Chapter 9 American Robin
Nine
American Robin
Turdus migratorius. The quintessential early bird that often gets the worm. American robins show up on lawns across North America, as well as
in mountain forests and even in the Alaskan wilderness, popular for their warm orange breast, cheery song, and their funny
habit of “listening” for worms underground. Robins can produce three successful broods in one year but only a quarter of fledglings
survive to November. So while a hardy robin can live up to fourteen years, the entire population turns over on average every
six years. Seen as signs of spring, many American robins actually spend the whole winter in their breeding range. In British
folklore, robins bring a messenge from a lost loved one.
By the time Sam called to tell me that the trial would begin a week from the following Monday, of course, I already knew,
and I also knew he’d called me just to be able to call me.
My time at Ophelia was up.
It had barely begun.
Lily was correct: I would have loved to write a story about the place, which most people probably thought didn’t exist outside
Las Vegas.
I still wanted to chat for a moment with the other strippers who’d known Felicity, but since I was running out of time, I
let Nell come to work with me.
“I’m interested in the show but what I really want is food,” Nell said as we opened the door. She sat at the bar, where I set her up with a beer and some nachos, but it quickly became clear that in the beer-versus-show equation, what Nell thought was exactly opposite to what happened.
She was instantly mesmerized by the sight of Archangel onstage, which I had become used to, so I didn’t remember how startling
that could be. Sprinkled in glitter from head to toe and wearing only a sheer black body stocking, Archangel was doing a sort
of reverse strip, pulling scarves and boas from a box on a stool next to her while simultaneously removing the body stocking,
a task I could not have accomplished even while sitting on the stool, much less dancing in heels to the old Blondie song “Rapture.”
It was with a start that I recognized how much Archangel resembled the young Debbie Harry, in face if not in stature.
“Do you know that this was actually the first rap song?” I said to Nell. She didn’t hear me, so I went off to find Lily and
explain that my departure from the club was imminent. Then I took my place behind the bar, replacing a clearly pissed-off
Raquel, who paused only long enough to point out the two customers who were already overserved and to add that she was late
for her babysitter. “‘Now he only eats guitars,’” I sang along with Debbie. I told Raquel, “I’m sorry.” She flounced away.
I checked the chili, scooping up a cup for Nell, who accepted it gingerly, only after I reassured her that it was prepared
under perfectly sanitary restaurant guidelines. She took a tentative bite.
“It’s amazing,” said Nell, who’d finally turned to the food. “It’s so good! The chef could be making this anywhere.” I agreed.
But I bet that if I had checked, the cook was either probably related to Kelly or Lily or somebody else at the club, or in
some other jam. Short-order cooking was one of the top jobs for parolees; I had no idea how I knew this.
The overserved guy asked for a double and I provided him two frosty glasses of unspiked Diet Coke, betting he was so smashed he would not notice. Archangel left the stage, replaced by Dovey, who continued with the Blondie music.
“‘Someone’s love had a heart of glass,’” I sang and did a little spin to grab the brandy. I’d convinced Lily to offer a sweet
brandy old-fashioned, the most requested drink, easy to fix, and more expensive than the usual fare. I felt a tap at my back
and there stood Lolo, in a red spangled minidress and high-heeled red boots.
“Archangel said you might want to talk to me about Felicity,” she told me, her smile at once shy and mischievous.
“I do. Are you on the way out?”
“I’m on the way in,” Lolo said, jumping onto a barstool in a far corner, away from the men at the bar. “I can talk to you,
but I have to get dressed. Can I get a ginger ale?”
“Just ginger ale?”
“I can’t have alcohol. I’m not twenty-one.”
“I’ll be back,” I told Nell, who said nothing in reply, seemingly lost in the music and the sight of Dovey on the pole, removing
a pin to loose the shining blue-black curtain of her waist-length hair. She seemed to regard Dovey as though the dancer was
some sort of rare creature in the wild rather than a very fit fortysomething grandmother. Because Dovey had a daughter older
than Lolo, and said daughter had a baby of her own. I just couldn’t believe that. I buzzed Lily and asked if she could cover
the bar for me, just for fifteen minutes, while I followed Lolo to talk to her, or at least try to, while she changed into
her work costume. Not particularly happy about it, Lily agreed. I liked Lily, and I didn’t want to burn any bridges. I had
always been a short-timer, but now I had to make the most of the little time I had. There was no need for finesse, if I’d
ever demonstrated any. Nodding Lolo toward the back room, I told Nell I’d be right back and asked her what she thought.
