Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 47

(17/32) “Carmine and I moved into an apartment on 34th Street....

(17/32) “Carmine and I moved into an apartment on 34th Street. We knew they’d never rent to a black girl, so I sat in the car while he talked to the landlord. We celebrated that first night together by cooking hamburgers on the patio, then we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. And I’m not sure who spotted it first, but there was a tractor trailer parked across the street with its door unlocked. Carmine popped open the back and found a whole load of Charles Jordan women’s shoes. By the time we sold it all, there was enough to cover six-months rent. And we made sure to spread the wealth around. On the weekends we’d throw these huge parties and invite everyone from the club except for the pimps. Our friend Mickey drove a delivery truck for the New York Times, but on the side he sold coke to a lot of famous people. He used to show up at our parties with a punchbowl full of joints and a dinner plate full of cocaine. I never touched the stuff, but everyone else seemed to love it. Those parties went until 4 AM. At the end of the night we’d lay out blankets and people would fall asleep on the floor. It was nice having the same people around all the time. It started to feel like a real home. And Carmine treated me like I’d never been treated before. He bought me flowers. He took me places. We used to get dressed up every Friday night and get dinner in the Latin Quarter. And since so many of his friends were thieves, he was always bringing me presents. My favorite color is purple, so he got me a purple dress. He got me my first real diamond ring.  And on my 25th birthday he got motorcycles for both of us. Every time we got in a fight and needed to cool off, we’d just go out riding. Those were the happiest days of my life. It felt like I finally had a little family. Of course Carmine could never tell his actual family about me. They’d kill him if they knew he was with a black girl. So every year he’d have two Christmas’s. The one he spent at his parents’ house in Jersey, and the one he spent at home with me.”
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(16/32) “Carmine used to keep a blanket in the back of his...

(16/32) “Carmine used to keep a blanket in the back of his convertible. Some nights, instead of going home, we’d pick up two sandwiches from Smiley’s and take them out to Central Park.  We’d lay the blanket out in Sheep’s Meadow and have sex.  Then we’d just sit there talking until the sun came up. One night I was telling him a story about the only vacation I’d ever been on. My mother had taken me to Cape Cod to visit my ‘long lost Uncle Pete.’  It was really just some guy she was fucking on the side, but I got a free trip out of the deal.  When I finished telling him the story, Carmine turned to me and said: ‘Do you want to go now?’ I thought he was making a joke, so I kinda laughed. But he got real serious and asked me again. We ran back to his convertible and drove all night. We didn’t have a hotel or anything. We just laid our blanket out on the beach and waited for the sun to come up. We were the only two people out there. And I don’t know why, but I started telling him things that I’d never told anyone before. I told him all the things I’d been hiding from everyone else. I told him about my mother. And how she used to beat me. And how I still dreamed about her screaming at me. I told him about the pregnancy. And the prison time. And I told him that when I’m all alone, sometimes I feel like I don’t even exist. When I was finished talking, I looked over, and I kinda expected him to not be there anymore. But he was still right there. We watched the sun come up over the ocean. I’d never seen anything like it before. I’d seen it in pictures, but I’d never really seen it. The water was the same color as the sky. Carmine had his arm around me, and I think it might have been the happiest I’d ever felt in my life.”
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(15/32) “Carmine walked into my life on New Years Eve. I was...

(15/32) “Carmine walked into my life on New Years Eve.  I was dancing somewhere.  Some place in Midtown, who knows.  And he walked in with a group of friends. Everyone dresses on New Years Eve, but he stood out.  He looked like Franki Valli. I remember thinking it was weird that he didn’t have a date. Carmine had a job at the General Motors factory, but he didn’t dress blue collar.  He dressed like a Guido.  Silk tie.  Pressed shirt from The Custom Shop.  French cuffs with cuff links.  And perfect hair.  Later on when we were fucking, I’d always try to grab his hair.  And he’d say: ‘Please, Steph!  Not the hair!  Not the hair!’ But I didn’t even talk to him that first night.  I might have smiled at him.  But I smiled at everybody.  So I’m not sure why he kept coming back.  He started showing up whenever I danced.  He was always alone.  And he always dressed perfectly. It was against the rules for customers to flirt with the girls, so I don’t even remember how we started talking. But he was charming.  He made me laugh.  He didn’t have any college, but he never sounded stupid. I started to have a little crush on him. One night he got the owner’s permission to ask me out. And when I stepped off the stage, he offered to buy me dinner at any restaurant in Times Square. I chose Howard Johnson’s. I was a cheap date. I ordered the fried clam sandwich. I don’t remember what we talked about, but we started going out all the time after that. Carmine was always with me.  I’d take him to the clubs on my nights off, and everybody was crazy about him.  He even got along with the pimps.  He could talk to anyone.  And that boy could dance. We used to joke that Carmine had some black in him, because he had such good rhythm. All these women would try to pick him up because they didn’t know he was with me.  And I wasn’t one to stop him. He never stopped me either.  I could talk to anybody.  I could dance with anybody: fast dance, slow dance, it didn’t matter. That’s one thing I loved about Carmine. I always had my freedom.”
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(14/32) “My first steady gig was at a bar called Billy’s. I...

