That’s how it started. Well, it truly started because we didn’t have much money to our names, lived in a shitty area and it was hard getting jobs. I waited tables at a shitty bar. The boyfriend didn’t do much of anything but get himself tangled up with the wrong crowd. The kind of crowd that made him eventually convince me to work at a strip club. More money for us. Convinced me I was so beautiful that I’d make the most money.”
She laughed again.
“It took some convincing on his part. Before her fall from grace, my mother had taught me how a lady acted, conducted herself. I listened hard about that because I wanted nothing more than to be a lady. Wanted to be one with a nice house, handsome husband, beautiful kids. But I didn’t listen hard to her warnings about falling in love. I didn’t really know what love was, so when he showed it to me, I was willing to trust him with anything. And if he thought stripping was a good idea, then it must’ve been.
I earned a lot of money. Good money. But not enough. He worked on me. Quietly. Subtly. Figuring out my weaknesses, how to control me, how to make me listen to him. Sometimes he used his fists, but most of the time, his words worked just fine. So soon I wasn’t just stripping. There were private lap dances. There were ‘dates’. Nice hotel rooms. Then sleazy motel rooms. My body wasn’t mine anymore. It was his. It was up for rent.”
She drained her drink, and I did the same, needing it. Although I knew that Laura Maye’s life hadn’t been easy, I’d known that she carried around demons, I couldn’t have imagined this. Especially from Laura Maye, who I’d considered to be so strong, so sure of herself. Confident, like she’d never let anyone take anything from her. But those were rarely qualities a woman was born with. Those were usually qualities a woman acquired after people—usually men—took things from her.
“Nothing crazy happened... beyond what I’ve already told you,” she continued, her voice still carrying the same light, easy tone. “I got used to the occasional beating. To strangers treating my body like it was something that existed only for what they wanted. Then, one day... I just didn’t. I saw it for what it was. Saw that my life had turned into something much darker than my momma’s, and I realized that it would only get worse if I didn’t do anything about it.
“I’d saved what money I could,” she said with a sad smile. “My boyfriend took almost all of it. What he thought was all of it, at least. Even in my lowest of moments, I was always thinking of a way out, because on some level, I knew I’d die if I didn’t escape. So I pocketed small amounts at first after figuring out how much I could take without him noticing. I managed to keep more as he got further into drugs. Soon I had enough to leave. Not a fortune, but enough to get out, The price of my freedom was priceless. I left in the night, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a purse containing one tube of lipstick.”
She glanced to the windows, to the ocean, then back to me.
“Went as far away as I could. Lost myself in L.A. Things didn’t immediately get better, of course. I was a young, damaged girl, easy prey for that city. But luckily, I was smart. Knew that I still had the body, the looks. Knew I wouldn’t be able to get any nine to five job. So I made friends with girls like me. I’ve always been good at that, making friends. I found out about the best place to dance in the city, place called Fantasia. Apparently, they paid their dancers well, didn’t put up with any kind of pimping and even had health insurance. It was like the gold standard of strip clubs. Girls had been trying to get in there for years. But you remember, I’m smart, friendly. Found myself a way in. And as they say, the rest is history.”
She smiled, looking down at her nails. “Well, kind of. A lot happened between then and now. Enough for an entire book. A movie. But I made good money. Saved every cent I could. Always had a dream to go somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. To create something beautiful of my own.” She looked around the bar. “Think I’ve done that.”
“You’ve definitely done that,” I whispered, a tear trailing down my cheek.
“Oh, sugar, don’t cry for me,” she murmured, leaning forward and brushing the tear from my cheek. “I’ve survived, which is more than a lot of girls in my situation can say. Beyond that, I’ve thrived. Sure, I’ve got some scars, but we’ve all got those. I’ve got girlfriends, my bar, a life. I’m happy, darlin’.”