“I’m trying to come up with what I think.
I would never have thought it was so pretty and artful.
And it is sexy too,” she said. She pointed to Dovey.
“I don’t know whether I’m attracted to her, or I wish I was her.
I could never do that, Reenie. And I don’t mean I could never let myself be seen like that.
I mean I could no more do that than I could do a triple flip on figure skates.
It seems like that kind of talent should be doing something more in the world. ”
“Maybe she doesn’t think of it the way we do,” I said. “Her grown daughter works here too. That’s her, the one I’m going to
interview.”
“Her daughter?” Nell said, with a gasp. “She has a grown daughter?”
In the dressing room, I glanced into the mirror. Lily must have despaired of my clothing and cursory nature-girl makeup, but
that day, I just couldn’t face the contour stick and five coats of mascara. Lolo was adjusting her hair extension, an elaborate
confection of curls, securing it to her long ponytail with clips that looked like dragon jaws. When she had it all in place,
it looked like some kind of small monument on her head. “I just want to ask you if you can tell me anything about Felicity
that would shine some light on what happened with her.”
“Why she killed somebody?”
“Well, yes.”
“I don’t know if she killed somebody,” Lolo said. “But I know she was unhappy. Crazy unhappy. She would sit in the back and
eat a whole box of vanilla wafers by herself. That wasn’t Felicity. She was Miss Apple Slices and Carrot Sticks. Not like
me, I couldn’t care less. Give me a box of hot biscuits and I’ll make them disappear.” For the first time, I noticed that
Lolo had a slight Southern accent and a sprinkling of gingery freckles.
“Where is home for you?” I asked her.
“Mom grew up in North Carolina. It’s a shithole where she grew up.
My grandparents live there, the meanest people in the world.
My dad lives with them. They don’t approve of my mom being white.
So it’s much better here. Although there are good things there too.
My dad’s sisters, they’re great. And it’s warm. ”
“How did you end up in Wisconsin?”
“My mom has a sister here.”
“Are your parents divorced?” I didn’t know how to ask if they were married, and I also didn’t know why I would wonder that—was
it because both of them were strippers?
“No, they’re still married. He just lives there. We go every other month, holidays, all summer.” She stuck in one more taloned
clip.
“Is it weird to see your mom strip?”
Lolo laughed as she pulled open a bag of fiery hot Doritos. The unmistakable smell assaulted the room. How could something
that tasted so good reek so bad? I had seen Lolo eat her meal before. A whole bag of Doritos, a whole pint of tabouleh, a
pint of coleslaw, a full-size bag of Famous Amos. She weighed maybe ninety pounds.
“It’s very weird,” she said. “Especially if you know Dovey and you know that she has a heart attack if you open her bedroom
door when she’s getting dressed, or God forbid, walk in when she’s in the shower. She would really prefer you to pee outside
or hold it for twenty minutes while she takes her very long, use-up-all-the-hot-water shower. I have never seen my mother
use the toilet, ever.” I imagined what it would be like for me to watch Miranda remove her clothing in front of a room of
leering, tipsy guys. The image was outlandish . . . However, the thought of my doing the same thing with Miranda standing
there was utterly appalling.
“I don’t know why I asked that,” I told Lolo.
“Natural question. I guess my mom and I are a little bit unusual. You would not meet a lot of mother-and-daughter strippers.”
“You never performed . . . together, did you?”
Lolo rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, no! That would make me puke!” She said then, “There is totally nothing in the way of a turn-on about stripping, Renee. It’s just working.”
“Reenie.”
“I’m sorry, sure. For somebody who gets called Lulu all the time I should know better. Anyway, there’s nothing sexy about
it. It’s like going to aerobics class. It’s bad enough we work at the same time because we only have one car. And she’s always
criticizing me.”
“For taking too much off?”
“No, for looking like I’m miserable, which I am. You’re quitting and I am too. In like a month, when I save enough to go back
home. Dovey says she’s going to go too. Lily will lose her shit. Not to mention Jack. Jack calls me ‘the tulip.’”
It occurred to me that, after standing in the dressing room for fifteen minutes, I hadn’t asked Lolo anything of importance.
And I’d left Nell at the bar. So I hurried to ask, “Okay, why was Felicity unhappy?”