In Another Life, I Was Married To A Showgirl
Showgirl's must be able to do more than dance
Other images and duties of showgirls
BELIEVE IT OR NOT and speaking presently, I was married to a sexy showgirl in another life not far from here.
I am not ashamed to admit it, being that readers today are more understanding and liberal. I once beat myself up and lived a life of condemnation of knowing this dark fact about myself, a fact that not even my closest friends know, that a showgirl, the best showgirl in Las Vegas, 1952, and I were once man and wife.
And talk about happy. She was the happiest girl in the world when she and I were together. I can guess that even while she was away at work doing her complex dance routines for the delight of audiences who packed the club where she worked, she still loved me as much.
HER NAME WAS "FIFI ALVAREZ" the daughter of a Cuban immigrant and her dad has worked for small wages at numerous jobs such as street sweeper, night janitor, and fry cook just to stay in America to make sure that "Fifi," made something of herself. And boy did she.
By the way, by now your mouth is agape with sudden-surprise knowing that I have had a past all the while I have been on HubPages. But there comes a time in a man's life when he has to come clean and unburden himself of those weights that can make his steps very heavy. And this is the heaviest burden I have to lay down.
REINCARNATION, BELIEVE IT OR NOT gave me the name, "D.D. Whitworth," a barfly, but a good barfly because I never let booze cross my lips. I just visited bars to enjoy the various collections of showgirls that blew into Vegas on planes, cars, trains and busses for "that one" glimmer of a chance of making it big. "Fifi" was one of the few fortunate who did catch her glimmer.
She had been taught the finer ways that women can charm and delight men of all ages just by being feminine and soft to the touch. "Fifi's" mother, "Conchetta," a showgirl in her day in early Cuban hang-outs, had passed on the secrets of being a showgirl to "Fifi," and she used each one of her feminine traits as a skilled surgeon would use his collection of tools to do surgery on a sick patient.
ONE SATURDAY NIGHT AT a casino named, "Big Larry's Gambling Oasis," I met "Fifi," while she was walking onto the stage. We shook hands. Our eyes met. My heart began to throb. I knew it right there and then that "Fifi" and I were "children of destiny" and bound to be man and wife in this level of time that reincarnation had sent us.
"Fifi" didn't need that much teaching by her mother on how to be a charming female. "Fifi" knew it somehow as if it had been given to her like a gift. I have to believe the latter for she knew how to use her sexy lips and hips to lure the strongest of men to their knees with her soft and sexy singing and then using her long, silken legs to dance the popular showtunes of the day, well I can tell you that it was not a wonder or work of Heaven to put me with "Fifi," and somehow make a life for ourselves in 1951 Las Vegas.
I SHALL NEVER FORGET her first words to me: "eh, senor, your trousers are very dirty," she said then covered her sexy mouth to laugh oh so lady like as she walked away from me onto the stage to do the musical set for the night at "Big Larry's". I thought that I had hear a few thousand angels singing to me. Her voice was that hot and sexy. It was love at first showgirl, because I was new at being a barfly. I had read articles in men's magazines such as STAG and Night Life telling how exciting the barfly life was, but never had put it into motion. I just played along with the day and went with the flow and visited each club and casino until the owners, bartenders, waitresses all knew me by my first name, "D.D.," which stood for "Darryl Dewey," but who uses that name?
ON "THAT CERTAIN" SATURDAY NIGHT when "Fifi" and I first met, I used my smarts and ran out to buy a new pair of trousers because I felt as if "Fifi" was telling me what she didn't like about me in the beginning to save her time later on.
She gracefully walked down the side stairs of the stage with a huge head dress of ostrich feathers hanging on her tanned and delicate shoulders that I craved to caress. Later on after she had went out for a late dinner with me, she allowed me to caress those soft shoulders that sent chills up my spine as she relaxed on her loveseat--reclining like a highly-trained housecat taking a break. What a woman I had met in this "Fifi Alvarez." I woke up many nights after that first shoulder rub in a cold sweat thinking that nature was playing a cruel joke on me. She was just that hot and feminine.
"Senor, D.D., what eez it that you do for a living," "Fifi" asked me one morning while I was washing the breakfast dishes. She had enjoyed the meal I had prepared for her while she slept away the the exhaustion from the grueling dance numbers from the night before at "Big Larry's."
"Oh, I uhh, do odd jobs here and there. I guess I am saving-up for night school, "Fifi." You see I want to be a vetenarian's assistant one day," I replied and knew that I had impressed her with my dreams.
"that's a neat dream, D.D., but if we are to be this man and wife, we cannot survive on my seventy-five dollars a week with the rent, power, and my clothes. I have to have good clothes. Sexy dresses to be seen in Vegas while I am not at work. I want a name for myself, "D.D.," "Fifi" said standing up at the breakfast table allowing her silken robe to drop the floor revealing a soft pair of panda bear pj's I had bought her at a nearby Woolworth's.
"FIFI" WAS RIGHT as usual. I needed to get a job with more bucks. More power. More respect. Who wants the terminology, "here lies a professional barfly" on his tombstone? "Fifi" had opened my eyes. That morning was the turning point of my life. Well, our lives, to be correct.
