream reminded Barbara that Tisa had a penchant for sugar when she was using. The desserts at Chinese restaurants were abominable. If Tisa was using again, Barbara would know quickly. They talked about school.
“I’m not gonna look like no asshole at 41 sitting in a classroom,” said Tisa. “That ship sailed. I’m sorry I can’t be no scholar like you, Barb,” said Tisa, her sarcasm showing.
“It’s never too late to learn,” said her daughter, now 13, smiling at her mother. Tisa rolled her eyes.
“OK, baby, what do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know, how about a teacher. Or a lawyer. Or a counselor.” Domini’s eyes brightened. “I bet you could really help people because you’ve been there.” Domini looked thoughtful and then added, “I want to be a veterinarian.”
“Why you talk like a white girl?” was her mother’s response. This quickly shut down her daughter and Domini kept her mouth shut for the rest of the evening. Tisa instantly regretted what she said, but she didn’t apologize. Domini needed to have a tougher skin.
“Well, Tisa, how ‘bout it?” ashed her sister. “Maybe you could enroll down there at Merritt or something; get started on a professional program.”
“Oh, like I can only get into a community even though you got into Cal? If you wanted, you could get me in to UC Berkeley.”
“Why is it always about me putting you down, Tisa. I didn’t mean anything by what I just said. If I could I would get you into Cal,” said Barbara. “But I can’t.. I don’t have any pull with Cal or any other college for that matter. And besides, it’s a lot more expensive than Merritt. If you do well there, then you can transfer to Cal after two years. By then, maybe you could save up enough money to go without loans.”
Tisa did not say it then, but she was getting desperate. It wasn’t the plan she had in mind, this going to school, but it was a plan that didn’t depend on her looks to make it work. It couldn’t hurt to check out the professional programs they had, especially if doing so would make her daughter feel good. She had more than ever felt the gap between them widening and it added to her general angst and paranoia. When juvenile promises were no longer effective in making her look good to Domini, she had switched to guilt tactics, calling her daughter a ‘white girl’ when she spoke like an educated young woman; accusing Domini of abandoning her when she had volleyball practice or some such other after school activity that meant she couldn’t come by her mother’s apartment (which invariably was her mother’s boyfriend’s apartment, which could mean anything).
As the months and years went on, these tactics also proved to be less effective, and Tisa felt Domini slipping further away. Tisa had to do something to bring them together, but the thought of spending the time and energy to get through and pay for school, all the while working in some menial job, was unappealing at best. Besides, in the end, she reasoned, what could she do with all that knowledge? Not only did she doubt she’d really learn anything useful, but would her job prospects be better than they were after spending 7 or so years working part time toward her diploma? Maybe, maybe she would make $30,000.00 a year, but even that was unlikely.
Tisa had tried to work in the various positions that were open to someone with her skill set and even at those where she had to fudge her credentials a little She first tried telemarketing, but got angry when people were nasty: she didn’t deserve to be treated like that. She did some time at a coffee house, but her managers, white girls freshly graduated from University of Something, wanted her to be cheerful – like an Uncle Tom – to the demanding customers who whined about their orders. She would never get ahead digging coffee grounds out of cappuccino machines and working for girls who had it cushy in life. The black managers were worse, cutting her no slcak and all and telling her she was lazy and nasty. One boyfriend had suggested she try working for a phone sex company, but she simply wasn’t very good at it, and spent more time watching television that she did moaning into the receiver. After awhile, no one asked for “Candy.”
Tisa had made a few trips across the bay to San Francisco, dressed in her Sunday finest, to find work. When she was not using and took the time, she could look professional. It was her hope that a pretty face might be just the ticket to get her into some hotel, and she inquired if they were looking for someone with her skills set to be a concierge. It was only her beauty that got her further than the front desk, but generally it didn’t get her much further. At one place, when she boasted proudly that she could get anything a guest wanted, including heroin and cocaine, she was asked to leave. One manager threw her out and screamed loudly that this hotel didn’t take prostitutes.
At Larry’s suggestion, Tisa had signed on with Kelly Services, a temporary agency, and fabricated experience with computers and a knowledge of typing, shorthand, filing, and collating. Her first assignment became her last, and she was asked not to return. No one had given her the skills she needed to operate in an office environment and if they had, it’s not likely she would have taken them.
The Val Strough Chevrolet dealerships advertised openings for car salesmen and saleswomen. All it took, they said, was a high school diploma, a desire to be a winner, and a brief training period, for which they would pay each trainee. The job was commission based, but new employees were paid for 90 days while they learned the ropes. A good salesperson could make $80,000.00 in a year, they said. According to the advertisement, you could work your own hours.
Borrowing a suit from her dowdy sister which was subsequently doctored using duct take to make it tighter, shorter, and more revealing, she rode the two busses it took to get to the dealership, and applied for the position. The sales managers on the floor pounced on her the minute she walked in. She was hired on the spot. With looks like that, they said, she could make a killing.
The second day of the training, she missed her first bus. When she arrived 30 minutes late, she was given a warning not to be late again. No one, it seemed, understood the difficulties of public transportation. The following week, she overslept and decided not to go in at all. To avoid trouble, she told them that her daughter was sick, and they gave her a reprieve. The next week, she left early so that she could make an earlier bus (she knew what they would be going over, anyway, so why stick around). A few days later, she stayed home, just because she was sick and tired of the grind. She didn’t call to let them know she wasn’t coming, and she didn’t pick up the phone when it rang at the apartment.
When they fired her, she had been late or absent a total of eleven times, 4 of them unexcused. She was incredulous that she had put in all that time and money coming to class and buying new clothes, only to be fired. She was further shocked to discover, when she tried to file a complaint with the EEOC, that the intake clerk did not buy her story that the dealership was racist, or in the alternative, sexist. Wasn’t she aware, the clerk asked her, that she was on probation and that unexcused absences were unacceptable? Did she understand what it meant to be employed? Didn’t she have any home training, the clerk wanted to know? The unemployment claim was also rejected.
With each failed job experience, she was moving further from the prize which made Tisa increasingly desperate for the quick fix. She was feeling more and more on the periphery of her own life, watching her family move further away from her.
Sitting with her daughter and her sister over Chinese food made her angry at who they were and who they were becoming to each other. She wanted in and she was running out of options. On the one hand, spending all that time at school sounded like the living hell she’d already lived through in high school. On the other hand, going to school would bring her close to her daughter. They might have more to talk about, something she desperately wanted. She might be able to close the gap she saw widening between her and the only thing about which she cared in this world. Domini was her life. Perhaps getting a low-wage job on the way to a college diploma was the only way to wrest her daughter away from her sister. She thought about going back to school. Instead, she went to be a stripper.
The Solid Gold Club was located just outside the downtown Oakland financial district, on Adeline, near 27th Street. It was far enough away from the corporate business offices to be out of the line of sight, but close enough to them to be a clandestine destination for the district’s inhabitants after work. The Gold, as it was known, served up watered-down cocktails and bar fare, and beginning at 12:30 pm, women. The prices were just high enough to keep out the bluest blue collar workers, but low enough that if a middle manager wanted to, he could frequent the place several times a week.
Police Officers were regularly in the area because of its proximity to the Greyhound Bus Station – where there was always some action. They were always allowed in for free. They were treated to as many sodas as they could drink. If he knew the code, a cop could even get his flask filled with Wild Turkey or Bacardi. The rule was, no drinking on the premises and BYO thermos.
There was nothing particularly special about The Gold, though neither was it a seedy dive. Like a new car without extra options, it did its job in a pleasant enough environment and got patrons where they wanted to go with enough comfort to keep them coming back. The perimeter of the ceiling was lined all around with blue and gold Christmas lights, There was an elevated runway in the center of the room, shaped like a T, that was lit from the bottom with blue lights. The bar wrapped around the runway strip. Except for the very front of the runway, where the bartenders stood, a patron could sit anywhere along the runway and enjoy the show. Or, if one preferred to have his lap dance or generally enjoy the show in private, The Gold had tables further away from the action, and booths lined against the wall. The booths had mirrored centerpieces on tables so a patron getting a lap dance could enjoy the view from both sides.
Cocktail waitresses served the table and booth patrons. Most of the cocktail staff were strippers who had given up the life by choice, or by circumstance, like age and pregnancy. Waitresses didn’t make a poor living, but the real money was made on the pole.
TC, the owner/manager at the Gold, had been selling cheap thrills since the late 70’s, when he bought it from its prior owner, who had operated the place as a disco. The mirror balls and fog machine were still used from time to time. Those first years, The Gold changed names every few months: Ladies’ Night, Big’Uns, The Electric Booty, until he landed on The Solid Gold Club in the early 80s. The name had stuck.
The Gold had a fairly loyal following of men and a few women, who came to drink and watch, and occasionally play pool in the back room. On weekends, it was home to a transient crowd of bachelor party-goers most of whom were first-timers, and holdover business trippers looking for disease-free thrills. A girl could make a good living if she got a weekend shift on the runway. The women were mostly congenial, and they worked together to split up the good shifts. TC didn’t meddle much with the schedule and he let them take care of things, unless he saw there was some money to be made switching the women around.
In addition to the main floor, the Gold had two private rooms, reserved for VIPs. In downtown Oakland, a VIP was anyone who could pony up the $300.00 cover to use the 12-seat room for 2 hours. If a guest made an advanced reservation, he could even select the girl or girls who he wanted dancing for him and his friends. Most men who ordered up a VIP room were celebrating something, and the management was happy to accommodate most any legal wish, from specially decorated walls to whipped cream canisters at each seat. Everything came at a price. The festive environment and the management’s willingness to make a VIP happy made the rooms particularly attractive to the strippers. Even though there were only a few men in the room, they often opened their wallets quicker and wider, because they were in a celebratory mood.
As strip clubs went, the place was clean, the management was straightforward, and the patrons were civilized. The Gold did not generally get the high-rolling Japanese businessmen that came through San Francisco and who craved black women and blonde hair, preferably on the same dancer. Still, it managed to bring in a respectable crowd of businessmen, attorneys, and office schlubs who wanted to relax as much as one can with a stentonia drumbeat pounding out pole-grinds. The police were rarely called.
The Gold’s proximity to the Port of Oakland brought in a sufficient number of salesmen and Asian importers with expense accounts to keep TC and his women comfortable and looking good. For these special patrons, TC always carried a stash of cigars in the back, which could be smoked in the private rooms, or given as a parting gifts and a reminder to come back soon. It was not a pedigreed night club, like 20-20 in the city, but neither was it a dump.
The Gold also was not a whorehouse. TC made it clear that any of his girls who hit it on the premises would be immediately fired. What they did on their own time was their business – he wanted no part of it and he didn’t want The Gold to be part of it. TC never touched his girls and didn’t allow the patrons to, either, at least not without their permission. A lap dance, sure, or a tucked bill here and there, but if a girl said no to a little extra feel, it meant no, and he made darn sure any infractions of that rule were swiftly dealt with. If a girl said, yes to more than a casual touch, she had to take it someplace else, far away.
Many of the women speculated over the years that TC was gay, because he wasn’t abusive and he didn’t bed down the women who came in for jobs. He was a businessman and he kept his paws to himself because it was good for business, pure and simple. TC had kept the place running for over 15 years without any problems from the vice squad, the Alcohol Beverage Control board, or any rape crisis centers. He aimed to keep it that way and the more goodwill he built up over the years, the less likely some rogue employee could take it away with a single accusation.
TC considered that he had genuine respect for the women in his club. He called them “girls,” he said, because he was older, like a favorite uncle, and he felt like their protector. He employed as many women who were career strippers as he did those who were single moms and students just trying to stay in the bay area. He hated to see his best earners go, but if they were moving on, he wished them well. He was genuinely proud of his girls for abritraging their bodies to wrestle some poor fat slob’s cash from his wallet.
TC wasn’t a savior and never claimed to be one; if one of his girls was strung out, or if she messed up at work, she was gone – he wasn’t running a church or mission, and he didn’t have time for any activities that were going adversely affect his bottom line. Fuck up? Get out. Swift dealings, TC said, made it possible for him never to hold a grudge. If she cleaned herself up and could otherwise do her work, she was welcome to return to work. Once, anyway.
