An Evening with Stormy Daniels

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Stormy Daniels Stormy Daniels burst on stage to the sounds of “American Woman” at her Rancho Cordova show at Gold Club Centerfolds. What was I doing there? The chance to see a woman who stood up to Donald Trump had piqued my interest to the point that I bought tickets to the show. In this era, the United States is a theater that includes a porn actor and movie director who allegedly had an affair with Donald Trump. I just couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t hard to convince my male friend to accompany me. We had arrived early to secure good seats. The large venue had a stage with a couple of highly-polished brass poles. A dozen upholstered chairs lined the edge of the stage and others surrounded small circular tables. A hostess had directed us toward a good viewing area. Stormy would perform in an hour.

While we waited, a series of naked dancers performed. Besides the on-stage entertainment, the off-stage action was intense. Working the room were about 20 college-age women dressed in thongs, string-like bras, and high-heeled platform shoes. A woman would sit next to a solo man, touch him on the shoulder or leg, and appear to listen attentively to whatever he had to say.

Now and then a dancer and man stood up and strolled toward the hallway with a red neon sign indicating the entrance to the “Platinum Room.”  I peered down the hall and discovered an ATM machine; a convenience for someone who might need last minute cash on his visit to this mystery room with a nearly naked woman.

The middle-aged general manager who wore black tailored pants and a black and white checked blazer visited our table. My friend asked her to explain the entryway sign that indicated the regular dancers don’t get paid by the club. The women, she said, are independent contractors who run their own businesses; the women pay the club to work there, not the other way around. Days later I considered whether the regular dancers made the equivalent of minimum wage and whether they had health insurance.

But that evening, Stormy Daniels held our attention.  Moments after her entrance, Daniels whipped off her full-length sequined red, white, and blue cape to reveal a star-studded Wonder Woman type bra. Blue and red lights flashed.

After a few more seconds passed, her top and the blue thong slid off.  Piece by piece, the costume went missing. Stormy caressed one pole, strutted across the stage, and climbed up and down the other one.

She did acrobatics, got down low on the stage, rolled this way and that, face-up and facedown, and waved her tail. Finally, she raised a plastic bottle over her head and squeezed a pink liquid down her body.

As she crawled to the edge of the stage, men and women drew closer—a scene similar to what had we seen with the local dancers. She wagged her breasts on men’s faces. Guests plastered bills to her wet skin. The show was short, but I’m not complaining. Nothing about Stormy Daniels was left to the imagination. Although she didn’t say a word on stage, she told her story in her recently published book, Full Disclosure.

I admire her tenacity in winning the right to talk about Donald Trump, fighting and gaining release from a non-disclosure agreement. Her battle contributed to public discussion and debate about that type of contract.

After the show, we talked to one of the couples in our age bracket — the over-50 crowd. The wife said they had come to the show to view a newsmaker who won’t be forgotten soon.  Those were my thoughts exactly.

Like many people, I tend to judge others by their actions and myself by my intentions. Without question, some of the ticket holders came to see Stormy Daniels in the buff, but others, like me, were there out of wonderment over a woman who stood up to power. My curiosity was satisfied. After all, there was no mystery here. On stage and in her book, Stormy Daniels exposed a great deal. And for 40 dollars, I bought a glimpse of history.

“An Evening with Stormy Daniels” appeared as a guest commentary in the October 14, 2018 edition of the Davis Vanguard, an online news magazine.

 

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