Like lambs led to the slaughter, Uptown, a newly divorced English major with panic anxiety disorder and no job skills, Voluptua, an out of work actress, and Mouse, a former child star trying to make a comeback all struggle to make enough tickets to pay the bills. Things get complicated when Uptown falls in love with a customer who happens to be a priest.
In Grinders Corner it was a simpler time, long before gentlemen’s clubs and pole dancers, and it happened in a place where shy, lonely men could talk to women, even dance with them, with no fear of rejection—for about fifteen cents a minute.
Downtown Los Angeles
Romanceland, 1969
The jukebox was playing Close To You. The lights were low and romantic, the red candles on the intimate little tables for two flickered seductively, and the many-faceted, mirrored chandelier reflected tiny droplets of shivering, shimmering light onto the dance floor. His strong arms were about me, and he was lightly kissing my ear. Then he spoke in a throaty whisper.
“Hey, baby, you wanna make a quick twentyfive bucks? Let’s go to a motel.”
Oh God, I thought, as I looked at the clock. One more hour to go. I’m going to have to put up with this clown for sixty more minutes unless he runs out of money. Maybe I can get him to sit down and have a Coke. Then I won’t have to endure this tortuous ritual known as dancing. If we get a Coke, I’ll have to make conversation with him and that might be worse than dancing.
The only good thing about dancing is that I don’t have to talk to him. I only have to hear about the motel.
He was staring at me as if waiting for a reply, so I asked, “What did you say?”
Okay, that isn’t particularly original but it used up a couple of seconds. Then he had to repeat it all. That took a few more minutes.
I started to think maybe I could make it to the two o’clock finishing line, but I was wrong. He wasn’t slobbering on my ear anymore. Now it was my bare shoulder.
“Hey, I’m kind of thirsty,” I said. “Why don’t we sit down and have a Coke?”
“Baby, I don’t want a Coke.”
“Oh, hell,” I said as I deftly stepped out of his reach. “Let’s go to the desk so you can check out.”
He retorted with, “How about fifty bucks? I’ll buy you a steak besides.”
I smiled, thinking how delicious that can of beans at home was going to taste. “I’m sorry. I’m not in that line of business.”
“Whaddya wanna do—get married?” he yelled.
Romanceland, 1969
The jukebox was playing Close To You. The lights were low and romantic, the red candles on the intimate little tables for two flickered seductively, and the many-faceted, mirrored chandelier reflected tiny droplets of shivering, shimmering light onto the dance floor. His strong arms were about me, and he was lightly kissing my ear. Then he spoke in a throaty whisper.
“Hey, baby, you wanna make a quick twentyfive bucks? Let’s go to a motel.”
Oh God, I thought, as I looked at the clock. One more hour to go. I’m going to have to put up with this clown for sixty more minutes unless he runs out of money. Maybe I can get him to sit down and have a Coke. Then I won’t have to endure this tortuous ritual known as dancing. If we get a Coke, I’ll have to make conversation with him and that might be worse than dancing.
The only good thing about dancing is that I don’t have to talk to him. I only have to hear about the motel.
He was staring at me as if waiting for a reply, so I asked, “What did you say?”
Okay, that isn’t particularly original but it used up a couple of seconds. Then he had to repeat it all. That took a few more minutes.
I started to think maybe I could make it to the two o’clock finishing line, but I was wrong. He wasn’t slobbering on my ear anymore. Now it was my bare shoulder.
“Hey, I’m kind of thirsty,” I said. “Why don’t we sit down and have a Coke?”
“Baby, I don’t want a Coke.”
“Oh, hell,” I said as I deftly stepped out of his reach. “Let’s go to the desk so you can check out.”
He retorted with, “How about fifty bucks? I’ll buy you a steak besides.”
I smiled, thinking how delicious that can of beans at home was going to taste. “I’m sorry. I’m not in that line of business.”
“Whaddya wanna do—get married?” he yelled.
Keel has also worked as editor for international magazines, including Playgirl, For the Brideand Black Elegance. She says the most fun she’s had as an editor (so far) was at Spice, a fanzine featuring rap, R&B, soul and gospel music. During her time there, she enjoyed going to parties for such notables as Puff Daddy, having lunch with Gloria Gaynor and attending a pasta dinner where Mariah Carey did the cooking.
Keel’s editorial assignments include The Health of Nations, a book on political philosophy, and That Nation Might Live, a moving tribute to Sarah Bush Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s stepmother. Her TV credits include Fantasy Island and Days of Our Lives, and her book, Rituals, was the basis for the first made-for-syndication soap opera. She also produced (for Romantic Times) the first annual Mr. Romance Cover Model Pageant.
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ReplyDeleteThanks for hosting us on the first stop of our blog tour. We hope your readers will go to Amazon and take a "look inside" and enjoy a few pages, including photos of my co-author, Ferris Craig, back in the day when she was pursuing a career in acting and earning a living as a taxi dancer. Her experiences are hilarious!
ReplyDeleteCharlene Keel & Ferris Craig
Thank you for the chance to win.
ReplyDeleteI've never heard of taxi dance halls. This sounds good.
ReplyDeleteI would like to give thanks for all your really great writings, including Grinders Corner. I wish the best in keeping up the good work in the future.
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