Notwithstanding his proscription on prostitution, TC was less strict about drugs. He didn’t want to see his patrons or staff opening making deals, or testing product, and he had certainly kicked out his share of dealers – his was not a haven for druggies. That said, such activity was inevitable in life, and especially at a strip club (or Gentleman’s Club as they were becoming known). Moreover, for many of his patrons, a dab of coke or a bit of marijuana greatly enhanced their experience at The Gold. When they were high, they bought things: cigarettes to augment their coke, chicken wings to ward off the munchies, more alcohol to offset the bennies. It was good for business. Besides, cops and politicians had to go somewhere safe to get their contraband; having them pick up a little baggie now and again in his office was insurance against ever being shut down because some Carrie Nation style zealots wanted him out of the neighborhood.
The cleaning crew hit The Gold at 2pm and each night and the place was cleaned down with a bleach-and-water solution that aged the vinyl before its time, but kept away the health department. Before The Gold brought in a lavatory attendant two years ago, the bathrooms had to be cleaned every hour.
These things were less important to Tisa that the fact that The Gold was hiring. They were always hiring, so Tisa went in to check out the place. Larry often mentioned that, during his runner days, he would hop over to one of the local strip clubs to grab a girl for a guest at the hotel. Some were wanted to dance for in-room private parties to serve as cocktail waitresses, or to dance with the guests; other times, they were wanted for more intimate activities. Either way, Larry said, they always walked out with wads of cash. Even the one who were only dancers made good money. Back in the 70’s, said Larry, many of the women were pulling in $20,000.00 a year or more. Some, he said, were even putting themselves through school. Fast easy money, he said. Tisa had forgotten all the downsides of such a life that he talked about. She went in to speak with the manager.
“You got any experience on the pole?” he asked, after she’d completed her application.
“Well, how hard can it be?” she said. TC laughed, looking her up and down. He asked her to turn around so he could look at her.
“Too fat, too flat,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sorry, dear,” he smiled at Tisa and patted her hand. “I don’t think you’re cut out for this sort of work. How old are you, anyway? This is a young girl’s game.”
“I’m 28,” she lied. “And what do you mean too fat?” This was not what she expected to hear. Tisa had never been, and was not now, fat. But average-woman-fully-clothed-fat was not the same thing as stripper-fat, and TC explained that there was just too much dangling skin in areas that men wanted to see something tight.
“Don’t take it personal, but I can’t make any money on you, honey, and that means you can’t make any money.”
“Well, I can lose weight – that’s easy,” said Tisa. “How much do you pay?”
“How much do I pay?!” TC laughed again, “You really are new to this. He put down his cigar and swung around on his barstool to face her. “I don’t pay you, you pay me, brown sugar. That’s how this racket works. If you want to get paid for showing up, this is the wrong gig. Let me tell you how it works:
“For a weekday lunch, I get $50 bucks. You tip out the cocktailers if you get a lap dance, and you tip out the bartenders regardless of what you earn. Weekend lunches are $25.00.
“Friday and Saturday nights you pay $300.00. Other nights, it’s $125.00 with the same tip-out. You get $20.00 for a lap dance and $40.00 if you let them touch your tits. Some women allow these creeps to lick them for an extra $20.00, but that’s your business. I wouldn’t. No low-balling, either – we can’t have cat fights in here because you’re selling short, and I got a reputation to keep up – this is not a peep show. The price I give is the price you charge.
“Private parties’ll cost you $500.00,” he said, motioning to the private rooms. “It’s expensive, but generally, the money’s incredible, and I don’t make you tip out. They go for 2 hours. After that, you can work your way into the rotation here on the runway for free. Of course, a lot of the private parties take on a life of their own outside the club. Or sometimes you get two more hours. In that case, you give me $50.00 more, since I’m not going to turn over the room.” He took up his cigar and sucked some smoke into his cheeks. After a long moment he continued.
“No prostituting. None. Zip. I catch even a whiff of you suckin’ some guy off in the bathroom or spreadin’ it for one of these fat fucks in your car out back, your ass will be out on the street so fast, you won’t even have time to collect your costume. Oh, that reminds me, costumes are on your dime. But none of this matters, honey, because I’ve been in this business long enough to know that you’re not going to make it. You maybe could get by on that rack,” he said, pointing to her breasts, “but that ass is too big, and I’m guessing that stomach’s got some flab on it.”
“I could lose 10lbs in a week,” she said quickly, hoping to maintain his attention. She had already done the calculations: if women were willing to pay to dance here, the money must be phenomenal, and certainly better than anything she might make going to school and working at Top Dog between classes. With money like that, she didn’t need an education. She Could buy Domini that pony and see who was laughing then.
“Well, come back and see me when you think you’ve got what it takes,” he said. “We’re always looking for talent. No guarantees, of course, but you never know. Lose that junk in the trunk and you might make one fine dancer. You want to get up there now and show me something? I’m happy to look.” She didn’t move.
“Look, don’t take this personal. You seem like a nice girl. I just know what sells, honey. It’s all about business. Ask me, you should let this life go. You’re a nice girl. Go get yourself a job at Peet’s Coffee and go to secretarial school or something. That’s more your speed.”
“You want me to get up there and dance, I’ll dance. Put something on,” she said. She was not going to let her dream disappear that quickly.
“Sure, kid,” he said. TC waved and called out to his dj who was setting up for the afternoon shift. “Hey, Gordon, put up some music. I got an audition.”
Someone turned on the blue lights under the floor and Tisa stripped down to her panties and bra. The bartender lead her around to the runway stairs and she got up to dance. It wasn’t much different than dancing for boyfriends in high school, only the bedroom was nightclub. After a few minutes, she saw the bartender nod to TC, and he waved her down.
“Well, you got the moves, and you’re pretty good for a beginner. Like you said, how hard can it be, huh? Anyway, tell you what I’m gonna do cuz I like your spunk. We pay $3.53 an hour for cocktailers. You keep your tips and tip-out the bartenders. If you’re good to the girls, they’ll be good to you. The money’s OK, and you don’t have to take off your clothes. If you drop the weight, maybe get a boob job, I’ll let you work the floor. Sound good?”
“What are the tips like for cocktailers?” she said, putting her clothes back on. The question made TC laugh again.
“You cut to the chase, don’t you? Shit, I don’t know. Some do better than others. Your time’s not your own – you have to show up when we need someone. In the beginning, they money’s not so good, but if you sell a lot of lap dances and make your customers happy getting them drinks, then, I don’t know, probably could bring in $300.00 on a real good night, less most of the time.” He swung his legs around to the floor and hopped off the barstool.
“I got things to do, you want the position?”
“OK, when do I start?” she said. She could always quite later if she found something else.
“I dunno, talk to Randy,” he motioned to the bartender. “Randy – this is Tisa, our new cocktailer. Put something together for her, would’ja?” Then he turned back to Tisa and touched her shoulder. “Good to meet you, Tisa. Here’s a tip: best way to make friends with the girls is to sell those dances.” He disappeared in the back.
Tisa had never had female friends. She viewed them as competition; in the looks racket, you were as good looking as you were not merely based upon subjective criteria, but also on who was standing next to you. In high school, it was a slippery balance. You had to be part of the good looking crowd, but you wanted to be the best looking of them. And in high school, other things mattered, too. It was cool to be just a little rebellious. It was cool not to participate in the ra-ra acitivites, and it was cool to be just a little bit selfish. In some sense, high school was the perfect training ground for Tisa to hone her character. She was a mean girl, and mean girls didn’t have girlfriends, or if they did, they were only friends as long as the relationship was useful. Being nice to sluts who were ostensibly in the way of her making money was going to be difficult.
Tisa started on the day shift, which meant she had to be at work at 10:30. The bar opened at 11:00 and the first cocktailers were needed to help the bartender set-up, and to do side work. The dancers – they preferred not to be called strippers – were due in at 12, and generally went on stage at between 12:15 and 12:30, so they could get the noon crowd. The day-shifters pooled tips. This helped a girl out who was working the back tables; since customers could sit where they liked, the seating arrangement could get lopsided. Pooling tips insured that a cocktailer got something for her shift. It also created an incentive for the women to work together.
The day shift women spent their time serving cocktails to the “nooners” who needed to take the edge off after a long 3 hour stint at the office. This was not the celebratory crowd of pre-marriage bachelors, or deal-closing managers who flicked off dollar bills like they were lint; these were the workaday stiffs whose afternoon drinking habits made them prefer the companionship of strangers. Many of them were long-timers, the bartender told Tisa. They kept to themselves and were happy to tip you for not noticing how much they drank or what time it was. It could be depressing work, but since most of the cocktailers were not much better off than their clientele, it worked out.
“Most of ‘em are alcoholics, or at least real heavy drinkers,” said the bartender, wiping down his bar and handing Tisa a box of paper napkins to add to the dispensers on the table. “They’ll have a sandwich or some wings, but they’re here for the booze.”
“if they’re alcoholics, then why don’t they come every day?” asked Tisa, remembering her own habit.
“Well, you know, they put up lots of road blocks to their disease, to make sure they’re not found out. One of ‘em is not to go to the same place in a day. They all got their own circuit, know what I mean? We’re just one stop on the circuit. See that guy over there?” said the bartender, pointing to a man who had just slipped into small rounder in the back. “He comes in here 2 or 3 times a week. But my buddy Manny, a bartender who works down at the Blue Pelican on MacArthur, says that same guy comes into his place twice a week, too. He’s kidding himself that we don’t know.” The bartender shook his head, and ducked under the bat to pull out some Smirnoff, the house vodka and preferred spirit of those customers who had to go back to work.
Tisa enjoyed talking to the bartender. She felt comfortable around him – he didn’t judge her and he didn’t want anything from her. Even she had to admit that there were girls prettier than she in the place, so she didn’t try to compete for his affections, and if she had, he wasn’t buying. He had made that clear. “I don’t shit where I eat,” he told her on her first day. “And don’t give me any of that Hooker with a heart of gold bullshit either. I don’t care about your 7 kids or your sick mom. Let’s keep our personal lives to ourselves. You remember than and we’ll get along just fine.”
That was perfectly fine with Tisa. Besides, what would she say, she wondered, if she was asked to reveal her past? That she was a three-time unrecovered recovering drug addict who’d never had a job more than a week, had a child out of wedlock from guy who disappeared into the street; had a family who probably was responsible for putting her there, and a sister who was slowly trying to take her daughter? No, she was pleased that the bartender wanted to chat about work and the weather – anything by life stories.
The bartender had given her a small bag of red-and-white holiday mint candies. “Here. You first bag’s on me. Drop these when you drop your tab. Give a couple. That’ll help your customer mask his breath. Most of ‘em carry mints and gum and such, but they always appreciate a little something from the waitress. And be discreet about it; these guys want us to think they’re here for the women, not the booze.”
“Why would he even care what we think?” asked Tisa, eyeing the man as he removed his jacket and flipped open the menu and just as quickly closed it.
“We’re technically not supposed to serve people who are drunk or serve people who are habitual alcoholics. Could be he’s been kicked out of places before, or maybe he just doesn’t want us to think he’s a drunk. I dunno.” The bartender loaded some ice in his station as he talked. “as long as he pays his tab, what do I care. I don’t have to be his friend to serve him a drink, although, lemme tell you, some of these guys think I am their friend, cuz I keep my mouth shut and nod when they talk.” The bartender piled some barchecks on the counter for Tisa and the other cocktailer to use.
“He doesn’t look real bad off though, “said the bartender. “When they do get to lookin’ bad, we kick ‘em out. Not good for business to have some slobbery, smelly, bad-lookin’ guy crying in his beer. Besides, no girl’s gonna give some gutter-rat a lap dance and that means you and I don’t get tipped out,” he winked at her.
“Looks like he’s got a job somewhere. Judging from the short sleeved shirt, he’s either middle management, a salesman, or an engineer. Probably manager. Anyway, he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. He’ll be around a few more years.”
“Then what?” Tisa asked, adjusting her short cocktail dress to accommodate the pen and drink slips she tucked in the back.
“Then I don’t know, “ said the bartender. “You know, some of them just get worse and worse until we kick ‘em out. Then they disappear. Some of them we know just end up on the street, I guess, like the winos you see out there sometimes.” He was thoughtful for a moment and then continued. “You know, most of these guys got family, so they get treatment, you know, like AA or some private place. Every so often we even get some angry wife or mother who blames us for the guy’s disease, like if we weren’t here, he’d be fine. Sometimes we even get some wife or other going after the dancers, you know, like them doin’ their thing up on stage makes them homewreckers.” He shook his head.
