Going Through Doors (3/3) By Joe Hakim

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3)

Purple Door not only acknowledges the inherent cheesiness of the lap dancing culture, it revels in it. Leopard-skin print carpets. Zebra-skin print chairs. Wall-mounted plasma screens showing the movie Showgirls. I look around, and I realise that all of the men in the club are all intoxicated with the same illusion of What They Could Have Been. The beers and the women and the atmosphere all conspire to conjure up visions of themselves as the sports stars, rock stars and celebrities they thought they would eventually become. In some small way, they imagine for one second that they mean something - simply because of the lives they lead and the money they spend.

They picture themselves in the video for Jay Z's Big Pimpin'. They picture themselves in Wayne Rooney's boots, scoring a hat trick and then scoring with a few birds afterwards. They picture themselves as the protagonist in their own private Brit-flick, the latest new Lock-Stock. When you're drunk, anything can be bought. Even your own perception of yourself. My mate from work is talking to a couple of guys. 'Which one d'yer thinks the fittest out of all the birds in here?' he asks them. The girl who was dancing on the stage come over and sits next to me. 'Thanks for watching,' she says. 'Are you having a good night?' 'Kind of,' I say. 'If you don't mind me asking, how do you end up doing something like this?' 'Well, it's like any job,' she says. 'You drift into it.' 'I'm just interested,' I say. 'I'm a writer. I've come here so I've got something to write about. That sounds probably like bullshit, but it's true.' 'That's okay,' she says. 'What do you want to know? My name's Starr by the way.' 'Star?' 'Starr, with a double R,' she says. We shake hands. 'I'm guessing that's not your real name,' I say. 'No, but if you're a writer, and you're planning on writing something about being in here, don't print my real name, okay? I'll tell you it so long as you don't print it.' 'Okay,' I say. 'It's XXXXX,' she says. 'Well, anyway..how does someone like yourself get into stripping, then?' 'Don't call it that, it's not stripping, it's table dancing..I don't know, I just kinda stumbled into it. I've always been an outgoing person, and what can I say? I just like having a laugh, meeting people; adventures, y'know?'

'So you knew from an early age that you wanted to do you something like this?' 'Oh no, not at all,' she laughs. 'When I left school, I didn't have the slightest idea that I'd end up doing this. Like most young girls, I liked going out and having and laugh, but I wanted to travel as well, see a bit of world. I started off doing bar work, and eventually I got offered the chance to work abroad.' 'Oh, yeah?' I say, leaning back in my chair. 'I'd been working abroad for a couple of years, and I ended up working in a bar in Portugal. I'd been there a couple of months, and I'd been made bar supervisor. Well, anyway, every Wednesday they did a wet T-Shirt contest at this bar, and this one Wednesday, hardly anyone turned up,' she says.

I take a gulp of beer. 'I'd had a few drinks, and my manager dared me to get up on stage to start things off. Encourage the crowd. So I got up, and he put some music on and I went into a routine. I just imagined that I was alone, or maybe dancing for my boyfriend. They turned the hoses on and I danced, and the place just went wild. After I got off stage, the manager gave me two hundred quid. He said to me, "You do that again next week and I'll pay you another two hundred." I'd never earned so much so quick, and for so little time, so I agreed to do it, and I started dancing every week. That was it, really.' A young girl approaches. She has dark hair and dark eyes, and she looks like a lost little girl. 'Starr, I'm sorry to interrupt,' she says, 'but I need to ask you something.' 'What's up honey?' Starr asks. 'There's been a phone call,' the girl says. 'It's my boyfriend. He's been in a fight round town. He's in the hospital. I know it's my first night, but..'

'It's okay,' Starr says. 'How's your night been so far?' 'All right,' the girl says. 'Do you think you'll come back? Listen, give me a call, we'll talk tomorrow.' Starr turns around and sorts out some cash and hands it to the girl. 'Here, get a taxi. You've done really well tonight. You've got a future in the industry and in this club, but it's up to you. Just think about it. If it's not for you, that's okay as well, it's your decision, just let me know.'

'Thanks,' the girl says and then she leaves. 'Sorry about that,' Starr says. 'I'm just trying to nurture some local talent.' 'Don't be daft,' I say. 'You're just like a mentor or something. Passing on your expertise, I imagine it's difficult adjusting to life in an industry like this.' 'Yeah,' she says. 'Your personal relationships suffer you can't avoid it, but it's like a devotion to any career; sometimes you have to make sacrifices. My last boyfriend started out saying he was okay with it, with what I did, but towards the end of our relationship it really made him angry, and it ended up becoming the main reason for our split. The thing is, in a job like this, you get to see the worst aspects of men. That was one of the reasons I came back to work in England. When blokes are on holiday they suddenly seem to think that the normal rules of behaviour don't apply anymore. They try grabbing you and getting you to do stuff, other stuff. They can turn quite nasty, and you need to know how to handle yourself.

Some punters won't accept that it's all an act, a show. But back here in Britain, the boundaries are set in stone. You don't feel threatened - you feel in control. If things get out of hand, the security is there in seconds. And yeah, I try and help all the new girls, because like you say, I know how difficult it can be, the whole thing.'

'Obviously - and I don't mean to sound rude - this industry has a point where you grow beyond it, if you know what I mean,' I say. Starr laughs. 'You mean when you're past it?' she says. 'Of course, that's a worry, but there are other opportunities, and they're always new ones opening up. I don't plan on doing this for the rest of my life. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I think the next step would be to open a dancing bar myself. Let's face it; the dancers generate all the money in these places. They're the whole attraction. I'd like to open a bar that was owned and managed by the dancers themselves. The music, the décor, the attitude - all controlled by the women that work in the club.' 'That sounds like a plan,' I say, and I swig down the last of my beer. 'Anyway, enough of the chatter - do you want a dance or not?' she asks, and then she takes my hand.

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