Behold:a solitary bead of human perspiration,neon reflected in its moistened trail – red, green, yellow, blue – falling like a teardrop, tracing the pitch of a spectacular silhouette.
Funny what you notice. Odd what catches your eye when a limber young ecdysiast sheds all but a swatch of her stage attire, lies on her back, lifts her hips and locks her heels behind her neck – just an arm’s length away from your complimentary buffet meal.
“Do you like what you see?” purrs the supine blonde, clearly not in reference to your hot ham sandwich. “Do you like what you see?” she wants to know – and you think, yes, who wouldn’t? What sort of red-blooded all-American heterosexual male this side of John Ashcroft would not proudly admit to a healthy appreciation of the feminine form as celebrated on the 22,000-square-foot multilevel premises of Milwaukee’s first and only Wi-Fi-ready, self-proclaimed “True Las Vegas-style Gentleman’s Club”?
Who indeed? Just look at that gorgeous girl – upside down, downside up – bumping and grinding in sinuous syncopation to The Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar,” a song that was already a decade old by the time she was born. Do you like what you see? But of course! Why else would you be inside this permutated disco located in a drab suburban industrial park one block north of West Silver Spring at Highway 100? Why would you even be here at noon at Silk Exotic, where lunch is free but the food that’s served is never the most exciting attraction on the daily menu?
Me, I’m here for a story – a culturally relevant, journalistic study that inevitably will require incalculable hours of exhaustive in-depth research and comprehensive hands-on scrutiny.
Really. I’m just here for a story.
“Story? What story?”
At last, Craig Ploetz, co-owner/operator of Silk Exotic, has returned my call. For weeks, I’ve been telling his voice mail that I’d visited his impressive new establishment, liked what I saw and hoped to schedule an interview at his earliest convenience.
It’s news, after all, when ambitious entrepreneurs dare to buck convention and spend big bucks to introduce a bold and revolutionary business concept to the local market.
It’s a unique event when one of the city’s longest continuously operating G-rated nightspots is suddenly reborn as an upscale “mammary mecca” with a thousand-foot stage, state-of-the-art sound and lighting and an advertised roster of some 70 of “the Midwest’s Most Beautiful Entertainers” (as well as guest performers like Tanya Taylor, L.A.Lamann and Gina Lynn, star of Paige Shagwell, P.I.).
People will want to read all about it!
“Story?” Ploetz says now. “What story? Why?”
Why not? Thanks to Silk Exotic, the Milwaukee nightlife landscape has finally caught up with a national trend that has redefined the image and broadened the appeal of adult-themed entertainment for a new mainstream demographic that includes urbane young couples and post-feminist single women.
Most certainly there’s never been anything like it hereabouts – high-end, high-tech and spacious enough to fit Rickey’s, The Cheetah and Art’s Performing Center combined on the floor of its main show lounge.
It deserves some decent exposure!
“I’ve been at this place for 22 years,” Ploetz proffers. “I was here when it was Attic West, when it was Kickers and when it was Fantazia. And now… it’s a gentleman’s club.”
And a fine one at that! Where else in town can a guy score a midday table dance while on his laptop, logged online? (Your boss will think you’re still at the office!) Where else can housewives let loose with “The Thunder From Down Under” male review from 9:00 until midnight every Friday?
Can we talk? “Oh… I don’t know.” Let’s get together! “Oh, I don’t know,” Ploetz says, “if I want a story.”
Did I mention that I liked what I saw?
Mandy, Brandy, Mindy, Candi, Kali, Simone or Angelina?
Peaches, Paige, Paris, Kitty, Yvonne, Evon or Lolly Topps?
Take your pick. Make your selection. Because for just $300, you, too, can spend 30 minutes alone with the temptress of your choice and a chilled bottle of Cristal in one of four fabulous Champagne Suites at Silk Exotic.
On a budget? For a mere $20, any of the club’s lovely ladies will gladly join you (for the duration of one song) at a plush divan in a black-lit private chamber, where she will gyrate out of her gown, undulate to the edge of your cushion – and entice your imagination to consummate the deal.
But remember: It’s only a tease, only make-believe. It’s theater, really – improvisational, interactive. And everyone present – from the lecherous, leather-lunged MCto the tuxedo-clad bouncers and the waitresses disguised as nurses and -Catholic schoolgirls – contributes to the -extravaganza.