“So everyone in here’s an alcoholic?”
“Hardly,” said the bartender. “Nah, we get a lotta normal guys who come here to watch the dancers – they’re beautiful, why not? And also we get folks coming in from the port. Travelers and such and salesmen. They stop in and we never see them again. We get normal guys taking a break. Maybe they come in because it’s close to where they happen to be and they just want a beer. You know, there’s lots of construction in this neighborhood. Sometimes we just get crews celebrating a birthday, something like that. Really, it’s not so bad.
“But the day crowd is just less predictable in that way. At night, we get more folks who are just there to party and see the girls. Because, well, most folks wait until 5 to start their drinking. When you get a guy in here a few times a week or month who’s knockin’ ‘em back starting at 12, well, he’s probably got the bug.
“”He looks like a loser to me,” said Tisa, nodding to the man in her station.
“Well, honey, it’s your job – and frankly your tip – to make sure he doesn’t feel like a loser. That’s why he comes in here, so pretty gals like you can help him take the edge off. Go on, now, be nice to him.” The bartender moved away to serve a new customer at his bar.
Tisa put on her best smile and walked over to where the man was sitting. It was easy for her to be nice to men, even losers, if they had something she wanted. In high school, it was weed or wheels. When she was using, it was pills and blow. Now, it was his money.
“Well, hello, how are you this afternoon?” she said brightly.
“Fine,” said the man flatly, tucking his head down and not looking at her. “I’ll have the Philly cheese steak and a beer, please,” he said quickly, keeping his face down.
“You sure that’s all you want?” she said, with a sultry lilt. “How about a lap dance?”
“No, just the sandwich. Bring the beer first.” His words were clipped. He didn’t smile and he kept his head down.
“You sure,” said Tisa, “her best ‘soft voice’ at work. “I think Kimber likes you,” she said, waving to one of the strippers who had just walked in. Kimber waved back. “She’s seen you in here before. I bet you like her, too.”
“JUST the sandwich,” he said, this time sternly.
“What about Julianne? She’s in the back. I’d be happy to go get her.”
“No thank you,” said the man, scooting out of the booth. He quickly walked to the exit, dragging his coat behind him, and walked out.
“Fucker,” Tisa mumbled under her breath. She walked back to the bar to wait for another customer.
“You gotta read their body language,” came an unsolicited comment from another cocktailer. “That’ll tell you what they want and what you can sell.” The cocktailer, Maxine, smiled at her, and while Tisa was not accustomed to taking instruction from anyone, it did seem like this woman was being nice, so she responded.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he didn’t smile at you when you walked up. You’re a pretty girl; he should have smiled at you. That tells you who the real mistress is. For him it was that booze. We girls gotta stick together, especially in the day shift. Else we can’t make that rent check at the end of the month.” Maxine smiled again and patted the barstool next to hers. “Don’t worry. We all make the same mistake. You’ll do fine. Just don’t mess up too often. I can’t afford it.” She winked at Tisa to let her know she was kidding.
Maxine had lived a hard life, considerably harder than Tisa’s. Having left home because of an abusive father at 12, she had gotten in the sex trade early. Maxine had the battle scars of a heroin users, but the scars had healed years ago and she told Tisa that she had been clean for over a decade. Like Tisa’s friend Larry, Maxine agreed that heroin was the greatest drug on the planet, if you had a death wish.
For a very brief time, she had been a prostitute, but the life didn’t suit her, she told Tisa. “I think you really have to hate men to do that sort of work. It’s the only way to make yourself feel like they’re the mark, not you.” Fortunately, she told Tisa, she was working for Artie Mitchell at the time, in the club he ran with his brother, The Mitchell Brothers’ O’Farrell Theatre, and it was an easy transition out of that life.
Maxine had personally performed a lap dance for Hugh Heffner, she told Tisa. But that was years ago, when the theatre was a place to make money. She had come to the Gold 4 years ago, danced on the runway until 2 years ago, and had settled into cocktailing as a form of retirement, she said. Maxine was 27. She had been working the club scene since she was 13.
“Most girls got pimps and stuff, and if I had gone that way, I’d probably still be in the life,” said Maxine, during a break on her shift. “But I was working the Champagne Room for Artie and when I was tired of it, he was cool -- just let me back on the pole.”
The Champagne Room was like the private dance rooms at The Gold, only famous. The Champagne Room had a stage. For an additional $100.00 a girl would give you a lap dance on the bed – also known as a bed dance. For $400.00 more, you could get more than a dance. Maxine had been lured by the money, originally, but couldn’t handle the perverts who frequented the place.
“That’s when I was using, so anything that brought in cash looked good to me. But I got clean with my boyfriend at the time and then I ran screaming. No more Champagne Room for me.”
Tisa learned a good deal about Maxine’s life between serving up baskets of chicken wings and martinis without vermouth. She couldn’t understand why Maxine was not more bitter and angry about her own situation. Maxine’s one child had been taken by the state during her brief stint with heroin; she had been raped twice, and at 27, she was still living in a studio apartment with barely more than a toaster to her name. Maxine shook it off, telling Tisa that she needed to make the best of things. Talking to Maxine made Tisa’s work day go by faster.
Maxine showed Tisa the ropes, letting Tisa shadow her during the days they were on shift together, and then debriefing her about what had just happened. Tisa got to know what signs to look for on a customer that made them a viable candidate for premium liquor, a lapdance, or a private room, all of which put more money in their pockets. Like Larry, Maxine was full of stories about the good old days, when she was using. Tisa was less forthcoming about her own life.
“We used to have to dance completely naked over at the Mitchell Brothers’, she said. “But the money was top dollar. We had to pay a bigger cover than here, but the tip-outs were good enough to make it worth it. Artie and Jimmy, the owners, charged a $30.00 cover per person. I can only imagine the money they were making.
“Some nights, I’d come home with $3000.00. On a good weekend sift, you could pull down $10,000 and that was 8 years ago,” said Maxine. “I don’t recommend the life for anyone, but if you pick the right place at the right time, there’s good cheddar.”
“What can you make here on a good night,” asked Tisa.
“Up there?,” said Maxine, pointing to the runway. “A girl can make almost the same, but I mean, it doesn’t go as far because it’s a new day. Some nights are better than others. Just sort of depends., I guess.”
“Depends on what?”
“Well, lots of things, you know; like who’s working the bar. If the drinks are good, the patrons stay longer, get drunker, tip bigger, and order more dances. If a guy’s having a birthday party and he wants to be there, that’s a good one., too. Which reminds me,” she said, “If a guy comes in for a bachelor party or something and you see he’s uncomfortable, he’s your mark. Tell him you understand how he feels, coming into a place like this and be real low-key. You’ll get a big tip.”
“What else do I need to know?” Tisa wanted to know it all. If the runway was where the money was, then the runway was where she wanted to be. Maxine casually spit out tricks of the trade as they worked: always pay extra attention to someone who’s throwing bills at your if you’re on the pole. Carry a bottle of rubbing alcohol in your purse and work gloves into your act. When you first come on stage, wear your gloves covered in alcohol and gives the poles a good rub as you dance to ward off herpes. Bring a flashlight and put a red Dixie cup over the top. If a guy is giving you extra attention, simulate sex with the flashlight.
“But look at us. You and I are too old to be up there shakin’ it. Once you’ve got some night shifts, you’ll see, the money’s good, and if you sell the girls’ dances, they’ll treat you right. I work Friday nights, which is definitely the best night – better than Saturday. Anyway, I think I made $500.00 last weekend. It’s good money, hon. Don’t get on that herpes infested pole. Save it for the young things.”
“Why don’t you dance up there any more?” asked Tisa.
“It was time to quit, I guess. You have to know when the life’s not for you any more. I’ve seen girls get booed off. It’s pretty humiliating. Besides, this don’t doesn’t have a retirement plan. What’s that saying? A young man’s game?”
“Why didn’t you just cocktail at The Mitchell Brothers Theater?”
“Oh, honey, you can’t serve cocktails there. California doesn’t allow alcohol to be sold where there’s full nudity. I would have made just enough there to have to get on my back again. Nope, I like The Gold just fine.”
After two weeks working the lunch crowd, Tisa was able to get some evening shifts. She had managed to keep her temper at bay, learn some waitressing tricks from Maxine that increased her tips, and keep her past to herself. She was making enough money to make ends meet, and even buy herself some nice clothes or something for her place. She charmed meals -- such as they were – out of the day cooks, so she never had to buy food. It never occurred to Tisa to assist her sister financially. Whatever money was leftover from the rent went to Tisa. Not having a bank account or the slightest clue how to get one, she kept her money under her bed.
Despite its function, the Gold was one of the first jobs Tisa had worked at that lasted for more than a few days. It was also the first place that Tisa had made female friends like Maxine. Maxine refused to complete with Tisa and ignored Tisa’s rants and anger. They had even gone out for coffee a few times, just because. Tisa could not remember a time when someone wanted her company for her and not for sex or drugs, or a court order. Maxine was not ashamed of working at the Gold, but neither did she think it was a good place to spend her life. Maxine had plans. School, maybe an office job.
Tisa’s schedule was even stable enough for her to start school, as her daughter had hoped, but the beginning of fall came and went without her ever picking up the catalog. She wanted to be closer to Domini, but the way to do that was with the gifts she could buy and the dinners she could lavish on her, Tisa was certain. After all, how could you share an education. To do what she wanted she needed cash, so what she wanted was to be on the pole.
Partly because TC and Maxine said she was too old, and partly because it symbolized for her the youth she’d lost downing whitecaps, she had to get up there. Tisa was pretty good at selling dances from her position as a cocktail waitress and the girls tipped her out generously, but she could not stand that she carried less status and weight among the men who patronized The Gold. Too fat and too flat had been TC’s battle cry when she first started working there. She needed to do something about the weight first, so she could get up there and make some real money. The boob job could come later.
Thing was, she was having trouble taking off the weight. Gone were the days when she could easily drop a few pounds simply by skipping the cream and sugar in her coffee. TC was clear: she could not get on the pole until she could show TC that she had what men wanted. His advice was to stay on the floor.
Most of the strippers were young, but a few had years on them that Tisa hadn’t yet seen. She went to them first. Some just didn’t eat much or were naturally thin; some spent time at the gym, firming things up. Some speed, they said, to take the pounds off quickly, like after a night out drinking. It was also a good kicker to start the night with, so the speed worked double-duty. If you wanted, you could easily dull your buzz with a little beer or a screwdriver. They slipped her a few bennies. It was fine, they said, . . . . so long as you could keep it in check.
1999 – Complications
It had been the longest time she’d stayed clean: 5 years. In fact, she wasn’t totally clean, but she was mostly clean. And since Tisa had always maintained that she wasn’t a drug addict, mostly clean was fine. A little wine now and then was fine. A little pot. She didn’t take people’s pills any more nor did she bother with needles. She was clean enough.
She had not fared so well on housing. The court determined Domini would remain in the custody of Barbara until Tisa was in a stable living situation. Practically speaking, that meant she had to stay in one place for a period of 9 months and then she could file a petition that would be ruled on within 30 days. Barbara had promised Tisa that she would not oppose any custody bid of Domini and the judge said, pending successfully staying clean and being stable, the court would allow her to regain custody of the child, though such custody would be heavily supervised and she would have to submit to drug tests as a condition of keeping the child. It wasn’t fair. The judges knew it wasn’t fair. Every 8 months or so, she would do something that upset her usually racist or mean or useless landlord and he would kick her out. The court knew that something would happen, not just to her, but to anyone, just about every 9 months. It was another wedge driven between her and her daughter.
There was also the suggestion that Tisa get – and keep – a job. The Christian Hand Center’s program was open and always available to Tisa and all “alumni” but Tisa had issues with the types of jobs being offered to Center graduates and she preferred to go it on her own. Larry continued to offer his support in the form of phone calls and he always made it known that she could come down and work with him at the Center if she needed some training.
