Dedicated to Russ Meyer and American International Pictures
*
Chapter 1
Strip Club
It was gone three in the morning and what little air there was in the Ooh-La-La Club was thick with smoke and sweat and the odor of stale beer. The joint was packed tonight: waitresses in tight hot pants and club tee-shirts sashayed around carrying trays laden with beer bottles and whisky shots; customers jostled each other and fights broke out, only to be promptly ended by big, burly bouncers; strippers gave lap-dances in not-so-discreet corners. And an unending supply of sawdust was regularly thrown down to soak up the beer and the blood and the puke and the cum.
Suddenly, the music that had been pounding out all night was turned down and the walls and floors quit pulsing. Everybody stopped what they were doing -- all except those customers who, having some hardbody stripper's ass or tits gyrating in their face, could not stop themselves from blowing their load at that precise moment.
Roxy, the Ooh-La-La Club MC, stepped up onto the main stage and was hit by a big white spotlight.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the act you've all been waiting for..."
There was a hush as the crowd quietened down, expectant.
"All the way from Waco, Texas..."
Shouts and wolf-whistles from the audience.
"For one nite only..."
More cheers and whistles. A bar stool was thrown across the room somewhere in the background.
"Vanja and the Pussycats!"
The crowd went wild.
Roxy stepped offstage and the spot went out, throwing the stage into darkness. The crowd was silent, tense, waiting for the show to begin.
Cue the music: a throbbing drum beat accompanied by slow, sleazy brass instrumentation.
Another spot hit the left side of the stage now as a curtain was pulled aside to reveal a tall, statuesque brunette, Italian-looking, slutty, gorgeous. She was wrapped in a black velvet cloak that matched her raven-colored hair, and was perched on ludicrously thin, ludicrously high stiletto heels.
Roxy's disembodied voice proudly announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... The bellisima Beatrice!"
To Beatrice's own surprise, Roxy pronounced her name correctly, Italian-style: Bee-ah-tree-cheh...
The crowd leered and jeered and shouted lecherous come-ons.
Beatrice stepped forward, teetering on those ludicrous heels but maintaining a grace and poise that gave her an almost regal bearing. When she reached the front of the stage she threw back her cloak to reveal a killer body, deliciously clad in vintage black underwear: conical silk bullet bra, suspenders, seamed stockings -- the works. And when the crowd laid eyes on that elegant, slender figure with its long legs and oversized bust they went positively nuts.
"Yeah, baby!"
"Show us what you got, honey!"
"Show us them titties, girl!"
The music played on. At the front of the stage Beatrice did her thing, undulating to the slow, sultry rhythm of the burlesque jazz but not yet removing any of her clothes, despite intense encouragement from the audience. She knew how much it drove them crazy when she fingered her garters, hinting that she may begin unsnapping them at any moment.
"Take it off, baby!" a male voice shouted.
"Do it!" added another.
The attention of everybody was then diverted as the right hand curtain was thrown back and a second girl -- blond this time, and dressed in a trench coat -- strutted out onto the stage. The music kept oozing from the speakers as Beatrice slunk backward and the blond took her place upfront, the crowd on tenterhooks as they waited to see what she had hidden under that raincoat.
Roxy's voice came over the speakers again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the sexy Suzy!"
Cheers, shouts, whistles, obscenities...
"Now that's a girl who's sure to satisfy that seven year itch, folks!"
Suzy smiled at the crowd coquettishly from beneath peroxide-blond, Marilyn Monroe bangs. Then she peeled back her trench coat to reveal a body just as incredible as Beatrice's, and similarly clad in vintage lingerie -- only peach-colored this time. And like Beatrice, Suzy performed the briefest tease of a dance before stepping back to the rear of the stage, where the two of them continued gyrating sexily to the music.
"But now the vixen you've all been saving your wad for..."
One customer climbed up on stage but was immediately hauled off by Thalmus, the Ooh-La-La Club's gigantic head bouncer, and the over-zealous asshole was roughly escorted somewhere out back.
Roxy continued her introduction, drawing out each word with salacious relish.
"The voluptuous... the voracious... the voluuuuminous... Vaaaaaanja!"
Insane cheers and whistles from the crowd.
A smoke machine coughed up a few gusts of thick white fog and colored lights roved across the stage as the music reached its third act.
At the rear of the stage, between Beatrice and Suzy, the curtain was slowly raised to reveal a pair of long, powerful legs, thigh muscles taut.
Pneumatic breasts.
Flaming red hair.
An Amazonian warrior princess...
And like the others, Vanja was wearing vintage burlesque underwear: black bustier, suspenders, seamed stockings, eight inch heels, above-the-elbow satin gloves. She stood at the back of the stage, hands on hips, bust pushed out. An arrogant eyebrow was raised at the crowd, a sneer of contempt contorting her lipstick-heavy lips. She strutted to the front of the stage, flanked by Suzie and Beatrice; thrust her mountainous breasts out even further.