Of course, it all starts with the dancers, each a skilled performance artist cast in a role designed to transcend the fiber-optic footlights and flesh out the amative illusions of an awestruck audience whose pockets are bulging with cash.
“Everyone has a different type of fantasy girl, and we try to accommodate them all,” says Pam Hetzel, the vivacious House Mom in charge of Silk’s lineup of more than five dozen house dancers who each pay a nominal performance fee that rises as the night goes on.
“We set very high standards,” says -Hetzel. “We’re very choosy about our entertainers. They’re expected to carry themselves well and possess a sense of style.”
Among the club’s regular girls, she notes, are several college students and a mix of mothers, models, musicians, retailers and even a few licensed real estate agents.
“They have to be toned and in shape, but they also need to present themselves in an upstanding manner,” says the House Mom. “Basically, it’s a matter of professionalism.”
And the pros who make the grade expect to be well compensated for their efforts. House dancers at elite gentleman’s clubs like Scores in New York, Sapphire in Las Vegas and The Spearmint Rhino in Los Angeles can take in hundreds of dollars per night and clear upwards of six figures annually.
But then, Milwaukee is not the Big Apple and 11400 W. Silver Spring Rd. is hardly the heart of Las Vegas Boulevard or the Sunset Strip. Yet.
“Our girls make good money,” Hetzel insists. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t keep coming back. And we wouldn’t have so many dancers traveling here from other states to audition.
“The word is out,” she declares. “This is a good club to work.”
On that point, the Silk girls enthusiastically agree. They’re always “girls,” never “women”; always “dancers,” “performers” or “entertainers,” never “strippers.”
“The money’s good,” confirms Riley, a young entertainer who commutes from Janesville. “It’s definitely worth the drive.”
“Yeah, the tips are great,” laughs Shay, one of Silk’s top topless acts. “Wanna slap one on me right now?”
To be sure, it’s a good job, and nothing to be ashamed of, according to a dancer known as Miss Hollywood.
“People think it’s degrading, but I don’t see it like that,” says the 21-year-old Manitowoc native who graduated from high school in 2001 and earned certificates in Microsoft Office and Web design from Lakeshore Technical College before making her stage debut nine months ago.
“Most of the girls strip because they’re in school or have a family to support,” she says. “Mostly, they’re all like me – they don’t do it for dirty reasons, they’re trying to better themselves and they have bills to pay.”
Her own bills accumulate quickly, she says, because she spends a week each month in southern California working as an unpaid apprentice for a film industry special effects makeup artist. “If it weren’t for the money I make dancing,” she says, “I could never afford to go after my dream career.”
Still, nothing is guaranteed. Unlike featured headliners, who are paid per appearance by the club, house dancers are all unsalaried independent contractors whose income is dependent on the generosity of strangers – often one dollar at a time. Since crowds vary from night to night, it’s impossible to accurately gauge the extent of their earnings potential.
“That’s just the nature of the business,” Hetzel concedes. “The place could be packed, but if for some reason you’re not connecting, you could end up with just $50 or $60 for the evening. On the other hand, there may be only a few guys at the bar, and if one of them likes you, you could walk out with $1,000.”
While the dancers’ craft may be plied onstage, ultimately it’s their off-stage performance – on the club’s floor among the clientele – that results in the majority of their net profit.
“When a girl is educated, cultured and articulate,” says Hetzel, “she can do very well just standing at the bar talking to a customer.”
“The other night, I spent more than an hour with a guy discussing Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World,” reports Miss Hollywood. “He was like, ‘Wow! You’re really intellectual.’ And I was like, ‘Hey, I like to read books. I’m not just some stupid -stripper.’ ”
“It’s fast money,” says Hetzel, “but it’s never easy money.”
Pam knows. The 46-year-old part-time calendar model toured as an exotic dancer before she became a Midwest Airlines flight attendant in the early ’90s. She gave up “the best care in the air” for Silk Exotic last November and is delighted she did. “No one in Milwaukee has ever tried anything like this before,” she says. “I love the energy.”
As House Mom, Hetzel supervises all aspects of talent management at the club. Working one-on-one with the performers daily, she functions as coordinator, coach, counselor and even surrogate parent to the girls, who range in age from 18 to 34.
“If a dancer has a problem, whether it’s professional or personal, I go out of my way to try and help,” says Hetzel, who was known as Vanessa (sometimes Tori) back when she worked the rotating brass poles.