She was no longer 20, but Tisa was still beautiful. She didn’t have the dew of youth on her skin, but neither did she need it; she still turned the heads of all but the very youngest of men who passed her on the street. Her hips were narrow and still tight., her skin was smooth and her smile still white. Tisa knew, however, that her days were numbered. She had little time left to stabilize her living situation and milk whatever she could from her physical characteristics. Securing a good man would take work, but it was her best hope.
Domini, who was already 13, was mostly grown and in all likelihood would come out just fine. So Tisa was now Tisa’s concern. What about me, she wondered. It was either money or men. Maybe someday Domini would take care of her, but those days were still a ways off. She still kept her weekly dinners with her daughter, who despite having been raised primarily by Barbara, remained surprisingly loyal to her mother. They discussed Tisa’s next move.
“Maybe you could go back to school,” suggested Barbara, predictably. “Is there something that you thought you might like to do?” They were eating at King Tsin on Solano. The food wasn’t great but it was cheap, and affordable for Barbara, who was always the one who paid.
Now that Tisa was living outside the Center, they would have dinner twice a week at Barbara’s house, and once a week at a restaurant. Barbara always made it a point to refrain from correcting or disciplining Domini when Tisa was in the vicinity. It only created conflict. Tonight, they were having dinner at King Tsin, which was Domini’s choice. Tisa had suggested Fenton’s Creamery, but Barbara put the kibosh on that, much to Tisa’s consternation. Somewhat overprotective, Barbara worried about an ice cream parlour as a choice because the ice cream reminded Barbara that Tisa had a penchant for sugar when she was using. The desserts at Chinese restaurants were abominable. If Tisa was using again, Barbara would know quickly. They talked about school.
“I’m not gonna look like no asshole at 41 sitting in a classroom,” said Tisa. “That ship sailed. I’m sorry I can’t be no scholar like you, Barb,” said Tisa, her sarcasm showing.
“It’s never too late to learn,” said her daughter, now 13, smiling at her mother. Tisa rolled her eyes.
“OK, baby, what do you think I should do?”
“I don’t know, how about a teacher. Or a lawyer. Or a counselor.” Domini’s eyes brightened. “I bet you could really help people because you’ve been there.” Domini looked thoughtful and then added, “I want to be a veterinarian.”
“Why you talk like a white girl?” was her mother’s response. This quickly shut down her daughter and Domini kept her mouth shut for the rest of the evening. Tisa instantly regretted what she said, but she didn’t apologize. Domini needed to have a tougher skin.
“Well, Tisa, how ‘bout it?” ashed her sister. “Maybe you could enroll down there at Merritt or something; get started on a professional program.”
“Oh, like I can only get into a community even though you got into Cal? If you wanted, you could get me in to UC Berkeley.”
“Why is it always about me putting you down, Tisa. I didn’t mean anything by what I just said. If I could I would get you into Cal,” said Barbara. “But I can’t.. I don’t have any pull with Cal or any other college for that matter. And besides, it’s a lot more expensive than Merritt. If you do well there, then you can transfer to Cal after two years. By then, maybe you could save up enough money to go without loans.”
Tisa did not say it then, but she was getting desperate. It wasn’t the plan she had in mind, this going to school, but it was a plan that didn’t depend on her looks to make it work. It couldn’t hurt to check out the professional programs they had, especially if doing so would make her daughter feel good. She had more than ever felt the gap between them widening and it added to her general angst and paranoia. When juvenile promises were no longer effective in making her look good to Domini, she had switched to guilt tactics, calling her daughter a ‘white girl’ when she spoke like an educated young woman; accusing Domini of abandoning her when she had volleyball practice or some such other after school activity that meant she couldn’t come by her mother’s apartment (which invariably was her mother’s boyfriend’s apartment, which could mean anything).
As the months and years went on, these tactics also proved to be less effective, and Tisa felt Domini slipping further away. Tisa had to do something to bring them together, but the thought of spending the time and energy to get through and pay for school, all the while working in some menial job, was unappealing at best. Besides, in the end, she reasoned, what could she do with all that knowledge? Not only did she doubt she’d really learn anything useful, but would her job prospects be better than they were after spending 7 or so years working part time toward her diploma? Maybe, maybe she would make $30,000.00 a year, but even that was unlikely.
Tisa had tried to work in the various positions that were open to someone with her skill set and even at those where she had to fudge her credentials a little She first tried telemarketing, but got angry when people were nasty: she didn’t deserve to be treated like that. She did some time at a coffee house, but her managers, white girls freshly graduated from University of Something, wanted her to be cheerful – like an Uncle Tom – to the demanding customers who whined about their orders. She would never get ahead digging coffee grounds out of cappuccino machines and working for girls who had it cushy in life. The black managers were worse, cutting her no slcak and all and telling her she was lazy and nasty. One boyfriend had suggested she try working for a phone sex company, but she simply wasn’t very good at it, and spent more time watching television that she did moaning into the receiver. After awhile, no one asked for “Candy.”
Tisa had made a few trips across the bay to San Francisco, dressed in her Sunday finest, to find work. When she was not using and took the time, she could look professional. It was her hope that a pretty face might be just the ticket to get her into some hotel, and she inquired if they were looking for someone with her skills set to be a concierge. It was only her beauty that got her further than the front desk, but generally it didn’t get her much further. At one place, when she boasted proudly that she could get anything a guest wanted, including heroin and cocaine, she was asked to leave. One manager threw her out and screamed loudly that this hotel didn’t take prostitutes.
At Larry’s suggestion, Tisa had signed on with Kelly Services, a temporary agency, and fabricated experience with computers and a knowledge of typing, shorthand, filing, and collating. Her first assignment became her last, and she was asked not to return. No one had given her the skills she needed to operate in an office environment and if they had, it’s not likely she would have taken them.
The Val Strough Chevrolet dealerships advertised openings for car salesmen and saleswomen. All it took, they said, was a high school diploma, a desire to be a winner, and a brief training period, for which they would pay each trainee. The job was commission based, but new employees were paid for 90 days while they learned the ropes. A good salesperson could make $80,000.00 in a year, they said. According to the advertisement, you could work your own hours.
Borrowing a suit from her dowdy sister which was subsequently doctored using duct take to make it tighter, shorter, and more revealing, she rode the two busses it took to get to the dealership, and applied for the position. The sales managers on the floor pounced on her the minute she walked in. She was hired on the spot. With looks like that, they said, she could make a killing.
The second day of the training, she missed her first bus. When she arrived 30 minutes late, she was given a warning not to be late again. No one, it seemed, understood the difficulties of public transportation. The following week, she overslept and decided not to go in at all. To avoid trouble, she told them that her daughter was sick, and they gave her a reprieve. The next week, she left early so that she could make an earlier bus (she knew what they would be going over, anyway, so why stick around). A few days later, she stayed home, just because she was sick and tired of the grind. She didn’t call to let them know she wasn’t coming, and she didn’t pick up the phone when it rang at the apartment.
When they fired her, she had been late or absent a total of eleven times, 4 of them unexcused. She was incredulous that she had put in all that time and money coming to class and buying new clothes, only to be fired. She was further shocked to discover, when she tried to file a complaint with the EEOC, that the intake clerk did not buy her story that the dealership was racist, or in the alternative, sexist. Wasn’t she aware, the clerk asked her, that she was on probation and that unexcused absences were unacceptable? Did she understand what it meant to be employed? Didn’t she have any home training, the clerk wanted to know? The unemployment claim was also rejected.
With each failed job experience, she was moving further from the prize which made Tisa increasingly desperate for the quick fix. She was feeling more and more on the periphery of her own life, watching her family move further away from her.
Sitting with her daughter and her sister over Chinese food made her angry at who they were and who they were becoming to each other. She wanted in and she was running out of options. On the one hand, spending all that time at school sounded like the living hell she’d already lived through in high school. On the other hand, going to school would bring her close to her daughter. They might have more to talk about, something she desperately wanted. She might be able to close the gap she saw widening between her and the only thing about which she cared in this world. Domini was her life. Perhaps getting a low-wage job on the way to a college diploma was the only way to wrest her daughter away from her sister. She thought about going back to school. Instead, she went to be a stripper.
The Solid Gold Club was located just outside the downtown Oakland financial district, on Adeline, near 27th Street. It was far enough away from the corporate business offices to be out of the line of sight, but close enough to them to be a clandestine destination for the district’s inhabitants after work. The Gold, as it was known, served up watered-down cocktails and bar fare, and beginning at 12:30 pm, women. The prices were just high enough to keep out the bluest blue collar workers, but low enough that if a middle manager wanted to, he could frequent the place several times a week.
Police Officers were regularly in the area because of its proximity to the Greyhound Bus Station – where there was always some action. They were always allowed in for free. They were treated to as many sodas as they could drink. If he knew the code, a cop could even get his flask filled with Wild Turkey or Bacardi. The rule was, no drinking on the premises and BYO thermos.
There was nothing particularly special about The Gold, though neither was it a seedy dive. Like a new car without extra options, it did its job in a pleasant enough environment and got patrons where they wanted to go with enough comfort to keep them coming back. The perimeter of the ceiling was lined all around with blue and gold Christmas lights, There was an elevated runway in the center of the room, shaped like a T, that was lit from the bottom with blue lights. The bar wrapped around the runway strip. Except for the very front of the runway, where the bartenders stood, a patron could sit anywhere along the runway and enjoy the show. Or, if one preferred to have his lap dance or generally enjoy the show in private, The Gold had tables further away from the action, and booths lined against the wall. The booths had mirrored centerpieces on tables so a patron getting a lap dance could enjoy the view from both sides.
Cocktail waitresses served the table and booth patrons. Most of the cocktail staff were strippers who had given up the life by choice, or by circumstance, like age and pregnancy. Waitresses didn’t make a poor living, but the real money was made on the pole.
TC, the owner/manager at the Gold, had been selling cheap thrills since the late 70’s, when he bought it from its prior owner, who had operated the place as a disco. The mirror balls and fog machine were still used from time to time. Those first years, The Gold changed names every few months: Ladies’ Night, Big’Uns, The Electric Booty, until he landed on The Solid Gold Club in the early 80s. The name had stuck.
The Gold had a fairly loyal following of men and a few women, who came to drink and watch, and occasionally play pool in the back room. On weekends, it was home to a transient crowd of bachelor party-goers most of whom were first-timers, and holdover business trippers looking for disease-free thrills. A girl could make a good living if she got a weekend shift on the runway. The women were mostly congenial, and they worked together to split up the good shifts. TC didn’t meddle much with the schedule and he let them take care of things, unless he saw there was some money to be made switching the women around.
In addition to the main floor, the Gold had two private rooms, reserved for VIPs. In downtown Oakland, a VIP was anyone who could pony up the $300.00 cover to use the 12-seat room for 2 hours. If a guest made an advanced reservation, he could even select the girl or girls who he wanted dancing for him and his friends. Most men who ordered up a VIP room were celebrating something, and the management was happy to accommodate most any legal wish, from specially decorated walls to whipped cream canisters at each seat. Everything came at a price. The festive environment and the management’s willingness to make a VIP happy made the rooms particularly attractive to the strippers. Even though there were only a few men in the room, they often opened their wallets quicker and wider, because they were in a celebratory mood.
As strip clubs went, the place was clean, the management was straightforward, and the patrons were civilized. The Gold did not generally get the high-rolling Japanese businessmen that came through San Francisco and who craved black women and blonde hair, preferably on the same dancer. Still, it managed to bring in a respectable crowd of businessmen, attorneys, and office schlubs who wanted to relax as much as one can with a stentonia drumbeat pounding out pole-grinds. The police were rarely called.
The Gold’s proximity to the Port of Oakland brought in a sufficient number of salesmen and Asian importers with expense accounts to keep TC and his women comfortable and looking good. For these special patrons, TC always carried a stash of cigars in the back, which could be smoked in the private rooms, or given as a parting gifts and a reminder to come back soon. It was not a pedigreed night club, like 20-20 in the city, but neither was it a dump.
The Gold also was not a whorehouse. TC made it clear that any of his girls who hit it on the premises would be immediately fired. What they did on their own time was their business – he wanted no part of it and he didn’t want The Gold to be part of it. TC never touched his girls and didn’t allow the patrons to, either, at least not without their permission. A lap dance, sure, or a tucked bill here and there, but if a girl said no to a little extra feel, it meant no, and he made darn sure any infractions of that rule were swiftly dealt with. If a girl said, yes to more than a casual touch, she had to take it someplace else, far away.
