What does she have that I don’t?

When I was 23, I had a boyfriend who was obsessed with Pam Anderson from Baywatch. I can still hear the yearning lustfulness in his voice. “She’s soooo hot,” he’d moan every day. It was the early 90’s, the height of Anderson’s fame and her image was everywhere. I was constantly reminded of how desperately he longed for her and was sure that given the chance he’d dump me for Baywatch’s “C.J.” in a heartbeat. It didn’t feel great knowing that I wasn’t my boyfriend’s first choice. Fortunately, Pam Anderson didn’t even know he was alive.

Around this time, strip clubs in New York City went upscale and were now referred to as Gentlemen’s Clubs. All the older men I knew in swanky Fairfield County, CT (where I lived at the time) were hooked and would frequently make the long drive into New York to visit the dancers who worked at these clubs. The owners of the restaurant where I worked as a waitress and their (mostly married) friends would return from Manhattan gushing about how “gorgeous” and “perfect” these women were.

Who were these goddesses? I’d wonder. They sounded so exotic. They came from places like Brazil or Argentina. Some were “beautiful Southern Belles.” They sounded so much more alluring than me or any other women I knew. The fact that our local men would skip off to spend time with them felt threatening.

What did these other women have that we didn’t? Why were men so fascinated with actresses and strippers?

I was a recent college grad looking for my first real job. I’d studied math at Columbia and was interviewing at finance companies. Growing up, I’d never shown any interest in theater and as a sedentary kid who mostly read books and played the flute, I certainly didn’t have a stripper’s body. But after a series of events, I eventually became both an actress and a stripper. So now I have some answers to those questions.

One night while working at the Penthouse Executive Club, another dancer made a comment that stuck with me. “The only reason these guys are so crazy about us is because we tolerate them,” she said. “Outside of the club, we’d be just like their wives.”

Tolerate sounded like a strong word. I liked my customers. I like people in general and easily see the good in others. I didn’t feel like I was tolerating my customers’ company. But then I thought about Dr. Bob.

When Dr. Bob and I met, I was 31 and new to dancing; he was a heart surgeon with a full head of silver hair. We had an easy rapport and Dr. Bob quickly became one of my favorite regulars. He’d visit me at work about once a week and our faces would light up the moment we caught sight of each other. Dr. Bob had a silly sense of humor and kept me in constant giggles. He’d usually come to the club straight from the hospital and I loved hearing about his day and his patients. He spent time with them and got to know about their individual lives. He was emotionally invested in each one. He’d lost a few over the course of his long career and that was heartbreaking for him.

One night, a couple years after we first met, Dr. Bob made a confession. “You know Suzanne, sometimes I think about leaving my wife for you.”

It was a moment when the needle scratches the record. I froze and so did everything around me. The music went silent, all the chaos of the club stood still. Dr. Bob wasn’t making a lighthearted joke. He was serious.

“Don’t,” I said, looking directly into his eyes.

“Don’t?”

“Don’t think about leaving your wife for me.”

Dr. Bob let that sink in.

“OK,” he said as he reached for his glass of wine. I reached for mine too and we sat in silence for a moment, drinking.

I saw Dr. Bob as a wonderful customer. I didn’t think about how he might view me. But now I understood how he could describe me with the same words my old boss and his friends used to describe the dancers they would visit.

Of course he thought I was “gorgeous.” I was 30 years younger than him — and his wife. He never saw me without my hair perfectly coiffed, makeup freshly applied. My nails were always manicured, skin tanned, teeth whitened — you get the idea. There’s a lot that goes into presenting oneself at a gentleman’s club. Plus, the lighting was flattering and everyone was tipsy. Who wouldn’t look “gorgeous” with all that working in her favor?

And he may have even thought of me as his “perfect” woman. I was always happy to see him, always fully engaged with whatever he wanted to talk about. And most importantly, I had no needs. I demanded nothing of Dr. Bob outside the money he paid me.

Unlike a wife, I was never disappointed when he worked late and missed dinner with me and the kids. I was never disappointed when our family vacations were canceled because a patient needed him. Unlike a wife, I never felt second to his career, and never tired of hearing stories about his job. I didn’t expect him to meet my emotional or sexual needs. I was happy with our relationship exactly as it was. I was happy with Dr. Bob exactly as he was.

So what does that other woman have that you don’t? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What’s so appealing about her is that the relationship with her is not real.