(14/32) “My first steady gig was at a bar called Billy’s. I danced there every Wednesday night with a brunette named Lisa. Back in the day there was a famous advertisement for Chesterfield Cigarettes, showing nothing but a pair of legs in fishnet stockings. Lisa was those legs. Her customers used to fold bills and tent them on the bar. And Lisa would crouch down slowly, unhook one side of her G-string, just enough to pick up the bill, then stand back up. It didn’t take me long to notice that Lisa was getting ten-dollar tips, and I was only getting a dollar. So I practiced that trick over and over again, until I could do it without falling down. After a few months I built up a little reputation for myself. That’s how it works when you’re a go-go dancer. You work a particular place, on a particular day, and you start to get a following. If I worked Monday at a club, I worked Monday forever. Because my customers kept coming back. The other girls would ask questions to figure out if a guy was worth their time. They’d ask about his apartment. Or his car. When the 212-area code came out for Manhattan, a lot of the girls were even asking for phone numbers. But I never asked those questions. Rich, poor, skinny, fat, I treated everyone the same. My most loyal follower was an auto mechanic named Oscar. For years he came to every one of my shows. No matter where I danced, he’d show up in his greasy uniform. Oscar’s wife had abandoned him, and he was raising three kids on his own. Sometimes he’d stay until closing time and we’d get to talking about our problems. But he never hit on me or anything, he’d just give me advice and stuff. And I always listened. Because the way I saw it, if you’re raising three kids on your own, and you’re getting through it, I’ll listen how you’re getting through it. Oscar was a lonely guy. He used to save up silver dollars all year long, then on Christmas he’d glue them to the outside of chocolate boxes and give them to his favorite dancers. A lot of the girls laughed at him behind his back. But I really cared for Oscar. He was a great father to those kids. I kept the boxes that he gave me, and I never even spent those silver dollars.”
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(13/32) “After a few months in New York I was finally starting...

(13/32) “After a few months in New York I was finally starting to get a little something together. I managed to save enough money to get my own room at the Times Square Hotel. It was just a sink and a bed and a radiator, but it felt like The Plaza to me. For the first time in my life, I could close the door at night and relax for a second. But that didn’t last for long. One morning the owner of the factory called me into his office. I thought I was getting a promotion. But he closed the door behind me and said: ‘Here’s how it’s going to work. Either you sleep with me, or I’ll give a bad report to your parole officer, and you’ll go back to jail.’ This was some old, scroungy looking white guy. Exactly what you’d imagine a factory owner to look like. And I’m not saying I would have fucked him if he was any younger, but you’ve got to be kidding me. So I told him where to put it. I walked out of his office feeling good. I felt like I had some power. But that only lasted for three minutes, because I remembered I was living at the Times Square Hotel and rent was due next week. At the club that night, I started telling Vicki about my problems. She reached into her purse and pulled out a clipping from the Village Voice.  It was an ad from a talent agency, holding auditions for GoGo Dancers. ‘They’ll never know you’re black on the phone,’ she said. ‘give them a call.’ And she was right.  They asked my cup size. And my measurements.  But they never asked if I was white. I practiced all week for my audition. Most GoGo Dancers wore the same ballroom shoes that the Rockettes were wearing, but I could dance in heels. So I bought myself some bright red five-inch heels. And the moment I walked in the door, the guy’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. I was the blackest thing in the world. I think he’d already made up his mind that he was going to tell me ‘no.’  But I put on some BB King and started to dance. And I knew just how to do it.  All slow and sensuous.  Not like they do in Harlem. Like they do downtown. And when the music finally stopped, he was quiet for a few seconds. Then he stood up, smoothed out his pants, and said ‘I think we can work something out.’”
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(12/32) “The Temps were staying at some fancy hotel off Central...