And no sooner than the afternoon of that day came, I was blessed with a super-good job that paid me fifty-dollars a week, plus tips. I was working at "Dandy Sue's Carwash and Casino," on main street in Las Vegas. I had done it. I had landed a respectful job. I was going to be somebody.
I REMEMBER WELL running like the wind to "Big Larry's" to tell "Fifi," the big news about my new job. I found her in her dressing room in preparation for the afternoon matinee. "Fifi" was dressed like a French street walker and that thrilled the manhood in me--her heavy eye make-up, the way she crossed her smooth legs in fishnet stockings and high heels, the way she smoked a cigarette and how she smiled a "come hither" smile at me when she heard I was working at a local carwash. I was happy. She was happy. All was right in Las Vegas.
THE YEARS WENT BY slowly, and I was glad. I wanted to spend every minute I could with this goddess, "Fifi." Each night I got to caress her shoulders, legs and feet while she took a much-needed nap.
Then I was glad to be able to prepare our dinner. Sometimes it was choice-cut steak. Sometimes lobster. We ate like a king and queen all of the time. And with our combined salaries, we really didn't have any financial woes.
Then, and I have to be careful here because there might be under-age kids reading this, in our bedroom, it was fireworks every time "Fifi" and I met for some Cuban-American lovemaking. Oh, was I ever worn-out after five hours of non-stop panting, sweating, moaning, and screaming, mostly by "Fifi," because I too, had a few manly gifts that my grandpa, "Clarence Whitworth," had taught me when I reached thirteen. I used my manly gifts like a conductor mastering a thirty-piece orchestra in Carnegie Hall. Oh, grandpa "Clarence," had out-lived three wives, and at the age of 92. Even as widower he was never without female companionship.
LIFE WAS GREAT with "Fifi" and me. Our bank account was growing bigger and bigger, but we had no use of touching it since "Big Larry," was good enough to give "Fifi" a two-week, paid vacation each summer and "Dandy Sue," her real name was, "Susan Lancer," a former madam, who had reformed and opened a lucrative carwash and casino under one roof. "Sue" was also good enough to reward my hard work with three days vacation in the mid-part of June.
"Fifi" and I had a ball during our vacation time. We would travel to places that I had rather not disclose and during each night and day, we would drink champagne by the case and I would talk "Fifi" into doing her exotic, sultry dances for men only and then we would do some role play where I was the police chief arresting "Fifi" for running an illegal "house of pleasure," and throw her in jail only to have her entice me with her female traits to let her go. I was an "easy mark" when it came to her female weapons.
WITH STORIES SUCH AS THIS readers set themselves up for a tragic turn of events or a death by one of the lovers in a love story like this, but not this time. In this story, no such thing. "Fifi" and I were so happy that we both thought we were dreaming.
I was so happy to do all of the housework for one a few hours with "Fifi," my sexy wife in the bedroom even when I was so tired from working at "Dandy Sue's," that I couldn't walk, still, I loved and craved "Fifi's" presence and touch.
WHEN WE REACHED OUR LATE FORTIES "I" had a block-buster of an idea. "Fifi," " said one night while I took a break from making love with her in the living room. "yes, dear 'Charlie,'" "Fifi," replied. She loved to call me by other men's names besides "D.D" while making love. She explained that by her doing this one thing, added "that" spark of nitroglycerine to our sex life.
"Fifi,' I want us to get out of the carwash and dancing jobs and open ourselves a mom and pop diner on the Strip near main town Las Vegas," I said to "Fifi" whose face was aglow with excitement.
"yeees, my husband. I could do my dances on the tables, dress like the hot, slutty nurse, eh?" she replied.
"no, sweetie. This would be what we could do in our "golden years," because you and I aren't getting any younger," I said.
"sounds keen, "Mac," "Fifi" said finishing her coffee. "Mr. Taylor, I must dress for work and you can watch me," "Fifi" said very sternly as she walked to the bedroom and looked over her shoulder as a signal for me to "come there immediately." I was no fool. I knew what was coming.
WE MADE LOVE LIKE JUNGLE ANIMALS until the break of dawn. Both "Big Larry," and "Dandy Sue" had called our home wanting to know if we were sick and not showing up for work. We both laughed. And went back to our love making as if we didn't have a care in the world.
Actually, we didn't.
In a few days we opened, "Fifi D.'s" a quaint diner serving real food that both visitors to Las Vegas and the life-long citizens loved. We had steaks of all cuts, prime rib, seafood by the ton and talk about a buffet. Our buffet was only two-bucks to eat all you want, and it went over like "gang busters."
Confidentially, I amused myself with the idea "Fifi" said years ago before we opened "Fifi D.'s" about her dancing on the tables as a sexy, slutty nurse, but never put it into play in our diner. Our business was making money hand-over-fist.
SO WHAT HAPPENED TO US is a question that only the universe itself can answer. All I know is that one day I went into the huge freezer in the back of the diner to get some extra steaks and lobster for the night crowd and suddenly the lights went off . . .
and I ended up here in 2013.