Many of the women speculated over the years that TC was gay, because he wasn’t abusive and he didn’t bed down the women who came in for jobs. He was a businessman and he kept his paws to himself because it was good for business, pure and simple. TC had kept the place running for over 15 years without any problems from the vice squad, the Alcohol Beverage Control board, or any rape crisis centers. He aimed to keep it that way and the more goodwill he built up over the years, the less likely some rogue employee could take it away with a single accusation.
TC considered that he had genuine respect for the women in his club. He called them “girls,” he said, because he was older, like a favorite uncle, and he felt like their protector. He employed as many women who were career strippers as he did those who were single moms and students just trying to stay in the bay area. He hated to see his best earners go, but if they were moving on, he wished them well. He was genuinely proud of his girls for abritraging their bodies to wrestle some poor fat slob’s cash from his wallet.
TC wasn’t a savior and never claimed to be one; if one of his girls was strung out, or if she messed up at work, she was gone – he wasn’t running a church or mission, and he didn’t have time for any activities that were going adversely affect his bottom line. Fuck up? Get out. Swift dealings, TC said, made it possible for him never to hold a grudge. If she cleaned herself up and could otherwise do her work, she was welcome to return to work. Once, anyway.
Notwithstanding his proscription on prostitution, TC was less strict about drugs. He didn’t want to see his patrons or staff opening making deals, or testing product, and he had certainly kicked out his share of dealers – his was not a haven for druggies. That said, such activity was inevitable in life, and especially at a strip club (or Gentleman’s Club as they were becoming known). Moreover, for many of his patrons, a dab of coke or a bit of marijuana greatly enhanced their experience at The Gold. When they were high, they bought things: cigarettes to augment their coke, chicken wings to ward off the munchies, more alcohol to offset the bennies. It was good for business. Besides, cops and politicians had to go somewhere safe to get their contraband; having them pick up a little baggie now and again in his office was insurance against ever being shut down because some Carrie Nation style zealots wanted him out of the neighborhood.
The cleaning crew hit The Gold at 2pm and each night and the place was cleaned down with a bleach-and-water solution that aged the vinyl before its time, but kept away the health department. Before The Gold brought in a lavatory attendant two years ago, the bathrooms had to be cleaned every hour.
These things were less important to Tisa that the fact that The Gold was hiring. They were always hiring, so Tisa went in to check out the place. Larry often mentioned that, during his runner days, he would hop over to one of the local strip clubs to grab a girl for a guest at the hotel. Some were wanted to dance for in-room private parties to serve as cocktail waitresses, or to dance with the guests; other times, they were wanted for more intimate activities. Either way, Larry said, they always walked out with wads of cash. Even the one who were only dancers made good money. Back in the 70’s, said Larry, many of the women were pulling in $20,000.00 a year or more. Some, he said, were even putting themselves through school. Fast easy money, he said. Tisa had forgotten all the downsides of such a life that he talked about. She went in to speak with the manager.
“You got any experience on the pole?” he asked, after she’d completed her application.
“Well, how hard can it be?” she said. TC laughed, looking her up and down. He asked her to turn around so he could look at her.
“Too fat, too flat,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sorry, dear,” he smiled at Tisa and patted her hand. “I don’t think you’re cut out for this sort of work. How old are you, anyway? This is a young girl’s game.”
“I’m 28,” she lied. “And what do you mean too fat?” This was not what she expected to hear. Tisa had never been, and was not now, fat. But average-woman-fully-clothed-fat was not the same thing as stripper-fat, and TC explained that there was just too much dangling skin in areas that men wanted to see something tight.
“Don’t take it personal, but I can’t make any money on you, honey, and that means you can’t make any money.”
“Well, I can lose weight – that’s easy,” said Tisa. “How much do you pay?”
“How much do I pay?!” TC laughed again, “You really are new to this. He put down his cigar and swung around on his barstool to face her. “I don’t pay you, you pay me, brown sugar. That’s how this racket works. If you want to get paid for showing up, this is the wrong gig. Let me tell you how it works:
“For a weekday lunch, I get $50 bucks. You tip out the cocktailers if you get a lap dance, and you tip out the bartenders regardless of what you earn. Weekend lunches are $25.00.
“Friday and Saturday nights you pay $300.00. Other nights, it’s $125.00 with the same tip-out. You get $20.00 for a lap dance and $40.00 if you let them touch your tits. Some women allow these creeps to lick them for an extra $20.00, but that’s your business. I wouldn’t. No low-balling, either – we can’t have cat fights in here because you’re selling short, and I got a reputation to keep up – this is not a peep show. The price I give is the price you charge.
“Private parties’ll cost you $500.00,” he said, motioning to the private rooms. “It’s expensive, but generally, the money’s incredible, and I don’t make you tip out. They go for 2 hours. After that, you can work your way into the rotation here on the runway for free. Of course, a lot of the private parties take on a life of their own outside the club. Or sometimes you get two more hours. In that case, you give me $50.00 more, since I’m not going to turn over the room.” He took up his cigar and sucked some smoke into his cheeks. After a long moment he continued.
“No prostituting. None. Zip. I catch even a whiff of you suckin’ some guy off in the bathroom or spreadin’ it for one of these fat fucks in your car out back, your ass will be out on the street so fast, you won’t even have time to collect your costume. Oh, that reminds me, costumes are on your dime. But none of this matters, honey, because I’ve been in this business long enough to know that you’re not going to make it. You maybe could get by on that rack,” he said, pointing to her breasts, “but that ass is too big, and I’m guessing that stomach’s got some flab on it.”
“I could lose 10lbs in a week,” she said quickly, hoping to maintain his attention. She had already done the calculations: if women were willing to pay to dance here, the money must be phenomenal, and certainly better than anything she might make going to school and working at Top Dog between classes. With money like that, she didn’t need an education. She Could buy Domini that pony and see who was laughing then.
“Well, come back and see me when you think you’ve got what it takes,” he said. “We’re always looking for talent. No guarantees, of course, but you never know. Lose that junk in the trunk and you might make one fine dancer. You want to get up there now and show me something? I’m happy to look.” She didn’t move.
“Look, don’t take this personal. You seem like a nice girl. I just know what sells, honey. It’s all about business. Ask me, you should let this life go. You’re a nice girl. Go get yourself a job at Peet’s Coffee and go to secretarial school or something. That’s more your speed.”
“You want me to get up there and dance, I’ll dance. Put something on,” she said. She was not going to let her dream disappear that quickly.
“Sure, kid,” he said. TC waved and called out to his dj who was setting up for the afternoon shift. “Hey, Gordon, put up some music. I got an audition.”
Someone turned on the blue lights under the floor and Tisa stripped down to her panties and bra. The bartender lead her around to the runway stairs and she got up to dance. It wasn’t much different than dancing for boyfriends in high school, only the bedroom was nightclub. After a few minutes, she saw the bartender nod to TC, and he waved her down.
“Well, you got the moves, and you’re pretty good for a beginner. Like you said, how hard can it be, huh? Anyway, tell you what I’m gonna do cuz I like your spunk. We pay $3.53 an hour for cocktailers. You keep your tips and tip-out the bartenders. If you’re good to the girls, they’ll be good to you. The money’s OK, and you don’t have to take off your clothes. If you drop the weight, maybe get a boob job, I’ll let you work the floor. Sound good?”
“What are the tips like for cocktailers?” she said, putting her clothes back on. The question made TC laugh again.
“You cut to the chase, don’t you? Shit, I don’t know. Some do better than others. Your time’s not your own – you have to show up when we need someone. In the beginning, they money’s not so good, but if you sell a lot of lap dances and make your customers happy getting them drinks, then, I don’t know, probably could bring in $300.00 on a real good night, less most of the time.” He swung his legs around to the floor and hopped off the barstool.
“I got things to do, you want the position?”
“OK, when do I start?” she said. She could always quite later if she found something else.
“I dunno, talk to Randy,” he motioned to the bartender. “Randy – this is Tisa, our new cocktailer. Put something together for her, would’ja?” Then he turned back to Tisa and touched her shoulder. “Good to meet you, Tisa. Here’s a tip: best way to make friends with the girls is to sell those dances.” He disappeared in the back.
Tisa had never had female friends. She viewed them as competition; in the looks racket, you were as good looking as you were not merely based upon subjective criteria, but also on who was standing next to you. In high school, it was a slippery balance. You had to be part of the good looking crowd, but you wanted to be the best looking of them. And in high school, other things mattered, too. It was cool to be just a little rebellious. It was cool not to participate in the ra-ra acitivites, and it was cool to be just a little bit selfish. In some sense, high school was the perfect training ground for Tisa to hone her character. She was a mean girl, and mean girls didn’t have girlfriends, or if they did, they were only friends as long as the relationship was useful. Being nice to sluts who were ostensibly in the way of her making money was going to be difficult.
Tisa started on the day shift, which meant she had to be at work at 10:30. The bar opened at 11:00 and the first cocktailers were needed to help the bartender set-up, and to do side work. The dancers – they preferred not to be called strippers – were due in at 12, and generally went on stage at between 12:15 and 12:30, so they could get the noon crowd. The day-shifters pooled tips. This helped a girl out who was working the back tables; since customers could sit where they liked, the seating arrangement could get lopsided. Pooling tips insured that a cocktailer got something for her shift. It also created an incentive for the women to work together.
The day shift women spent their time serving cocktails to the “nooners” who needed to take the edge off after a long 3 hour stint at the office. This was not the celebratory crowd of pre-marriage bachelors, or deal-closing managers who flicked off dollar bills like they were lint; these were the workaday stiffs whose afternoon drinking habits made them prefer the companionship of strangers. Many of them were long-timers, the bartender told Tisa. They kept to themselves and were happy to tip you for not noticing how much they drank or what time it was. It could be depressing work, but since most of the cocktailers were not much better off than their clientele, it worked out.
“Most of ‘em are alcoholics, or at least real heavy drinkers,” said the bartender, wiping down his bar and handing Tisa a box of paper napkins to add to the dispensers on the table. “They’ll have a sandwich or some wings, but they’re here for the booze.”
“if they’re alcoholics, then why don’t they come every day?” asked Tisa, remembering her own habit.
“Well, you know, they put up lots of road blocks to their disease, to make sure they’re not found out. One of ‘em is not to go to the same place in a day. They all got their own circuit, know what I mean? We’re just one stop on the circuit. See that guy over there?” said the bartender, pointing to a man who had just slipped into small rounder in the back. “He comes in here 2 or 3 times a week. But my buddy Manny, a bartender who works down at the Blue Pelican on MacArthur, says that same guy comes into his place twice a week, too. He’s kidding himself that we don’t know.” The bartender shook his head, and ducked under the bat to pull out some Smirnoff, the house vodka and preferred spirit of those customers who had to go back to work.
Tisa enjoyed talking to the bartender. She felt comfortable around him – he didn’t judge her and he didn’t want anything from her. Even she had to admit that there were girls prettier than she in the place, so she didn’t try to compete for his affections, and if she had, he wasn’t buying. He had made that clear. “I don’t shit where I eat,” he told her on her first day. “And don’t give me any of that Hooker with a heart of gold bullshit either. I don’t care about your 7 kids or your sick mom. Let’s keep our personal lives to ourselves. You remember than and we’ll get along just fine.”
That was perfectly fine with Tisa. Besides, what would she say, she wondered, if she was asked to reveal her past? That she was a three-time unrecovered recovering drug addict who’d never had a job more than a week, had a child out of wedlock from guy who disappeared into the street; had a family who probably was responsible for putting her there, and a sister who was slowly trying to take her daughter? No, she was pleased that the bartender wanted to chat about work and the weather – anything by life stories.
The bartender had given her a small bag of red-and-white holiday mint candies. “Here. You first bag’s on me. Drop these when you drop your tab. Give a couple. That’ll help your customer mask his breath. Most of ‘em carry mints and gum and such, but they always appreciate a little something from the waitress. And be discreet about it; these guys want us to think they’re here for the women, not the booze.”
“Why would he even care what we think?” asked Tisa, eyeing the man as he removed his jacket and flipped open the menu and just as quickly closed it.
