I ventured back to the strip club. I was hoping to find Candy, but she wasn't employed there any longer. When I asked the bartender for her, he remembered Candy but was mum about why she left. I didn't want to be mistaken for a detective, or a desperate Joe, so I chose not to pry about the situation. Instead, I sat at the bar and ordered a drink. It seemed as though I had made the trip in vain until one of the lovelies sat next to me.
Initially, I thought Moca was Indian. She had long, straight black hair and her skin was the color of sand. It turned out that Moca was Puerto Rican. As I looked around the place, she was clearly the prettiest woman in there. Whether or not her figure was right remained a question. I had the slightest clue of what the contours of her body looked like since she was seated next to me at the bar.
Moca had only been working at this particular joint for a couple of months. However, as a 22 year old, she was a seasoned veteran in the game--having worked in the business for three years. She described herself as a hustler. Given the ease with which she spoke, I could see that being true. She was far more articulate and conversant than the other strippers I'd encountered before. That lead me to wonder why she was stripping for a living.
I tried to dig, but Moca wouldn't provide the level of detail that Candy shared with me. Eventually, I told her that I was a writer. It was a risky move, but I didn't have much time to waste since the spot was going to close in a half hour. I went for the gusto. That move had the potential of blowing up in my face, but it didn't.
Moca: What are you writing about?
Me: I'm writing a love story about a man who meets a woman in a strip club.
Moca: Interesting. That's it?
Me: No. So, there's this power struggle going on between them. He wants her to stop stripping but she won't leave because it's the only place where she has control.
Moca: You think women have more control in a strip club?
Me: Definitely.
Moca: I guess I'd agree with you. I was in an abusive relationship.
Me: Yeh? Was it emotionally or physically abusive?
Moca: Both. We were together for years.
Me: When did you decide to leave?
Moca: After two miscarriages and a black eye.