(12/32) “The Temps were staying at some fancy hotel off Central Park South. Right when we walked in the door, Vicki started sitting in her man’s lap, and he’s kissing on her neck.  So Dennis starts doing the same thing.  I knew what he was expecting to happen, but I don’t do one night stands. So I’m giving him nothing back. After twenty minutes he got tired of trying, so he gets up and disappears into his bedroom. I thought he’d gone to sleep. But ten minutes later he walks back in, and he’s wearing nothing but a leopard silk bathrobe. It was tied so loose that he was just swinging in the breeze. And I mean swinging low. Like you wouldn’t believe. Nice to look at, but no thank you. I had a shift at the factory early the next morning, so I looked at my watch and said: ‘I gotta get out of here.’ On the way out I could hear all the other Temps laughing. It was probably the only time that man had ever gotten turned down. And ever since that night, every time the Temptations came to town, I’d go to the show. This went on for decades. And always on my way out the door, I’d tip the stagehand to pass a note to Dennis: ‘Do you still have that leopard bathrobe?’ I must have passed him thirty different notes over the years. I knew it was driving him crazy.  The last time I saw him was a few years back at a club downtown. By then he was potbellied but he could still sing his ass off. I got myself a table right up front, and the whole show he was singing straight to me. Both of us looked so different. There was no way he could recognize me. But during the intermission, I passed the same note that I always do. And when he came back out, he was still singing straight to me. There was one more concert scheduled for later that year in Queens. I’d made up my mind that I was finally going to reveal myself. But he ended up getting sick, and he passed away before I ever had the chance.”
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(11/32) “One weekend the Temptations came into town to play a...

(11/32) “One weekend the Temptations came into town to play a show at the Copacabana. Nobody black had ever performed there, so everyone was buzzing about it. At the time Vicki was fooling around with one of the singers, so she asked me if I wanted to come out and party with them. I told her ‘no problem.’ It didn’t seem like a big deal to me. Vicki was obsessed with famous people and their money, but I could care less. The way I saw it: it wasn’t my fame. And it wasn’t my money. So why would I care? We made a plan to meet at BB Kings, the original location in the basement of the Americana Hotel. All of The Temptations were there, but I got paired off with Dennis, who happened to be the finest of them all.  We had the best table in the house. And I could tell that Dennis was into me. We were flirting and laughing. Everyone was having a great time, when all of the sudden James Brown comes walking up to our table. He must have been drinking. Because he pulled up a chair, and started jabbing his finger at Vicki, screaming about how The Temptations had no business being with a white woman. He kept saying that there were plenty of sisters who look good. Now I’m listening to all this ‘black and proud’ shit, and I’m getting pissed. Because James Brown was keeping a white girl named Geri Miller in the Knickerbocker Hotel. I knew it for a fact. Everybody knew it. James had gotten her a floor length fox coat for Christmas, and every time he got mad at her, he took it back.  It was a big joke in the clubs. So I sat there quietly until James was finished with his ranting and raving, then I said: ‘Excuse me Mr. Brown, but Geri Miller would like her coat back.’  James looked at me like he needed to take a shit. He didn’t say a word. He just slammed some money down on the table and walked out.  The Temps started laughing so hard that they were rolling on the floor. And when it was time to leave, they invited us back to their hotel room.”
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(10/32) “One of my best customers was a GoGo dancer named Vicki....

