Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Slimeball Cab Driver


The cab ride from the Marriott back to Cover Girls was the pits. The ride should have taken no more than 20 minutes but this was not to be a normal cab ride. Most of the Houston Cab Drivers are really nice guys and can almost always be relied upon to get a girl home ………. regardless of how fucked up she might be when leaving the club. With somwhere between 1,500 and 2,000 dancers working the 120 clubs, in and around Houston each day, this is a big chunk of business! The first hint of a problem and the cab company would be black-balled by all the clubs in the Houston area. That said, you’d a thought that getting a cab in the middle of the morning would be a damn site safer than anything on offer at 2.00am. This was not to be the case today!

Unfortunately, when I jumped in the van with The Rocket the previous evening, I was still in my dancing gear. This always seems like a good idea at 2.00am but is a bit of a giveaway when you are trying to get home the following day. Actually, if the truth be known, there is another reason I was still in my dancing gear.

After the last dance, most of the guys will finish their drinks and head out to the parking lot. Some guys will hang around the parking lot waiting to see if they can get lucky with any of the girls but a few of the regulars will hang around the bar waiting to see if any of the girls ‘want a ride home’ ; the established euphemism for carrying on the party elsewhere. In reality, it is a much smaller percentage of dancers that work the after hours scene than most people realise and there are always more guys looking to carry on partying, than there are girls available. The Rocket had caught my eye right at the end of the evening so I only had time to give him one table-dance, in the VIP Lounge, before the lights went up. It may have only been one dance ……… but boy, what a dance. He was seriously hot to trot! His hands resting gently on my hips, I barely had to bend my knees before feeling his manhood nudging against me. I quickly realized that the reason he held my hips was to stop me descending too quickly ...... which might have brought tears to both our eyes!

The price of entry into the VIP Lounge is a bottle of Champagne (at $80-200 a bottle!), so we had barely touched it. It was at this point that he suggested that we go to an hotel to, “Finish what we’d started.”

My first reaction was that I was tired and needed to get back home but then he pulled a small pastic bag out of the breast pocket of his polo shirt and dipped his little finger into the white powder. He held his finger under my nose and I snorted his finger clean, almost pushing his massive pinkie right up my nostril in the process! He repeated this with my other nostril and I knew instantly that I wouldn’t be goin’ home ....... anytime soon!

Now came the decision as to whether I went back to the locker room to get changed into my street gear or just went with him as I was. The downside of going into the locker room was running the risk that he went off with another dancer while I was getting changed! This would happen quite often, particularly if any of the girls who regularly worked the nightshift had not managed to secure a John for the night. These girls would go out to locker room before the last song, get changed into their street gear and be ready to approach any loose punters hanging around the bar, immediately the lights went up. This might seem a shitty thing to do but with a few notable exceptions, the majority of the girls who work the after hours scene have a serious habit to fund. Which also means that they have a tendency to get pretty agrressive if they think they will lose out on a high-rollin' John. Although I am rather partial to using coke when I am in party mode, I never use the stuff when I am on my own; which also means that I rarely have to pay for it!

I knew that I was on to a good thing with The Rocket and I didn’t want to run the risk of losing him, so I decided to head straight out with him. Knee-length boots, short skirt and tight top; showing plenty of T&A does not look a bit out of place at 2.00am ………. but it is a bit of a different ball-game at 11.00am!

As soon as I got in the cab, I knew I had drawn the short straw. I should have relied on my intuition and jumped straight out ……….. but I didn’t. We hadn’t even got to the beltway before the cab driver started coming on to me. So, I work the clubs ……… I’m a dancer, ………occasionally I play in the after hours scene; …….. so what exactly makes this asshole of a cab driver think that I want to mess around with him? Fortunately, I didn’t give him my home address as I was heading back to Cover Girls to pick up my car. He doesn’t let up the whole way back; constantly insinuating that I should take care of him when before we get to the club. I just sat in the back and curled up in the corner of the seat …….. what a fucking slimeball!

As he turned off the beltway at the 290 intersection, I didn't notice right away that he turned onto the northbound exit, when we should have gone south. Once I realized, I looked up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. I asked him what he thought he was doing? I saw his eyes widen in expectation as he said, "I know a quiet place where you can take real good care of me."

"Turn this fucking car around, right now," I screamed as I rummaged in my purse trying to find my phone. I found the phone at the bottom of my bag. Why is that whenever I need anything from my purse in a hurry, it's always at the bottom? As soon as I found the phone, I hit 911. It just rang and rang. Where the fuck was the emergency operator when you needed one? Although it was probably only about ten seconds, it felt like I had been hanging on for a couple of minutes. I hung up and threw the phone back into my purse. I saw that we were approaching an exit. I asked the driver to take the exit and do a U-turn, so that we could head back to the club. With that, the mother-fucker hit the gas and moved into the outside lane. Now I knew I was in trouble. The next exit was only a couple of miles further on, so I leaned forward and told the driver that if he didn't take this exit, I'd jump out of the moving vehicle. This might seem like a desperate measure but you don't have to go too far north-west on 290 before you are in the boonies ........ and then who knows what he might do?

He pushed the gas pedal even further to the floor. Instinctively, I leaned over his right shoulder and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. I could feel the rush of coke fuelled adrenaline searing through my body; giving me the strength to wrestle the wheel and guide the car onto the shoulder.

"Stop this fucking car, right now," I bellowed in his ear, "Stop the car right now or I'll fucking wreck it."

