Chapter 14: God Bless the Poor Souls

Following Pam's instructions, Tommy approached the white security guard at the door, who was also sizing him up. The guard spoke first, asking, "Young man, I need to see your ID before I can decide if you can go in."

"Bruce from Hill Street," Tommy said, pulling out his day pass.

The white security guard glanced at the black card in Tommy's hand. "Kid, didn't anyone tell you that, apart from the secret password, there's also a two US Dollar entry fee?"

Tommy Hawk hesitated, then pulled out two one-dollar bills and handed them over. If he had known about the extra fee, he wouldn't have ridden his bike seventeen kilometers just to come here.

Seeing that no one was nearby, the white security guard took the money, tilted his head towards the door, and said with a smirk, "Go on in and enjoy, kid. Just remember, don't cause any trouble, because that would come back to bite me."

The Paradise Club was no stranger to Tommy Hawk; it was an established chain club that he had visited with classmates in Boston during his past life as a student there.

Walking through the dark, narrow corridor, the receptionist at the front desk checked his pass and then let Tommy Hawk enter into what sounded like a booming, brightly-lit hall but was actually a drab and chilly room.

Indeed, the hall was not filled with the imagined scene of naked beauties performing steamy dances.

Cigarette butts littered the floor and the air was choked with the smell of smoke and cheap perfume. The large number of empty seats and the lethargic dancers barely moving on the dimly lit stage, with faces you couldn't make out—this was the true sight of a strip club intended for the masses.

Moreover, although there indeed were dancers on stage moving energetically and shedding clothes, Tommy was certain that they would keep their full bikinis on until they left the stage, with no chance of any revealing slip-ups.

In the United States, stripping is a legitimate profession, like being a teacher, driver, or doctor. The industry is very mature, with strict rules. In America, these clubs are graded, and while the kind that Tommy Hawk imagined—dripping with opulence and filled with naked beauties—do exist, they are only found in certain cities such as Las Vegas, New York, Boston, and are generally high-end, members-only venues.

At this moment, there were only six or seven customers in the club's main hall. Two were sitting at the bar drinking beer, paying no attention to the performance. The others were just sitting around with their arms crossed, showing no desire to tip the dancers.

Clearly, this time in the afternoon was the club's slowest business period. Business wouldn't really pick up until nightfall, when a flood of men got off work.

Tommy Hawk didn't watch the performance but went straight to the bar, handed over some change, and said to the bartender, "A beer, please."

Afterward, he glanced at the price list on the bar. Compared to the Paradise Club in Boston in 2022, the pricing at Providence's Paradise Club in 1982 was indeed affordable.

Unlimited day pass to the main hall for fifteen US Dollars per person.

Single entry ticket to the main hall for three US Dollars per person.

Private dance behind the curtain for three US Dollars per song.

Fifty US Dollars for fifteen minutes in the champagne room, with a complimentary bottle of champagne.

Clubs like Heaven, which cater to the general public, won't display very provocative scenes in the main hall. If a customer wants something more thrilling, they'll have to pay extra, such as sitting in a private cubicle, drawing the curtain, and receiving individual services from a dancer. Although you can't touch, the dancer can sit on your lap and put on a little show for two minutes a tune, three US dollars a song.

If you're looking for something even closer, you need to visit the more expensive champagne rooms, where the club will present you with a bottle of champagne. From that point on, it all depends on the dancer's skills, how many fifteen-minute blocks she can get the guest to purchase. Typically, if a guest generously buys a full hour of champagne time, if the client isn't repulsive and is charming, then it wouldn't be unusual for them to end up going out for a late-night snack or a game of poker together.

"Kid, when I was young and handsome like you, I never had to come to places like this to see women." At a seat by the bar, a white man lifted his whisky, turned his face to appraise Tommy Hawk, and joked, "Don't you think dating high school girls is more appealing than these dancers? It's only old guys like me in their thirties and forties who consider coming here for some fun with tips."

By his accent, it was obvious that the man wasn't a local from Rhode Island, but rather seemed like a visitor from Florida.

"Sir, I believe your current mature appearance is equally attractive to women." Tommy Hawk took the beer handed to him by the bartender, nodded with a smile to the other man.

That's the way it is in bars; whether you know each other or not, you can strike up a casual conversation to pass the time.

The reason Tommy Hawk complimented the man was that he was thinking, if this middle-aged white man was approached by a dancer later, and he could afford the expenses of the champagne room, he might need some help from Adrafinil to boost stamina.

The man, seeing Tommy's response, laughed heartily, "Kid, you've got the gift of gab. You're right, I'm certainly irresistible. In Miami, I could take away four or five hot Cuban girls in one night at the bar, but Providence is rotten through and through. The bars around here are full of stumbling Irish drunks, and the barmaids are old enough to be my grandmother. No choice, I can only come here to drink the time away. At least there won't be any drunk troublemakers here, at most a dancer might persuade me to pop open a bottle of champagne in a private room."

"Are you here on a business trip, sir? That's indeed a bit unfortunate; this city's too small, and the entertainment industry is lacking." Tommy Hawk took a swig of his beer and commented.

The man laughed, "No, worse than a business trip, I'm here on vacation."

"Vacation? Sorry, I rarely see out-of-towners who come to Providence for a vacation." Tommy gave the man another look after hearing this; unless the man had some big problem in his head, no one would choose to vacation in a remote small city like Providence.

The middle-aged white man nodded in agreement, shrugged with a bitter smile, "I get it, but there's no helping it. The nature of my job dictates where I vacation. Will Hendrick, a maintenance engineer with the Philip Morris tobacco company's Rhode Island processing plant."

"Carlo... Carlo Leon," Tommy Hawk hesitated for a moment, then responded with a hint of surprise, "Sir, I..."

The man interrupted Tommy Hawk with a "I understand" expression. "You can't fool me, kid. I was just like you in high school, full of curiosity about these adult-only places, don't worry, I won't spill your secret."

"I'm not curious about this place, sir. I'm curious about another matter. When did Philip Morris open a tobacco processing plant in Rhode Island?" Tommy asked the man who claimed to be Will.

The white man downed his whisky in one gulp, motioned to the bartender for another round, then exhaled a breath of alcohol before speaking to Tommy, "It just opened, on the high seas two hundred nautical miles from Providence, which is why I can only stay here on vacation because I need to ensure that if there's a problem with the factory machinery, I can get there for repairs right away."

Tommy Hawk, upon hearing the man's words, had a flash of memory of the nightly news he had seen on television; his face brightened with a smile, and he muttered to himself in a voice only he could hear:

"God bless me, this poor soul of America."