I was momentarily blinded as I stepped out of the brightness of the late spring afternoon and into the blackness of the stairwell that led to the club.  For an instant, I regretted having spent most of the day in bed and wished that I’d been doing something wholesome and outdoorsy instead. Playing Frisbee on the Oval with other co-eds, maybe.  But, I wasn’t a student anymore and besides I’d been here the night before until 2 am and would be here as late (or later) tonight.

“Hey there, missy,” said Terry Mack, the leather-clad bouncer, as I walked up the stairs toward him. “You know the big man’s coming in tonight.”

“I know, Terry. Is he nice?  Is Ronnie excited to see him?  I want to meet him, but I’m kind of nervous about it.”

“Oh, he’s gonna like you, honey.  Don’t you worry about that,” he said, with a slightly lecherous tone.

I gave Terry a peck on the cheek as I passed and took my bag and my tray into the darkened DJ booth to change.  It was fun for me, this part of the gig- slipping out of my t-shirt and shorts and into another era.  I liked trading my flip-flops for a pair of stilettos, my cut-offs for a short, black skirt.  I loved how, underneath the skirt, the back-seamed stockings and silk garter belt made me feel like I had a little secret and how- if I bent over even a tiny bit- my secret was exposed by a flash of my bare thigh.  I was a high maintenance girl at heart: the more I primped in that DJ booth, the happier I became.  I topped the outfit off with a black pillbox hat and some vintage rhinestone earrings.  Cherry red lips and some smoky eye shadow and my transformation was complete: girl-next-door to Cigarette Girl in less than 30 minutes.

***

Just as I was stuffing my clothes into my bag, the door of the booth opened and in came Ronnie.  He didn’t say anything- just drew me close for a kiss.  Ronnie was the one of the owners of the club and my sort-of boyfriend.  I’d taken to spending the last hours of every night perched next to him at the back bar; drinking champagne and smoking pink-papered cigarettes, while he held court in what was kind of a VIP area. (Or, as VIP as one could get in Columbus, Ohio: a place I still referred to as Cowtown.) 

He was funny and attentive; and he always let me play Ring of Fire on the jukebox as many times as I wanted.  Last night, I’d gone home with him in his big, white Lincoln. We’d listened to music before going to bed together and this morning, when I woke up, he gave me a delicate gold bangle with the words Baby Love inscribed on the inside.  (Baby Love, by the Supremes, is my very favorite song.) The gift made me worry that I’d perhaps told him I loved him sometime during the night.  Specifically, during sex.  It was a little bit of a bad habit I had- saying that without necessarily meaning it. 

I glanced at the bracelet as he held me and felt a sudden flicker of irritation.

“Ronnie, stop,” I said as I pushed him away with a pout.  “You’ll mess up my lipstick.”

He smiled, too happy to be put off. “You’ll still be beautiful, baby.  Won’t you give me one kiss before we get too busy?  Andy will be here soon; I can’t wait to introduce you: my own little rock-n-roll queen.” And with that, Ronnie planted a kiss firmly on my crimson lips, swatted me gently on the rear, and pushed me out into the now-crowded nightclub.