(10/32) “One of my best customers was a GoGo dancer named Vicki. Vicki was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell. She worked the Peppermint Lounge when it was really going, but she made a lot of money on the side as an upscale call girl. All her clients came through a woman named Madame Blanche.  Blanche controlled the high-end prostitution in the city. All the powerful men came to her because they knew she wouldn’t talk. But that didn’t mean Vicki wouldn’t talk.  Vicki told me everything. One night I was selling her a coat, and she told me that Madame Blanche was looking for a black girl. The client was Alfred Bloomingdale, the owner of the department store. It was a role play thing. All I had to do was go to his hotel room and pretend to be a maid. She promised me that I wouldn’t even have to take off my clothes. And the pay was $300, so I agreed. Bloomingdale was set up in a permanent suite at a fancy hotel off Park Avenue. When I walked in the door, he was lying in the bed, wearing one of those smoking jackets like Hugh Hefner wears. He was surrounded by five white hookers in French lingerie. They weren’t even touching him. They were just sorta sitting on the edge of the bed, looking bored. On the bedside table there were stacks of $100 bills. He peeled off three of them and handed them to me. Vicki had coached me so I knew what to do. He ordered me around for awhile. I was serving them drinks, and picking up clothes off the floor. He gradually got more and more demanding, and I was saying dumb stuff like: ‘Yessuh, Mr. Bloomingdale.  Oh Yes, Mr. Bloomingdale.’ But after thirty minutes I was supposed to switch it up. The plan was for me to start talking back, and he was going to get angry and call me the N word and whip me with his necktie. I didn’t care. I was getting $300. But when that time came, he didn’t grab a necktie. He grabbed a leather belt. And that wasn’t in the agreement. So I grabbed my coat and got the fuck out of there. Thankfully I got my money up front.”
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(9/32) “When you go to the clubs every night, you start to see...

(9/32) “When you go to the clubs every night, you start to see the same people. They’d buy me drinks. They’d ask me to dance. It was like a make-believe family for me. I never knew much about these people. Maybe they had real families. Maybe they weren’t alone as me, but they never made me feel that way. They accepted me. They called me ‘Black Stephanie.’  I got along with everybody: the pimps, the hustlers, the drug dealers, the mob guys. Especially the mob guys. Every single one of them had a black woman on the side, so they’d flirt with me all the time. And I had no problem with it. They dressed their asses off. They talked romantic. It wasn’t long before I was hanging with a whole crew of Italians. And they started giving me little side jobs so I could earn some extra cash. My steadiest work came from a guy named Joe Dorsey. He was the best thief in the city, but he didn’t look like what he did.  He looked like Wall Street.  His fingernails were always perfect. And his wife was an upscale escort who wore designer clothes. Joe had one of the best hustles in town.  Back in those days, rich women would keep their jewelry and mink coats locked up in storage until it was time for a big event. Then they’d always go to the beauty parlor and start bragging about their fancy parties, and all the nice things they were going to wear. Joe was paying off a hairdresser at the nicest parlor on Madison Avenue. And the moment these women started jabbing, she’d sneak away to call Joe Dorsey.  All he ever needed was an address. Because Joe could get past any doorman, since he dressed like Wall Street. And he could pick any lock. So by the time these women got home, their whole place had been looted. My job was to sell the mink coats. I’d wear them to all the clubs and wait until I got a compliment. Then I’d unload it. Joe gave me a commission, plus I always added an extra ten percent to his price.  So I was making money on both ends.”
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(8/32) “At night I’d lay in bed and listen to the sounds of the...

(8/32) “At night I’d lay in bed and listen to the sounds of the street. I never wanted to fall asleep, because I didn’t want to dream about my mother screaming at me. So I’d listen to all the noise outside and I’d start to feel like I was missing out on something. That’s how New York sounds late at night, when you’re lying in bed and you’re scared of going back to where you came from. It sounds like you’re going to lose your place in line. And if you don’t get out of bed, the thing that was supposed to happen to you is gonna happen to someone else. I’d make myself so nervous thinking like that, I’d put on my leather shoes and hop an uptown bus to Times Square. I’d walk down Broadway past all the theaters, and dream about dancing there one day. Then I’d walk a little bit further, past the adult theaters, where I actually end up dancing. By the end of the night I’d usually find myself in one of the clubs. The most famous club in Times Square was the Peppermint Lounge. It’s a parking garage now, but back in the day it was the place to go if you wanted to hear some music. That’s where Chubby Checker invented the twist.  But it was usually filled with tourists, so I spent most of my time across the street at The Wagon Wheel. It was more like a community. The clubs weren’t like they are today. There was no VIP section.  No velvet ropes and champagne service. Everyone mingled: the pimps, the hustlers, the entertainers, the tourists. Back in the sixties, every club in New York was putting in a stage for GoGo dancers, because a Gogo club could make twice as much as a regular club. The girls would dance in cages or behind the bar, and guys would line up to put money in the jukebox. These girls were getting paid. On a busy night they could make $100 in tips during a five-hour shift. I had to work a full month at the factory for that kind of money. And I was a better dancer than all of them. But I knew the clubs wouldn’t hire me. Because Gogo Dancers had to be perfect. They couldn’t have stretch marks.  Couldn’t have tattoos.  And they couldn’t be black.”
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