She was one crazy bitch and I was nuttier than Cooder Brown.
Oil and water.
She was the very worst type of woman for me: a woman with a voice that insisted on using it and could not and would not, be ignored.
I won’t be ignored, Dan!
I like to think of her as The Greatest Thing That Never Happened to me.
She was something else, let me tell you brothers and sisters.
Like my dear departed Uncle Mike used to say, “two big ouches!”
Her name was Cinnamon (I never found out her real name). She was a gorgeous cream-colored stripper, er, exotic dancer, er entertainer, that lived in one of the rooms of my condo in North Las Vegas. Two other strippers, er exotic dancers, er entertainers, shared the third bedroom.
When I think back to those wild days, I have no rational explanation for my actions other than to say that when total hedonistic insanity is the norm, I had a good run.
I did the things that most people can only read about.
So Cinnamon is 6 feet-three-inches of wild Texas sex appeal.
Cinnamon lip gloss.
Not really, I was just the landlord.
I was employed as an Executive Chef for one of the more prominent Hotels and Casinos on the world famous Las Vegas Strip as it was called back then. I had just moved in with my girlfriend finally, which turned out to be the disaster I had anticipated it would be. So she leaves me (for whatever insane reasons she had) and I end up stuck with this huge condo.
The girls literally answered an ad I placed to make a little side money by renting out the two spare bedrooms. Cinnamon had explained that the three girls had to suddenly leave the house they were renting under what sounded a bit like dangerous circumstances. Her description of their exit included a frivolous allusion to “gunplay and the cops or something like that.”
To be honest with you, if I were thinking like a businessman, I would NOT have signed the leases with them.
They couldn’t provide a last known address other than “this safe house.”
I didn’t press.
They were very uncomfortable trying to describe their jobs or “source of income.”
Mama didn’t raise no cornpone, so I quickly surmised they were Ladies of the Night.
I had to decide between them and a very nice newly-engaged couple who would rent both rooms which included their own access. They were the obvious choice because they had a great credit history and both had great employment histories and were still employed at the same jobs for over 12 years each.
This should have been a no-brainer.
The girls moved in because like I said, there were special circumstances.
No, they didn’t have verifiable employment, no credit history, no emergency contact.
BUT, when they came to fill out the leases, they also had a friend with them whom I assumed was a fellow “entertainer” friend. I happened to be in the pool area and was walking up the stairs to my condo. I looked over to see the girls exiting their car.
Now if two of the girls had thongs it would be expected. Three even better. But four out of four?
It had to be a sign!
Another sign was the 12k they paid me up front. Off a roll of 100-dolar bills.
That sealed it.
Only a few short years removed from studying and walking the halls of one of the world’s great universities, now I am a pimp.
Crazy shit happens in Las Vegas.