I felt the car slow down but gripped the wheel with all my strength until it came to a complete halt.
"What the fuck are you playing at, you sick mother-fucker," I spat. He looked a shaken. He definitely had not expected me to make a lunge for the wheel.
Still leaninmg across the middle of the bench seat and holding on to the wheel; I felt my eyes narrow as I whispered, "Unless you want me to report you for attempted rape, you fucking psycho, you'd better turn this car around at get me to my destination .... in one piece."
He let go of the wheel and holding up his hands said, "OK ....OK.....you got it. I'm really sorry."

I eased my hands away from the wheel and lowered myself back into the corner of the rear seat. I took the phone out of my bag and held it so that psycho-driver could see it in his rearview mirror and said with as much venom as I could muster, "One false move, buster, and I'll call the frickin' cops."

"OK ....OK," he repeated as he moved the car back onto the freeway. He signnalled to take the next exit. He was now really agitated; all the earlier bravado had vanished. I guess that he knew that he had made a big mistake.
"You won't report me, will you?" He pleaded. "I've got a wife and a couple of kids ....."
I interrupted him, "Well, you should have thought about them before you pulled this bullshit on me."
You could have cut through the atmosphere in the cab with a Bowie knife, the silence was deafening!

When we arrived at the club, I told him to drop me at the front door. The last thing that I needed was for this dip-shit to see me get into my car. As soon as the cab came to a halt, the club doorman, Sammy, opened the rear door and said cheerily, “Hey Teeze, how y'all doin’.”

Everyone called me ‘Teeze’; originally it was T.S. but this got shortened to Teeze. I liked the familiarity of it but I always insisted that the punters called me by my full name.

I felt a wave of relief sweep over me when I saw that Sammy was working the door this morning. Sammy was known as '3M' (Mexican Man-Mountain), easily weighing in at around 300 pounds .... and it was all muscle. Sammy was respected by all the girls, mainly because he had never tried to take advantage. Some of the girls had tried to seduce him but he never succumbed to temptation. He was a regular at the local Catholic Church and was married with three lovely kids. You might ask what a guy like Sammy was doing working the door of a titty-bar …….. well this is Houston, Texas and as Sammy would say, “ Someone’s gotta take care of you gals ……. and it might as well be me!”

As I climbed out of the cab, Sammy could see immediately that something was wrong.
“Hey Teeze, what’s up …….you OK?” he said, looking first at me, then the cab driver. The cab driver took one look at Sammy and hit the gas. The tires squealed as the cab swung out of the parking lot. The rear door clipped a concrete post by the exit and slammed shut with a huge dent in the middle.
Sammy looked at me, eyes wider than a coked-up redneck, “What the fuck was all that about?” he said, holding his arms out in an expression of disbelief.
“Mother-fucker was trying it on all the way back from the airport,” I replied; trying to sound dismissive.
“Anyway,” I sighed, “At least he didn’t hang around for the cab fare!”
Sammy looked exasperated, “Man, you gals really push your luck sometimes ……. it’s a good job I’m here to take care of you.”
I leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and gave him a big hug.
“Thanks Sammy, you’re a real hero,” I gushed.
He went bright red and as he broke into a great beaming smile said, “Go on, get your cute little tushy out’a here.”
I smiled back and ran towards the main door, to go get changed into my street gear, before heading back to my apartment. Sammy really is a gem.
Sammy called out after me,"Did you get his number?"
"Forget it," I called back, "It's all over now ........ and there's no harm done."
Sammy turned and shrugged, "I hope you're right Teeze ...... I just hope he don't pull that shit on no-one else!."

Fifteen minutes later, after a good cry in the locker room, I’m climbing into my 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Convertible. Andy, the day-shift manager made a token effort to persuade me to work the afternoon shift. He was short of girls and had just taken a call to tell him that a bunch of Halliburton oilfield hands were planning on coming in during the afternoon. Although these notoriously rowdy roughnecks were always generous, I knew that I was on borrowed time. Andy could have gotten me some more coke but I really needed to catch a couple of hours’ sleep; especially if I was going to be in any kind’a shape to meet my daughters off the bus at 3.30pm. Not to mention that I was still shaking from the experience with the psycho cab-driver!

Actually, the liklihood of me being in any fit state to meet the girls off the school bus was diminishing rapidly. Exhaustion was creeping through me. I knew that once I succumbed to the physical and mental demand for sleep, there was no chance of me waking this side of midnight. I was sooo beat. The effects of the two lines of coke were wearing off and I was fading real fast. When I got back to the apartment, I called into my neighbor to settle up with her and thank her for baby-sitting the girls. Monika had been a dancer herself for many years, so she appreciates the nature of the work and the unpredictable hours! She was still dancing on her 40th birthday but she was now nearly fifty. Her own daughters were both dancers but were apparently working in Denver. Houston was a bit too close to home for them! Monika gave me a hug and said, “Teeze, you look like shit,………. you look like you need a hot bath and some sleep.”

I managed to raise a smile and told her that I felt at least as bad as I looked but I decided against mentioning the cab driver incident. I needed sleep and Monika would have wanted to know all the gory details; before giving me a lecture on the stupidity of not taking my street clothes to the hotel with me!

Monika offered to meet the girls off the bus, feed them and entertain them until it was time for them to go to bed. I told her that I wouldn’t need to work for a few days and gave her a couple of hundred bucks. She smiled knowingly and said, “Don't you worry, Honey. You just get some beauty sleep ......... or you won't be attracting those high-rollers any more!”

I knew the girls were in good hands with Monika and reflected that I was blessed to have such a good neighbor. I climbed the stairs to my apartment. The bath would have to wait until the morning. I was in bed and away with the fairies just a few minutes later. I just hoped that I wasn’t going to dream about slimeball cab drivers!

I'll see the girls in the morning.

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Blogger Krisswampthing said...

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