Nightcrawler - Cheetah: A chatty affair
Strip club gives ladies something to talk about
High-rolling indulgence is the modus operandi at the Cheetah Lounge, a gentlemen’s club thriving in Atlanta for more than 30 years. It’s the cashmere sweater of strip clubs, and it takes no prisoners. The rules are enforced, the girls know what they are doing, and a sucker in a three-piece suit will be eaten alive by their siren-esque game if he isn’t careful.
Going to the Cheetah as a female patron is a different kind of experience. It’s 8 p.m., time for the “changing of the guard,” and I’m sitting cross-legged in a frilly black cocktail dress at a table above the stage. Two-for-one dances are featured as the day-shift girls pass the torch to the night team. No stranger to the Cheetah, my date quickly points out two ladies and calls them over. Soon, they’re in midperformance, and the girls and I begin chatting like it’s Sunday brunch while my gentleman enjoys the show.
“Honestly girls, I’m not uncomfortable with you being naked,” I say, “it’s just that you are dancing and wiggling around while we talk about ‘Grey’s Anatomy.’” They laugh and pull up two chairs beside me, and we continue talking. I feel better, but my date is less than amused with me wasting his “cheddar” on expensive girl talk. “At least they are still naked,” I chirp to him across the table.
Excusing myself, I wind through candlelit tables and pass several Mr. Big types before entering the powder room. The sinks are lined with all the trappings a girl might need to gloss, glitter, brush or pluck herself. The attendant eyes me in the mirror to see if I will indulge, and thus, tip. I toted my own gloss inside my purse, however. Fairly satisfied with myself, I make sure not to touch anything and thank her upon exiting.
On my way out, I survey the room and meet my date, who is down several hundred dollars. The girls are up on the stage again, with his cash inside their garters. One of them hops down to walk us out. On our way toward the door, I see several men settling up as they hash out three-figure tips and pocket their AMEX cards. Questioning their sensibility, I ask our escort, who informs me that the Cheetah uses its companion restaurant name, Alluvia, on credit-card receipts. That allows male patrons to disguise guys’ night out simply as dinner and a show.
Of course, they could always bring their significant others with them – as long as they don’t mind paying for a little girl talk.