Rebeckka Black - Dance to Despair - Memoirs of an Exotic Dancer

We worked in a very dangerous environment primarily staffed and operated by treacherous sociopath personalities. Strip clubs typically didn’t attract the most scrupulous of people. The worst offenders were usually the club owners who thrived on the unfortunate plights of the women who worked for them. I learned fairly early on that you could trust very few people in this business. If you were smart, you didn’t get involved with anyone you worked with.

Over the course of the years, I have met and worked with several hundred dancers, but there were only a handful of them that I actually befriended. Outside of an isolated few, I paid very little attention to the rest. I was so absorbed in my own misery that it was virtually impossible to get to know all the tormented souls that surrounded me. Many of these women suffered from serious psychiatric disorders. The most common being schizophrenia, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, or a combination of the above. They were so dysfunctional that it would’ve been impossible for them to secure any type of employment outside of the sex industry. Unfortunately, the greedy club owners weren’t oblivious to this fact.

The club Vegas Star defied all description. Located approximately fifty miles outside of the Chicago city limits, the Vegas Star was ironically sandwiched between a dismal looking cemetery and a Christian Bible Church. The exterior of the building was old and run down. Huge and unruly looking trees loomed around the perimeter of the club. This was the type of setting one might see in a horror movie. You would think that this club’s seedy appearance would be a deterrent to even the most perverse individuals, but it wasn’t. The parking lot was always packed full of automobiles, and expensive ones at that. The interior of this club was tacky and outdated. It reminded me of a cheap carnival. A small popcorn machine stood in a dark corner of the front foyer. These snacks were intended for the customers. A bag of stale popcorn could be purchased for seventy-five cents.

I would like to begin the story of this ten-year nightmare with the fine people that owned and operated the Vegas Star. I shall start with a man by the name of Adrian, who was believed to be one of several owners of the Vegas Star. Adrian was a classless, arrogant man in his early seventies, who was violent and showed no sympathy for any living thing. Charles Manson had nothing on this guy.

Adrian’s appearance was equally as repugnant as his personality. He was approximately five feet six inches tall on a good day, and was overweight by at least 120 pounds. The skin on his face was pasty white and excessively wrinkled for a man of his age. Adrian’s facial features were similar to that of a bulldog, but not quite that attractive. His posture was absolutely deplorable. The dancers nicknamed him “Hunch,” like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Adrian always wore his hair slicked back with “Vitalis” or something equally greasy. His lack of personal hygiene was absolutely disgusting. He reeked of stale men’s cologne and body odor. I always did my best to avoid any close contact with the man. Adrian was a walking contradiction. His clothes were disheveled and cheap, but his jewelry was gaudy and expensive. Adrian was obsessed with expensive automobiles. He was the proud owner of two brand new Jaguars, one Ferrari, and a candy-apple red Porsche. His favorite vehicle was a fully loaded, shiny black Lincoln Continental with custom leather upholstery. He used to refer to this one as his “hearse.”

Beneath Adrian’s disgusting physical presence was a vile personality, indicative of a sociopath. His sordid world revolved around his illegally gained money and possessions. Adrian was a very wealthy man. Who, like all the other club owners that I had met, made a good living by exploiting women. Uneducated and severely lacking in social graces, this man was famous for urinating on the carpet in his office, because he was simply too lazy to get up and go to the bathroom.

There were also stories of human feces found in old coffee cans thrown in corners of the club by Adrian who used them as portable toilets. Sadly enough, I found the rumors to be highly believable. The dirty, run-down interior of the building made a believer out of me. I could never quite understand how the Vegas Star was able to escape the attention of the Illinois Board of Health.

When I first began working at the Vegas Star, Adrian was married to a woman by the name of Saydra. She was overweight, but very sultry looking raven-haired woman in her late forties. Adrian and Saydra connected years ago at a downtown Chicago strip club where she worked. At one time, Adrian had been one of Saydra’s most lucrative repeat customers. Mesmerized by her exotic beauty, Adrian fell for her hook, line, and sinker. Before long, this calculating woman had him eating out of her hands.

Over time, Saydra supposedly coerced him into assisting her in illegal abortions.

These abortions were supposedly performed in the back seats of cars. There were rumors that Saydra’s and Adrian’s black market business was at one time extremely lucrative. Proceeds enabled the couple to become involved in an even more lucrative venture, strip tease clubs. Although this couple’s history had never actually been confirmed, I certainly wouldn’t have put it past either one of them.

Adrian and Saydra weren’t the only unscrupulous people connected with the Vegas Star lounge. The waitresses, who were management’s right arm, were equally as corrupt. There were three waitresses at the club. These women, whose ages ranged from 46–58 years old, mysteriously appeared at the Vegas Star professing to be ex-strippers from Las Vegas. Adrian was taken in by their attractive appearances and smooth talk.

The mysterious trio lived together in a very expensive home, located in an affluent nearby suburb. Unbeknownst to Adrian, these ladies were operating a very profitable side business extracting thousands of dollars from the customers that patronized the club through elaborate scams. The customers who were duped by this treacherous trio claimed they had been coerced into spending exorbitant amounts of money for sexual activities, which radically deviated from the norm.

Customers who desired to have sex with corpses, children, or animals were the targets of these con artists. The waitresses enticed these men by claiming that they had connections with proprietors of funeral homes and child care facilities that were willing to cooperate for a price. There were also reports of customers being recruited into dangerous cults, disguised as sex parties. Once the men were drawn into these cult operations, they were blackmailed and threatened if they didn’t cooperate.

Most of the men who fell prey to these scams were married and couldn’t afford to take any legal recourse against the women. These waitresses had a host of shrewd attorneys at their beck and call. Some of the dancers got wind as to what was going on and attempted to alert Adrian. However, Adrian and his wife were in denial and simply wouldn’t listen. As a matter of fact, any dancer that said anything negative about the waitresses was fired. Meanwhile, thousands of dollars escaped the hands of Adrian and his silent business partners. Instead, the money went into the pockets of the waitresses and dancers involved in the scam.

In the past, I had always worked in clubs that were very strict, or at least tried to operate with some semblance of order. In this particular club, there was virtually none, with the exception of the attendance policy. The dancers were required to show up for work on the days they were scheduled. If they called in sick, or didn’t come in, they were fined $300, which had to be paid before they could return to work. Outside of mandated attendance, the dancers were free to do as they pleased as long as they made money for the house.