Love in a Strip Joint - Mike P

 Love in a Strip Joint

(sung to the tune of Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator)

My luck with the lottery ran dry before it started. Played it 3 times

and never hit the grand prize. Made me think I was chasing

rainbows and leprechauns. My keister was parked on a bar stool

next to a guy at Cabaret East. “Look pal, he said, I work at Dallas

Gold & Silver and have this magic gold tooth. You know, Jack

and the Bean Stalk shtick---magic beans, magic tooth. It’ll grow

hell for leather.” He fished it out of his pocket and showed me. “I

paid two grand for it, but since I like you, you can have it for

1900—it will bring you luck. I swear.” I scratched my head on

that one, but it did make sense. If you can’t trust a stranger in a

strip joint, who can you trust?

I forked out the cash and he gave me the tooth. I gave it a good

eyeballing and stuffed it in my pocket I could feel its low and

steady vibration. Magic gold teeth will do that. Everybody knows.

I made a beeline for home. I scratched out a small hole in my

backyard, dropped the gold tooth in, and then covered it with dirt.

Back inside I peeked out the kitchen window. Watched the clock

and waited. Watched some more. Waited some more. Always

been OCD on clock watching. And then suddenly my house

quivered and did an Elvis hip-shake. Backyard cracked open

and up sprung a full-grown tree trunk. It shot straight up a good

10-12 feet and then filled out on all sides. Looked like a golf

umbrella peppered with teeny weeny gold tooth buds.

By the next morning those tiny buds had grown to adult molars,

incisors, and canines! With gold being almost $2 grand an ounce,

I’d soon have enough money to shameless flout and wallow in my

new-found riches. A tisket a tasket, I picked up a green and

yellow basket and you know the rest. Filled with teeth I skipped

back into Dallas & Gold and Silver and sashayed out with a

bucket of cold, hard cash!.”

I wasn’t greedy after that, so I waited a spell. Sat tight on my

new-found riches and harvested my gold tooth tree only when it

fully blossomed. Several months passed. I was flush with cash

and my bathtub brimming with teeth. It was early spring, a time

some think to find love. And where better than Cabaret East!

The hotbed of passion with the stench of stale urine hanging in

the air. But I went for their killer Valentine’s day lunch buffet and

an overdue hello to Bruno.

I had just pounded down my first drink and was munching on

brown, wilted lettuce when I noticed a blond feverishly working a

pole. Working it like Picasso going to town on a canvas. I blinked

once. I blinked twice. I even blinked thrice. “Bruno, is that…..”

“Yep, she’s back….they all come back,” he said with a smarmy

smirk.

We made eye contact. Oh yah, it was Coco. She then stared off

into the smokey darkness with eyes of one who hated for just

being born. A life buried in despair. Where hope found no

quarter. Destined to work the strip joints and crack houses

peppered along North Industrial Blvd. Living in the homeless

camp just east of the Elements.

Using my best Edward G. Robinson voice, I said, “yah, see that

the dame gets this, yah, see that she does” and I slid a freshly

grown gold molar to Bruno. I pulled down the brim of my fedora,

gave a perfunctory nod, and strolled out of Cabaret East for last

time.