“We’re technically not supposed to serve people who are drunk or serve people who are habitual alcoholics. Could be he’s been kicked out of places before, or maybe he just doesn’t want us to think he’s a drunk. I dunno.” The bartender loaded some ice in his station as he talked. “as long as he pays his tab, what do I care. I don’t have to be his friend to serve him a drink, although, lemme tell you, some of these guys think I am their friend, cuz I keep my mouth shut and nod when they talk.” The bartender piled some barchecks on the counter for Tisa and the other cocktailer to use.
“He doesn’t look real bad off though, “said the bartender. “When they do get to lookin’ bad, we kick ‘em out. Not good for business to have some slobbery, smelly, bad-lookin’ guy crying in his beer. Besides, no girl’s gonna give some gutter-rat a lap dance and that means you and I don’t get tipped out,” he winked at her.
“Looks like he’s got a job somewhere. Judging from the short sleeved shirt, he’s either middle management, a salesman, or an engineer. Probably manager. Anyway, he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. He’ll be around a few more years.”
“Then what?” Tisa asked, adjusting her short cocktail dress to accommodate the pen and drink slips she tucked in the back.
“Then I don’t know, “ said the bartender. “You know, some of them just get worse and worse until we kick ‘em out. Then they disappear. Some of them we know just end up on the street, I guess, like the winos you see out there sometimes.” He was thoughtful for a moment and then continued. “You know, most of these guys got family, so they get treatment, you know, like AA or some private place. Every so often we even get some angry wife or mother who blames us for the guy’s disease, like if we weren’t here, he’d be fine. Sometimes we even get some wife or other going after the dancers, you know, like them doin’ their thing up on stage makes them homewreckers.” He shook his head.
“So everyone in here’s an alcoholic?”
“Hardly,” said the bartender. “Nah, we get a lotta normal guys who come here to watch the dancers – they’re beautiful, why not? And also we get folks coming in from the port. Travelers and such and salesmen. They stop in and we never see them again. We get normal guys taking a break. Maybe they come in because it’s close to where they happen to be and they just want a beer. You know, there’s lots of construction in this neighborhood. Sometimes we just get crews celebrating a birthday, something like that. Really, it’s not so bad.
“But the day crowd is just less predictable in that way. At night, we get more folks who are just there to party and see the girls. Because, well, most folks wait until 5 to start their drinking. When you get a guy in here a few times a week or month who’s knockin’ ‘em back starting at 12, well, he’s probably got the bug.
“”He looks like a loser to me,” said Tisa, nodding to the man in her station.
“Well, honey, it’s your job – and frankly your tip – to make sure he doesn’t feel like a loser. That’s why he comes in here, so pretty gals like you can help him take the edge off. Go on, now, be nice to him.” The bartender moved away to serve a new customer at his bar.
Tisa put on her best smile and walked over to where the man was sitting. It was easy for her to be nice to men, even losers, if they had something she wanted. In high school, it was weed or wheels. When she was using, it was pills and blow. Now, it was his money.
“Well, hello, how are you this afternoon?” she said brightly.
“Fine,” said the man flatly, tucking his head down and not looking at her. “I’ll have the Philly cheese steak and a beer, please,” he said quickly, keeping his face down.
“You sure that’s all you want?” she said, with a sultry lilt. “How about a lap dance?”
“No, just the sandwich. Bring the beer first.” His words were clipped. He didn’t smile and he kept his head down.
“You sure,” said Tisa, “her best ‘soft voice’ at work. “I think Kimber likes you,” she said, waving to one of the strippers who had just walked in. Kimber waved back. “She’s seen you in here before. I bet you like her, too.”
“JUST the sandwich,” he said, this time sternly.
“What about Julianne? She’s in the back. I’d be happy to go get her.”
“No thank you,” said the man, scooting out of the booth. He quickly walked to the exit, dragging his coat behind him, and walked out.
“Fucker,” Tisa mumbled under her breath. She walked back to the bar to wait for another customer.
“You gotta read their body language,” came an unsolicited comment from another cocktailer. “That’ll tell you what they want and what you can sell.” The cocktailer, Maxine, smiled at her, and while Tisa was not accustomed to taking instruction from anyone, it did seem like this woman was being nice, so she responded.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he didn’t smile at you when you walked up. You’re a pretty girl; he should have smiled at you. That tells you who the real mistress is. For him it was that booze. We girls gotta stick together, especially in the day shift. Else we can’t make that rent check at the end of the month.” Maxine smiled again and patted the barstool next to hers. “Don’t worry. We all make the same mistake. You’ll do fine. Just don’t mess up too often. I can’t afford it.” She winked at Tisa to let her know she was kidding.
Maxine had lived a hard life, considerably harder than Tisa’s. Having left home because of an abusive father at 12, she had gotten in the sex trade early. Maxine had the battle scars of a heroin users, but the scars had healed years ago and she told Tisa that she had been clean for over a decade. Like Tisa’s friend Larry, Maxine agreed that heroin was the greatest drug on the planet, if you had a death wish.
For a very brief time, she had been a prostitute, but the life didn’t suit her, she told Tisa. “I think you really have to hate men to do that sort of work. It’s the only way to make yourself feel like they’re the mark, not you.” Fortunately, she told Tisa, she was working for Artie Mitchell at the time, in the club he ran with his brother, The Mitchell Brothers’ O’Farrell Theatre, and it was an easy transition out of that life.
Maxine had personally performed a lap dance for Hugh Heffner, she told Tisa. But that was years ago, when the theatre was a place to make money. She had come to the Gold 4 years ago, danced on the runway until 2 years ago, and had settled into cocktailing as a form of retirement, she said. Maxine was 27. She had been working the club scene since she was 13.
“Most girls got pimps and stuff, and if I had gone that way, I’d probably still be in the life,” said Maxine, during a break on her shift. “But I was working the Champagne Room for Artie and when I was tired of it, he was cool -- just let me back on the pole.”
The Champagne Room was like the private dance rooms at The Gold, only famous. The Champagne Room had a stage. For an additional $100.00 a girl would give you a lap dance on the bed – also known as a bed dance. For $400.00 more, you could get more than a dance. Maxine had been lured by the money, originally, but couldn’t handle the perverts who frequented the place.
“That’s when I was using, so anything that brought in cash looked good to me. But I got clean with my boyfriend at the time and then I ran screaming. No more Champagne Room for me.”
Tisa learned a good deal about Maxine’s life between serving up baskets of chicken wings and martinis without vermouth. She couldn’t understand why Maxine was not more bitter and angry about her own situation. Maxine’s one child had been taken by the state during her brief stint with heroin; she had been raped twice, and at 27, she was still living in a studio apartment with barely more than a toaster to her name. Maxine shook it off, telling Tisa that she needed to make the best of things. Talking to Maxine made Tisa’s work day go by faster.
Maxine showed Tisa the ropes, letting Tisa shadow her during the days they were on shift together, and then debriefing her about what had just happened. Tisa got to know what signs to look for on a customer that made them a viable candidate for premium liquor, a lapdance, or a private room, all of which put more money in their pockets. Like Larry, Maxine was full of stories about the good old days, when she was using. Tisa was less forthcoming about her own life.
“We used to have to dance completely naked over at the Mitchell Brothers’, she said. “But the money was top dollar. We had to pay a bigger cover than here, but the tip-outs were good enough to make it worth it. Artie and Jimmy, the owners, charged a $30.00 cover per person. I can only imagine the money they were making.
“Some nights, I’d come home with $3000.00. On a good weekend sift, you could pull down $10,000 and that was 8 years ago,” said Maxine. “I don’t recommend the life for anyone, but if you pick the right place at the right time, there’s good cheddar.”
“What can you make here on a good night,” asked Tisa.
“Up there?,” said Maxine, pointing to the runway. “A girl can make almost the same, but I mean, it doesn’t go as far because it’s a new day. Some nights are better than others. Just sort of depends., I guess.”
“Depends on what?”
“Well, lots of things, you know; like who’s working the bar. If the drinks are good, the patrons stay longer, get drunker, tip bigger, and order more dances. If a guy’s having a birthday party and he wants to be there, that’s a good one., too. Which reminds me,” she said, “If a guy comes in for a bachelor party or something and you see he’s uncomfortable, he’s your mark. Tell him you understand how he feels, coming into a place like this and be real low-key. You’ll get a big tip.”
“What else do I need to know?” Tisa wanted to know it all. If the runway was where the money was, then the runway was where she wanted to be. Maxine casually spit out tricks of the trade as they worked: always pay extra attention to someone who’s throwing bills at your if you’re on the pole. Carry a bottle of rubbing alcohol in your purse and work gloves into your act. When you first come on stage, wear your gloves covered in alcohol and gives the poles a good rub as you dance to ward off herpes. Bring a flashlight and put a red Dixie cup over the top. If a guy is giving you extra attention, simulate sex with the flashlight.
“But look at us. You and I are too old to be up there shakin’ it. Once you’ve got some night shifts, you’ll see, the money’s good, and if you sell the girls’ dances, they’ll treat you right. I work Friday nights, which is definitely the best night – better than Saturday. Anyway, I think I made $500.00 last weekend. It’s good money, hon. Don’t get on that herpes infested pole. Save it for the young things.”
“Why don’t you dance up there any more?” asked Tisa.
“It was time to quit, I guess. You have to know when the life’s not for you any more. I’ve seen girls get booed off. It’s pretty humiliating. Besides, this don’t doesn’t have a retirement plan. What’s that saying? A young man’s game?”
“Why didn’t you just cocktail at The Mitchell Brothers Theater?”
“Oh, honey, you can’t serve cocktails there. California doesn’t allow alcohol to be sold where there’s full nudity. I would have made just enough there to have to get on my back again. Nope, I like The Gold just fine.”
After two weeks working the lunch crowd, Tisa was able to get some evening shifts. She had managed to keep her temper at bay, learn some waitressing tricks from Maxine that increased her tips, and keep her past to herself. She was making enough money to make ends meet, and even buy herself some nice clothes or something for her place. She charmed meals -- such as they were – out of the day cooks, so she never had to buy food. It never occurred to Tisa to assist her sister financially. Whatever money was leftover from the rent went to Tisa. Not having a bank account or the slightest clue how to get one, she kept her money under her bed.
Despite its function, the Gold was one of the first jobs Tisa had worked at that lasted for more than a few days. It was also the first place that Tisa had made female friends like Maxine. Maxine refused to complete with Tisa and ignored Tisa’s rants and anger. They had even gone out for coffee a few times, just because. Tisa could not remember a time when someone wanted her company for her and not for sex or drugs, or a court order. Maxine was not ashamed of working at the Gold, but neither did she think it was a good place to spend her life. Maxine had plans. School, maybe an office job.
Tisa’s schedule was even stable enough for her to start school, as her daughter had hoped, but the beginning of fall came and went without her ever picking up the catalog. She wanted to be closer to Domini, but the way to do that was with the gifts she could buy and the dinners she could lavish on her, Tisa was certain. After all, how could you share an education. To do what she wanted she needed cash, so what she wanted was to be on the pole.
Partly because TC and Maxine said she was too old, and partly because it symbolized for her the youth she’d lost downing whitecaps, she had to get up there. Tisa was pretty good at selling dances from her position as a cocktail waitress and the girls tipped her out generously, but she could not stand that she carried less status and weight among the men who patronized The Gold. Too fat and too flat had been TC’s battle cry when she first started working there. She needed to do something about the weight first, so she could get up there and make some real money. The boob job could come later.
Thing was, she was having trouble taking off the weight. Gone were the days when she could easily drop a few pounds simply by skipping the cream and sugar in her coffee. TC was clear: she could not get on the pole until she could show TC that she had what men wanted. His advice was to stay on the floor.
Most of the strippers were young, but a few had years on them that Tisa hadn’t yet seen. She went to them first. Some just didn’t eat much or were naturally thin; some spent time at the gym, firming things up. Some speed, they said, to take the pounds off quickly, like after a night out drinking. It was also a good kicker to start the night with, so the speed worked double-duty. If you wanted, you could easily dull your buzz with a little beer or a screwdriver. They slipped her a few bennies. It was fine, they said, . . . . so long as you could keep it in check.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Chapter Eight
Progress
Barbara hustled to reorient her life to include a child. The occasional weekend overnights, and the intermittent weekday calls were not the same as the day-in-day-out-make-lunch-school-project-homework-slumber-party existence that she was now living. Still, it was her sister’s kid. Any other arrangement would be out of the question.
