Jersey Faces Revisited: Ariana
GRAND
OPENING
CELEBRATION
at The Body Shop, Rt 35, Keyport, NJ
Reprint of a Dec 1989 article by Sophie
The place is unrecognizable. Vibrant, alive, noisy, and happy.
The new red suspender on the bar-tenders, the pretty girls, the friendly atmosphere, the light-show add up to excitement. Two dancers are looking for something in their purses, with one hand, the other hand tightly holds their breasts together, as if to stop them from running away. This tall blonde, with long curly hair, curvy shapes, splashes big circles around the pole, then lifts her curly hair with her left to let us all see her lovely face.
I am lucky to find a seat, even luckier to sit next to someone who knows the owners. I learn from him, that Sal Ventura, one of the owners, saw a go-go bar from the inside 6 months ago for the first time, and immediately decided that this is what he would want to do, this is the business he’d want to be in.
That fascination paired up with systematic study of other bars, a peerless interest in cuisine and pleasing others, created the unusual story: the “green” owner is pretty successful with the new venture, the Body Shop is doing very well, much better than before.
There must be at least a hundred girls here, and a few hundred customers, the atmosphere is joyful, the food is free and delicious, the dancers are beautiful and ready to please you, tease you, excite you.
One girl wears an Easter bunny outfit, another is dressed like a nurse: the girl is a tiny bit cut short and the panty shows: the excitement is good for the heart, she says.
The barmaids, a fast working and efficient bunch, “what can I get you,” and you don’t even see them move, the drink is in front of you, your change with it. A smile, the hands don’t stop working for one second.
The girls on the L-shape podium change every few minutes: enjoy the one you really like, she will be off in a minute. The DJ announces that New Year’s Eve party reservations are available now, and I see his point: I would like to party at such an alive, happy place, and I am not alone. It is a good idea to make reservations early.
Sal and John, the owners of the Body Shop, are dressed in elegant dark suits, the elegance that makes go-go feel, look prestigious entertainment: and why not.
Today’s costumes are elaborate creations of fabric, strings, and imagination.
The shapely blonde — with the curly long hair — spends some time around the corner of the bar where I sit — her full breasts, tiny waist, perfectly shaped buttocks open men’s heart and wallet. I am tempted to tip, myself.
A new “batch” of girls, 8 this time, one is prettier than the other, one is more risque than the other. Tonight all feel safe: celebration and fear don’t go together.
Dark haired beauty, real of fake tattoo on her thighs, the costume leaves 99 percent of her body uncovered, the head-band covers more than the rest of the outfit; she takes the tip with her round tits, sucks on her index finger, tantalizingly staring at the tipper: playful and teasing, but very exciting. The music, the words, a vulgar outspoken dirty talk, four letter words thrown together in an erotically arousing way. The finger-sucking and the “song” complement each other. The girl’s thin, erotic and exotic face, her dark eyes, her curly dark hair, all spell pleasure and promises, dark secrets, unheard of heights of ecstasy. Ari, even the name is exotic.
Amanda steps on the stage now, you can recognize her from her pictures in Mentertainment, but she is much prettier in real life.
The music changes to some “real life” love-making music, the girls go crazy and each in her own way, identifies with the agonizing girl on the tape — performing her own version of climax.
My luck follows me wherever I go: the biggest tipper always happens to sit right where I sit. This time he is a guy with mustache and glasses, showers the girls with politely and softly placed dollar bills between the breasts. The girls feel the pull of the place, they all stay just a little longer here than at any other part of the bar, like this girl: her eyes almost closed in ecstasy.
While I watching the “ecstatic” dancer getting dollar after dollar, the scene has changed completely, again. New girls, new styles, bigger boobs. Ari, the girl with the tattoos stays though — she has given up — in the meantime — almost every piece of clothing, the headband is safe though. She comes to me and asks if I write for Mentertainment. “Yes.” I say. “I guessed.” she says, and blushes, attempts a smile and dances away. I wonder what dancers think when they know I am writing about them. Are they proud, scared, happy? I’d be scared.
I stay for another thirty minutes or so. I stop writing, I have a drink, I enjoy the party. I watch the girls, and think: This is what I like in go-go dancers: in real life — in an attempt to be sexy and attractive, women dress — almost — like hookers. These girls take it one step further: they show us how to wear, how to be sexy in those sexy and revealing clothes with ease, and regardless of the clothes, how to be attractive. THE rest of it happens in bedrooms.
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