She was a Latina, a co-worker at Studio 54 in the bad days after a crew of knuckle-heads from Boston took the place over and quickly ran it into the ground with their stupidity and arrogance (same thing?). I had gone from coat-checking to cashiering, and she was my co-cashier at the second window, working fast and friendly in the night. She was known as Miss Vicki, and during the 18 months or so that we worked side-by-side, she was in hot pursuit of a Miss New York State title, which was both fascinating and odd.
She was full of energy, personifying the word ebullience, and while I didn’t think she had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the title, hot dang if she wasn’t bound and determined to give it her best, so, yeah, sure – You Go, Girl!!
I wish I could remember what her talent was. Baton tossing? Some form of dancing? Juggling? I keep seeing things being tossed in the air (knife-throwing?!), but in truth, I simply can’t recall what she did to show herself off, other than spend upwards of $30K on the most sparkly dresses you can imagine. I do remember her enthusiasm; it was infectious, yet I was cautiously, respectfully at arms length in support of her, as my inoculation of skepticism where the word ‘pageant’ was concerned, combined with my ever-increasing feminism, protected me.
And, as per usual, I was concerned about being an asshole to her face because I 100% thought it was nuts to spend the equivalent of a downpayment for a house or apartment on a dress. My face, like Shakira’s hips, cannot lie, but why share my views when this was so clearly her dream?!
I kept my distance. She didn’t win, although the 2nd time she attempted a run at the title she did do better, I think, landing in the top 20. Maybe? She was curvy, and had a Roman nose (think George Washington) at a time when – even more so than now – what the market wanted was slim little blond girls with narrow noses and boyish hips. She did have the big hair required – especially in the 80s, but that’ll only get you so far.
I don’t know what happened to Miss Vicki; we didn’t stay in touch. I left the job, dissatisfied with the switch to hourly pay ($6.25 or around there), when previous owners had paid us $100 cash, nightly, under the table. The job was usually only 4 or maybe 6 hours, tops, 4 or so nights a week; taking home less than $200 per week when we were responsible for thousands of dollars nightly was not gonna work, not for me.
I hope Miss Vicki found love, and whatever else she wanted. Perhaps she met a man who adored her as the great beauty she was, inside and out, for what I do remember as her talents were endless amounts of joy, enthusiasm, big-heartedness, and love. She was positive, fun, cracking jokes all the time, albeit in a way that was more 3 Stooges than Oscar Wilde. We were, bottom line, two very, very different people.
Y’know, I think she also had to memorize the NYS constitution or something? Sheesh.