Barbara had not noticed until Domini had come to stay for these longer periods of time, just how Tisa’s lifestyle had affected Domini. A generally cheerful and attentive child, with a hug for everyone who wanted one, people gravitated toward her. Unlike her mother, Domini gratefully accepted whatever gifts people wished to give her. But the transient lifestyle, the home-hopping, the uncertainty of even the most basic needs had left its mark in subtle ways.
There was the food issue, for one thing. Barbara had first noticed it at a birthday party. Domini’s school friend was having a princess party. Domini and Barbara arrived at the fancy Berkeley Hills home, well outside of Barbara’s neighborhood, and walked through the giant gates and big doors to find that each party guest was treated to her own tiara, a plastic pearl necklace, and a miniature make-up kit. In the playroom were 8-10 princess dresses from which the girls could choose. The dresses looked as if they might have been collected over several Halloweens or found at a second hand store, but to the party-goers, they might well have belonged to actual royalty. Domini immersed herself in the dress-up activities with the other girls, and Barbara was invited into the living room with the other moms to have a glass of wine.
After some time, a small buffet was set up in the backyard for lunch. Out came the pizza and hotdogs, pretzels, goldfish crackers, crudite, juice boxes, and naturally, birthday cake. The girls took their places at the picnic table set up for them, and after a brief respite which involved pushing as little food past their lips as their mothers would allow before they dove back into fairyland, were back to the dresses, all except for Domini. She cleaned her plate twice, then stayed at the table, guarding what was left.
“Why don’t you go back and play,” asked Barbara.
“Soon,” came the reply.
Barbara turned back to the women and the wine and the somewhat more adult fare of pasta salad with sun-dried tomatoes and cold salmon with dill and didn’t think more about it until crying and shouting outside was heard. A little girl had come back to grab a handful of goldfish crackers, which by this time, had been moved from the buffet table to directly in front of Domini. So too had Domini moved the pretzels and juice boxes to within her reach.
“Mommy,” said the little girl, “she won’t give me any goldfish.”
Domini sat, her arms around the bowl of crackers, her body twisting away from the tiny reaching hands of the other little guest.
“Domini, what’s going on?” said Barbara.
“There won’t be enough for me. There won’t be enough for me,” cried Domini, visibly shaken by the thought that her crackers would disappear.
“Oh, honey, that bowl is completely full,” said Barbara, calmly. “I don’t think she wants more than a handful or two.”
“NO! There won’t be enough. There isn’t enough.” Tears began to stream down Domini’s face.
The confused looks on everyone’s faces, including Barbara’s, finally gave way to attempts at compromise. “Well, Lucy,” said the other mother, “why don’t you have some pretzels instead. I think Domini isn’t finished with the goldfish.”
“NO!” cried Domini again, desperately trying to bring the pretzels closer to her while still holding on to the goldfish. “There isn’t enough to share. There won’t be enough for me.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Barbara. She turned to the host, “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but I’m not going to indulge this behavior. I’m so sorry.” Then she turned back to her niece. “Domini,” she said sternly, “those are not your goldfish, there’s plenty for everyone, and you’re acting like a little baby.” Then, she removed the goldfish bowl from Domini’s desperate hold and gave it to the girl, who cheerfully grabbed a handful and went back to play without a thought. There was silence, if only for a moment, as the mothers gave one another uncomfortable smiles and waited for the hostess to corral them back into the living room. Then Domini let out a howl and collapsed into sobs.
“Oh dear,” said the host. “You know, I have a whole new bag of those crackers in the kitchen. Maybe I should just get Domini her own stash. It’s really no trouble. I hate those things in the house anyway.”
“Thank you, no. I’ll just have a talk with her,” said Barbara. “I don’t think this is about goldfish.”
At the end of the party, each girl got to take home the dress she had chosen, and was given a princess notebook and shiny pencils in a little pink back with a handle. When they got in the car, Barbara saw that Domini’s bag also contained an unopened package of goldfish crackers.
After the incident, Barbara began overstocking the refrigerator, making sure there was always an abundance of food in the house. She alerted Domini’s teachers to her tendency to horde things, and left with them extra bags of pretzels and popcorn, in case something was needed to calm a situation.
At one point, Barbara noticed an influx of ants in the house. Though their presence was common for Berkeley and Albany homes during the rainy season, they could usually be kept at bay with some Chinatown chalk. When the chalk failed, Barbara began following the trail, which lead to Domini’s room. Every drawer, crevasse, opening, or secret location seemed to be filled with food. Packets of ketchup, mayonnaise, hot sauce, and sugar, pilfered from the various restaurants the two had eaten at were hidden in her underwear drawer. Plastic zip bags filled with half-eaten sandwiches, none of which came from Barbara’s kitchen, were stashed in Domini’s doll box, many of them mildewed from lack of refrigeration. And there was the candy.
Candy was stashed in every hidden location she could find, many of which were also found by the ants: in the bottom of her pencil cup; in her coat pockets and backpack pockets; on the underside of her pillowcase; in dark corners of her closet; in her Barbie case.
Barbara had been told by the social worker that several pounds of candy had been found by the police in Tisa’s room after the neighbor called the police. The social worker reasoned that the candy was there because Tisa had figured out that it was cheap, didn’t need refrigeration and doling it out would keep Domini from bothering her. Or, the social worker said, it could be that Tisa’s drug cocktail made her jones for something sweet. Popular drugs like crystal and benzadrine often gave addicts a sweet tooth. Whatever it was, it was evident that Domini’s link to it was an important survival instinct.
The removal of the contraband resulted in a full scale breakdown of the normally cheerful and obedient child. The situation was bad enough that Barbara required third party intervention from one of the school counselors. The good news was that Domini’s teacher had begun to suspect that Domini was suffering from some form of hyperactivity disorder, but when it was discovered that a good part of Domini’s nutrition was coming from sugar, it cleared up a good number of unanswered questions.
There had been an ugly period of withdrawal, which had pushed Barbara to her limit. The pleas from Domini that she needed it had been tough, but her mother’s tirades against Barbara during their visits made the situation worse. A little candy wasn’t going to hurt anyone, said Tisa. Barbara was subjecting Domini to torture and Tisa was sure that no other mother would be as horrid as Barbara. After a couple of months made to feel like years, Domini settled in to her new, slightly more regimented life, which included whole grains and meat, and vegetables. And, as a compromise, Domini was allowed to have a special box in the kitchen where she could put things she thought she might need later. Eventually, the box was no longer needed.
School had, at least at the beginning, also been a challenge. Although Domini’s teachers adored her, they all had concerns about her development, both intellectually and socially. The social worker had suggested a meeting with them, and they informed Barbara that Tisa’s living situation had seriously handicapped Domini’s progress, as compared to her school mates. Moving Domini around to 5 schools before she had even started the 2nd grade and missing so much school, generally had made Domini social and self-sufficient, but had also left great holes in her education which were now manifest. It was going to take a lot of work, they said, to get her up to speed. They also advised that now – while Domini was still young – was the time to do it. If she were red-tracked next year, she would have an even more difficult row to hoe.
“You tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it,” was Barbara’s response.
“This is a very great thing you are doing, Barbara,” said one of Domini’s teachers. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. When I say that you have to work with her, it’s going to mean a real time commitment, away from television and other diversions. You’ve got to bring up her reading skills and her math comprehension.”
“You tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.”
So they worked. Domini was at first merely compliant and Barbara had been satisfied with that, but over time her attitude toward the tutoring sessions turned into a thirst for everything she didn’t know. Without coercion, Domini immersed herself into what ever new project her school or Barbara put before her. She enjoyed the accolades from her teachers and the praise from her aunt, and she couldn’t wait to visit with her mother and show her the gold stars and check-plus marks on her papers. She breezed through spelling tests. She got an A on her science report on George Washington Carver. By all accounts, her teachers and counselors said she was flourishing in the stable environment that her aunt had provided. Even Domini’s grandfather had good things to say about her development. Domini had taken it upon herself to learn about colleges. She announced one day to Barbara that she was going to go to Harvard, be a veterinarian, and live with her best friend in San Francisco. They would have a dog named Newton.
Even Tisa was proud of her daughter, though reserved about her praise. She knew at some level that education was paramount to her daughter’s success, but it also meant that she was moving further from her mother. Tisa saw Domini’s new interests and friends as creating a rift between them and she didn’t like it. She knew her complaints would appear selfish and self-serving so she was careful to limit them to justifiable issues.
There were complaints, for instance, that Domini never got to watch television, like other kids. There were offhanded remarks that Barbara was sacrificing Domini’s heritage for her pedigree and turning Domini into a white girl. There were subtle attempts to bolster Tisa’s own accomplishments in life and underscore her lack of formal education.
None of it was credible, but it was effective, at least to some extent. Domini was smart enough to understand that her mother’s perspective was unusual, but Tisa was still Domini’s mother. She was still inextricably tied to the increasingly remote idea that she could have a real mother, whose opinions counted and whose advice was heeded. Cognitive dissonance set it each time Tisa tried to undermine Domini’s progress. Barbara made it a point to alert the teachers to any family visits so they’d be prepared.
“Where’s your boyfriend,” Domini asked Barbara one day as they were leaving the Center from a visit with Tisa?
“What do you know about boyfriends?” said, Barbara, pushing aside the question.
“I know you don’t have one.”
“Well, I don’t have one because I haven’t met the right person. You have to be selective, Domini. And, well, I’m picky about who I let come around the house.”
Domini considered the answer momentarily and said, “Mama says that you should always have someone who can take care of you. She says it’s more important that going to college.”
“Hmm, well, I’d say it’s nice to have someone take care of you, but nothing is more important right now than going to college right now. Because college allows you to take care of yourself. Anyway, even if we do need people sometimes, it doesn’t have to be a boyfriend. It could be family, or a friend. It could be anyone.”
“No, mama says it has to be a man, a boyfriend, to take care of you. She says that you will always be taken care of if you have a man. And know what else?”
“What else,” said Barbara, with a heavy sigh.
“Mama says that you can tell if a man is going to take care of you if he gets you things.”
“Mmmmm.”
“When are you gonna get a boyfriend?” said Domini.
“Well, right now, my primary concern is you, and you don’t leave much time for getting a boyfriend,” said Barbara.
“I can take care of myself,” said a mildly defiant Domini.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that!”
The two drove in silence for awhile as they headed back to Barbara’s place for dinner. Then Domini piped up again.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“You? You’re only in second grade. How is it that you have a boyfriend?”
“All the girls do.”
“All the girls do?”
“Well,” said Domini, “all the girls that are cool do. Some of the girls, you know, like the gross girls, they don’t have boyfriends.”
“What qualifies a girl as ‘gross’ Domini,” asked Barbara.
“Well, I guess a lot of things could. You know, she could be ugly or like, you know, be like all raising her hand in class a lot – you know, like a teacher’s pet or something. Or maybe she would hang out in the library, or dresses all stupid or something.”
“What!” said Barbara, the surprise evident in her voice. “Are you telling me it’s not cool to be smart?”
“ It’s not cool to be too smart. Not smarter than the boys. Like you can’t make your boyfriend look dumb.”
“What?!!” Barbara pulled over on San Pablo Boulevard and turned off the ignition. When she spoke again, her voice was somewhat calmer, but measured. “Now, did you just say that it’s not cool for a girl to be smarter than a boy? Did you just say that?”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we really aren’t smarter than they are, it’s just like a thing.” said Domini, visibly rattled by her aunt’s change in demeanor.
“What is a thing? What does that mean a thing?”
“It’s nothing, aunt Barbara.”
The following week, Barbara met with the headmaster and the admission staff at School of the Madeleine, a Catholic primary school. They listened to her story. Domini had come such a long way, Barbara said. Perhaps it was nothing, but she couldn’t take that chance.
She met with her parents. Barbara had a decent job working as a brand manager, but she couldn’t continue to support Domini and give her a Catholic school education. This was Domini’s only chance to flourish. Inside of three months, Domini was shelving jeans until the weekend and donning a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and a green plaid skirt. Mr. Cormier made Barbara promise never to tell Tisa that they had helped. “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said.
