Rob closed his eyes and soon drifted off to sleep. The minutes passed, but I was wide awake. He began to breathe in that way that isn’t exactly a snore, but almost could be. I wanted to drift off to dreamland with him, but I also wanted to tell him the truth.

“Hey. So, tomorrow, I’m not going to work at the coffee shop,” I said. I didn’t know if he was actually sound asleep or if I’d woken him up and he was ignoring me. I sat up. It’s hard to speak sternly when you’re snuggling.

“ROB!” I said louder, and I shoved him with my hand. Now that I was mentally prepared to tell someone I was a stripper, there was no going back. He had to wake up. His eyes opened, startled. He looked around to collect himself, and then he realized he was in the same exact place that he’d been not even five minutes ago.

“Yeah, hey, um what’s up? You okay? I figured it was cool if I stayed here, but I can go if you—”

He started to get up. He seemed so nonchalant about this situation he thought was happening. If I’d had sex with someone and passed out in their bed, I’d be furious if they woke me up to kick me out. He must have been very used to getting kicked out of beds. I wasn’t sure if I found this concerning or not.

“No! Don’t go, you don’t have to go anywhere. Sorry. Um, I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Do you have a boyfriend or something? It’s cool. . . . Don’t worry, I go back on tour in—”

“No! I don’t have a boyfriend!” I laughed, and now wondered how many of my friends in committed relationships might also be sleeping with Rob.

“Look, I told you I didn’t have to wake up at five . . . and I didn’t tell you why, and I just want to tell you, so you know,” I said.

“Okay . . .” He looked really confused, and rightfully so.

“Today I got fired from the coffee shop I worked at, and . . . well, on my way home I kinda sorta stopped at this strip club in Times Square, and . . . I got a job there. As, you know, a stripper.” He had an innocent, confused expression on his face, but then the confusion turned to a neutral nod, and then the nod turned into a smile.

“Cool! So . . . you’re a stripper now?” he said.

“Well, I just auditioned today, and I go back tomorrow to officially start.” I made quotation marks with my fingers when I said the word “auditioned,” even though it literally was an audition. I just felt like any of my friends who used the word audition referred to trying out for Broadway musicals and such, and I wasn’t sure if applying for a job to work at a strip club warranted the same word.

“Hmm . . . have you ever done it before?” he asked.

“No, never. Nothing even close.” I wasn’t even sure what was “close” to stripping, but the only jobs I’d ever had were working at coffee shops, and for a short while a bookstore, and it was safe to say that neither of these were close to stripping.

“So, wait you just walked in? What did you wear on stage?” he asked.

“Um . . . the same clothes you saw me in?” I shrugged my shoulders, and he broke into a laughing fit.

“Fuck, really? Are you serious? You just walked in and stripped in that?” He pointed at my pile of clothing on the floor, still laughing. I didn’t understand. Coming from a guy who changed his jeans maybe once a month, how was he some kind of Tim Gunn for strippers?

“Well yeah, I didn’t really plan this. Alright? It all kinda just happened.” I was starting to regret telling him.

“I’m surprised you even got the job!” he said, patting my thigh.

“Hey, fuck off!” I shoved him jokingly, but also kind of seriously. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I had a very nice matching pair of bra and panties that was just . . . lovely up there, and, you know, vintage dresses are becoming a real thing at these clubs. Just you wait.” I paused, realizing how ridiculous I sounded, but it was too late to take it back. “Anyways, I start at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow!”

“Yikes. The day shift?” he said. Here I’d been worried he’d judge me for taking my clothes off for money. But instead, he was judging me for taking off the wrong clothes at the wrong time for money. I was speechless. He must have seen my face contorting, half in surprise and half in indignation, because he held up his hands.

“Hey, babe. I’m no stranger to strip clubs, or strippers. I’m in a band. I’ve been to nudie bars all over the country, and I’ve definitely dated a whole bunch of—”

“Alright!” I interrupted. “Thank you. I don’t need to hear about all the strippers you’ve fucked. Wait, did you fuck any strippers who work at Club 42?”

He thought for a moment. “Only like three,” he said.

“What!” I threw a pillow at him . . . once again, half joking and half not joking at all.

“I’m just fucking with you. No. I’ve never even heard of it. But I also never go to strip clubs when I’m home.” He held his arm out and pulled me toward him. “Come here!” He held me close to him and kissed me on the cheek. I think this was his polite and loving way of saying sorry for calling me a crappy stripper, and also telling me he fucked a lot of non-crappy strippers.

“So how about I help you out a bit? I don’t want you going in tomorrow like you went in today. If this is what you wanna do, babe, you gotta go in and kill it!”

“Really? How can you . . . help me?”

Rob drew his arm away and pointed to the small square of empty floor space by my bed. “Well, why don’t you show me what you can do, and I’ll give you some pointers!”

“What do you mean?” I said.

To see Naomi do a strip tease for Rob, turn to page 246.

To see Naomi give Rob a lap dance, turn to page 253.