Barbara hustled to reorient her life to include a child. The occasional weekend overnights, and the intermittent weekday calls were not the same as the day-in-day-out-make-lunch-school-project-homework-slumber-party existence that she was now living. Still, it was her sister’s kid. Any other arrangement would be out of the question.
Barbara had not noticed until Domini had come to stay for these longer periods of time, just how Tisa’s lifestyle had affected Domini. A generally cheerful and attentive child, with a hug for everyone who wanted one, people gravitated toward her. Unlike her mother, Domini gratefully accepted whatever gifts people wished to give her. But the transient lifestyle, the home-hopping, the uncertainty of even the most basic needs had left its mark in subtle ways.
There was the food issue, for one thing. Barbara had first noticed it at a birthday party. Domini’s school friend was having a princess party. Domini and Barbara arrived at the fancy Berkeley Hills home, well outside of Barbara’s neighborhood, and walked through the giant gates and big doors to find that each party guest was treated to her own tiara, a plastic pearl necklace, and a miniature make-up kit. In the playroom were 8-10 princess dresses from which the girls could choose. The dresses looked as if they might have been collected over several Halloweens or found at a second hand store, but to the party-goers, they might well have belonged to actual royalty. Domini immersed herself in the dress-up activities with the other girls, and Barbara was invited into the living room with the other moms to have a glass of wine.
After some time, a small buffet was set up in the backyard for lunch. Out came the pizza and hotdogs, pretzels, goldfish crackers, crudite, juice boxes, and naturally, birthday cake. The girls took their places at the picnic table set up for them, and after a brief respite which involved pushing as little food past their lips as their mothers would allow before they dove back into fairyland, were back to the dresses, all except for Domini. She cleaned her plate twice, then stayed at the table, guarding what was left.
“Why don’t you go back and play,” asked Barbara.
“Soon,” came the reply.
Barbara turned back to the women and the wine and the somewhat more adult fare of pasta salad with sun-dried tomatoes and cold salmon with dill and didn’t think more about it until crying and shouting outside was heard. A little girl had come back to grab a handful of goldfish crackers, which by this time, had been moved from the buffet table to directly in front of Domini. So too had Domini moved the pretzels and juice boxes to within her reach.
“Mommy,” said the little girl, “she won’t give me any goldfish.”
Domini sat, her arms around the bowl of crackers, her body twisting away from the tiny reaching hands of the other little guest.
“Domini, what’s going on?” said Barbara.
“There won’t be enough for me. There won’t be enough for me,” cried Domini, visibly shaken by the thought that her crackers would disappear.
“Oh, honey, that bowl is completely full,” said Barbara, calmly. “I don’t think she wants more than a handful or two.”
“NO! There won’t be enough. There isn’t enough.” Tears began to stream down Domini’s face.
The confused looks on everyone’s faces, including Barbara’s, finally gave way to attempts at compromise. “Well, Lucy,” said the other mother, “why don’t you have some pretzels instead. I think Domini isn’t finished with the goldfish.”
“NO!” cried Domini again, desperately trying to bring the pretzels closer to her while still holding on to the goldfish. “There isn’t enough to share. There won’t be enough for me.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Barbara. She turned to the host, “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but I’m not going to indulge this behavior. I’m so sorry.” Then she turned back to her niece. “Domini,” she said sternly, “those are not your goldfish, there’s plenty for everyone, and you’re acting like a little baby.” Then, she removed the goldfish bowl from Domini’s desperate hold and gave it to the girl, who cheerfully grabbed a handful and went back to play without a thought. There was silence, if only for a moment, as the mothers gave one another uncomfortable smiles and waited for the hostess to corral them back into the living room. Then Domini let out a howl and collapsed into sobs.
“Oh dear,” said the host. “You know, I have a whole new bag of those crackers in the kitchen. Maybe I should just get Domini her own stash. It’s really no trouble. I hate those things in the house anyway.”
“Thank you, no. I’ll just have a talk with her,” said Barbara. “I don’t think this is about goldfish.”
At the end of the party, each girl got to take home the dress she had chosen, and was given a princess notebook and shiny pencils in a little pink back with a handle. When they got in the car, Barbara saw that Domini’s bag also contained an unopened package of goldfish crackers.
After the incident, Barbara began overstocking the refrigerator, making sure there was always an abundance of food in the house. She alerted Domini’s teachers to her tendency to horde things, and left with them extra bags of pretzels and popcorn, in case something was needed to calm a situation.
At one point, Barbara noticed an influx of ants in the house. Though their presence was common for Berkeley and Albany homes during the rainy season, they could usually be kept at bay with some Chinatown chalk. When the chalk failed, Barbara began following the trail, which lead to Domini’s room. Every drawer, crevasse, opening, or secret location seemed to be filled with food. Packets of ketchup, mayonnaise, hot sauce, and sugar, pilfered from the various restaurants the two had eaten at were hidden in her underwear drawer. Plastic zip bags filled with half-eaten sandwiches, none of which came from Barbara’s kitchen, were stashed in Domini’s doll box, many of them mildewed from lack of refrigeration. And there was the candy.
Candy was stashed in every hidden location she could find, many of which were also found by the ants: in the bottom of her pencil cup; in her coat pockets and backpack pockets; on the underside of her pillowcase; in dark corners of her closet; in her Barbie case.
Barbara had been told by the social worker that several pounds of candy had been found by the police in Tisa’s room after the neighbor called the police. The social worker reasoned that the candy was there because Tisa had figured out that it was cheap, didn’t need refrigeration and doling it out would keep Domini from bothering her. Or, the social worker said, it could be that Tisa’s drug cocktail made her jones for something sweet. Popular drugs like crystal and benzadrine often gave addicts a sweet tooth. Whatever it was, it was evident that Domini’s link to it was an important survival instinct.
The removal of the contraband resulted in a full scale breakdown of the normally cheerful and obedient child. The situation was bad enough that Barbara required third party intervention from one of the school counselors. The good news was that Domini’s teacher had begun to suspect that Domini was suffering from some form of hyperactivity disorder, but when it was discovered that a good part of Domini’s nutrition was coming from sugar, it cleared up a good number of unanswered questions.
There had been an ugly period of withdrawal, which had pushed Barbara to her limit. The pleas from Domini that she needed it had been tough, but her mother’s tirades against Barbara during their visits made the situation worse. A little candy wasn’t going to hurt anyone, said Tisa. Barbara was subjecting Domini to torture and Tisa was sure that no other mother would be as horrid as Barbara. After a couple of months made to feel like years, Domini settled in to her new, slightly more regimented life, which included whole grains and meat, and vegetables. And, as a compromise, Domini was allowed to have a special box in the kitchen where she could put things she thought she might need later. Eventually, the box was no longer needed.
School had, at least at the beginning, also been a challenge. Although Domini’s teachers adored her, they all had concerns about her development, both intellectually and socially. The social worker had suggested a meeting with them, and they informed Barbara that Tisa’s living situation had seriously handicapped Domini’s progress, as compared to her school mates. Moving Domini around to 5 schools before she had even started the 2nd grade and missing so much school, generally had made Domini social and self-sufficient, but had also left great holes in her education which were now manifest. It was going to take a lot of work, they said, to get her up to speed. They also advised that now – while Domini was still young – was the time to do it. If she were red-tracked next year, she would have an even more difficult row to hoe.
“You tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it,” was Barbara’s response.
“This is a very great thing you are doing, Barbara,” said one of Domini’s teachers. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. When I say that you have to work with her, it’s going to mean a real time commitment, away from television and other diversions. You’ve got to bring up her reading skills and her math comprehension.”
“You tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.”
So they worked. Domini was at first merely compliant and Barbara had been satisfied with that, but over time her attitude toward the tutoring sessions turned into a thirst for everything she didn’t know. Without coercion, Domini immersed herself into what ever new project her school or Barbara put before her. She enjoyed the accolades from her teachers and the praise from her aunt, and she couldn’t wait to visit with her mother and show her the gold stars and check-plus marks on her papers. She breezed through spelling tests. She got an A on her science report on George Washington Carver. By all accounts, her teachers and counselors said she was flourishing in the stable environment that her aunt had provided. Even Domini’s grandfather had good things to say about her development. Domini had taken it upon herself to learn about colleges. She announced one day to Barbara that she was going to go to Harvard, be a veterinarian, and live with her best friend in San Francisco. They would have a dog named Newton.
Even Tisa was proud of her daughter, though reserved about her praise. She knew at some level that education was paramount to her daughter’s success, but it also meant that she was moving further from her mother. Tisa saw Domini’s new interests and friends as creating a rift between them and she didn’t like it. She knew her complaints would appear selfish and self-serving so she was careful to limit them to justifiable issues.
There were complaints, for instance, that Domini never got to watch television, like other kids. There were offhanded remarks that Barbara was sacrificing Domini’s heritage for her pedigree and turning Domini into a white girl. There were subtle attempts to bolster Tisa’s own accomplishments in life and underscore her lack of formal education.
None of it was credible, but it was effective, at least to some extent. Domini was smart enough to understand that her mother’s perspective was unusual, but Tisa was still Domini’s mother. She was still inextricably tied to the increasingly remote idea that she could have a real mother, whose opinions counted and whose advice was heeded. Cognitive dissonance set it each time Tisa tried to undermine Domini’s progress. Barbara made it a point to alert the teachers to any family visits so they’d be prepared.
“Where’s your boyfriend,” Domini asked Barbara one day as they were leaving the Center from a visit with Tisa?
“What do you know about boyfriends?” said, Barbara, pushing aside the question.
“I know you don’t have one.”
“Well, I don’t have one because I haven’t met the right person. You have to be selective, Domini. And, well, I’m picky about who I let come around the house.”
Domini considered the answer momentarily and said, “Mama says that you should always have someone who can take care of you. She says it’s more important that going to college.”
“Hmm, well, I’d say it’s nice to have someone take care of you, but nothing is more important right now than going to college right now. Because college allows you to take care of yourself. Anyway, even if we do need people sometimes, it doesn’t have to be a boyfriend. It could be family, or a friend. It could be anyone.”
“No, mama says it has to be a man, a boyfriend, to take care of you. She says that you will always be taken care of if you have a man. And know what else?”
“What else,” said Barbara, with a heavy sigh.
“Mama says that you can tell if a man is going to take care of you if he gets you things.”
“Mmmmm.”
“When are you gonna get a boyfriend?” said Domini.
“Well, right now, my primary concern is you, and you don’t leave much time for getting a boyfriend,” said Barbara.
“I can take care of myself,” said a mildly defiant Domini.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that!”
The two drove in silence for awhile as they headed back to Barbara’s place for dinner. Then Domini piped up again.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“You? You’re only in second grade. How is it that you have a boyfriend?”
“All the girls do.”
“All the girls do?”
“Well,” said Domini, “all the girls that are cool do. Some of the girls, you know, like the gross girls, they don’t have boyfriends.”
“What qualifies a girl as ‘gross’ Domini,” asked Barbara.
“Well, I guess a lot of things could. You know, she could be ugly or like, you know, be like all raising her hand in class a lot – you know, like a teacher’s pet or something. Or maybe she would hang out in the library, or dresses all stupid or something.”
“What!” said Barbara, the surprise evident in her voice. “Are you telling me it’s not cool to be smart?”
“ It’s not cool to be too smart. Not smarter than the boys. Like you can’t make your boyfriend look dumb.”
“What?!!” Barbara pulled over on San Pablo Boulevard and turned off the ignition. When she spoke again, her voice was somewhat calmer, but measured. “Now, did you just say that it’s not cool for a girl to be smarter than a boy? Did you just say that?”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we really aren’t smarter than they are, it’s just like a thing.” said Domini, visibly rattled by her aunt’s change in demeanor.
“What is a thing? What does that mean a thing?”
“It’s nothing, aunt Barbara.”
The following week, Barbara met with the headmaster and the admission staff at School of the Madeleine, a Catholic primary school. They listened to her story. Domini had come such a long way, Barbara said. Perhaps it was nothing, but she couldn’t take that chance.
She met with her parents. Barbara had a decent job working as a brand manager, but she couldn’t continue to support Domini and give her a Catholic school education. This was Domini’s only chance to flourish. Inside of three months, Domini was shelving jeans until the weekend and donning a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and a green plaid skirt. Mr. Cormier made Barbara promise never to tell Tisa that they had helped. “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said.
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