“When someone feels appreciated, it breeds loyalty. So I’m always giving out advice about everything from romance to finance. And I do think they listen because I’ve been through it all myself.
“One thing that’s different here is that we really value our employees,” she adds, citing the club’s unprecedented Entertainer of the Month program, which rewards dancers with gold jewelry, roses and waived house fees at a popular pageant-like gala.
“I don’t want to say we’re like a big happy family, but we kind of are,” Hetzel smiles. “I’ll tell you this, the dancers who work at Silk Exotic are not just punching in and punching out.”
It’s 3 p.m. Monday, which is to say that approximately 40 hours have passed since I most recently exited the faux castle facade of the city’s “first and only true Las Vegas-style gentleman’s club.” And still there’s lots of legwork left to do (for the story).
“Ten dollars!”
Dressed in a hot-pink camisole and not much more, a petite hostess is poised on her tiptoes, reaching desperately with a needle and thread, trying to complete what evidently is an emergency repair to the torn left shoulder of a taller colleague’s sheer black teddy.
“You’re gonna have to scrunch down more, hon,” says the determined seamstress. “Either that or slip out of those shoes!” she chuckles, with a nod to the towering brunette’s eight-inch platform slingbacks.
“Ten dollars, hon,” she says to me. “There’s a $10 cover to get in.”
“I’m here to see the proprietor,” I announce. I’m here to see Jon Ferraro, who – unlike his bashful boss, Mr. Ploetz – is apparently eager to discuss this elaborate new entertainment venture.
At least that’s how it seems when the stocky 28-year-old operating manager of Silk Exotic – who also owns and operates Bada Bing Social Club in Greenfield – -appears in the lobby and shakes my hand vigorously.
“Good to meet you, man. This way,” Ferraro says, proudly pointing to the beer garden, the cigar/souvenir counter, the DJ booth, the nine plasma TVs, the tropical fish tanks, the main bar, the Bacardi bar and the elevated VIPloft as I follow him through the near-empty nightclub.
“This way,” he says again, moving quickly around the vast horseshoe stage and into an expansive, well-lit, well-mirrored dancers dressing area, which is occupied at the moment by a brace of beauties in varying states of mascara application.
“See that?” he says, gesturing with his thumb at a coffin-like tanning bed. “I bought it for the girls. It makes them happy.”
Happily, he leads the way down a rear staircase and across a dusty boiler room to a reduced-scale basement replica of the main-level show lounge. “We use this for our bachelor and bachelorette parties,” he says of the subterranean hall. “That’s a good part of our business. We’ve pretty much got the whole North Side all locked up.”
Grinning from silver ear hoop to silver ear hoop, he unlocks an office, peeks at a bank of 12 stacked security monitors and offers a chair beside a long steel rack of dry-cleaned tuxedos.
“All right,” he says, settling at a desk. “What else can I tell you about Silk -Exotic?”
“The place looks great,” I begin, reaching for my tape recorder. “Let’s talk about the renovations.…”
“Wait!” says Ferraro. “What’s that for?”
“This?” I reply, clutching my mini Sony. “It’s to record our interview.”
“No way! I’m not talking on tape!”
“It’s for your own protection,” I reason. “You wouldn’t want to be misquoted.”
“Well, I’m not talking on tape!” he snaps, suddenly standing.
“May I ask why not?”
“Because I’m not, that’s why!”
“Okay, okay,” I agree, resigned to proceed with pen and paper. “But I really don’t understand your problem.…”
“That’s it!” Ferraro roars. “You’ve annoyed me! We’re done!”
And just like that, I’m abruptly escorted from the office, up the steps, past the babes in the dressing room, through the cavernous club and back out to the lobby.
“What happened, hon?” says the girl in the pink camisole.
My sentiments exactly.
So your mind’s made up to grabyour wallet and go for broke when that Silky seductress in the low-rise white panties and unlaced bustier finally sidles up to your stool, takes hold of your hand and whispers: “Hey baby – ready for the Champagne Suite?”
But be forewarned. Everywhere you go, everything you do, every breath you take, every move you make – one of 27 hidden infrared cameras will be watching you.
It’s true. All fantasy aside, this is still Milwaukee, and there’s a whole slew of municipal dos and don’ts that must be followed to a T. To ensure they always are, every room, couch, nook and cranny at Silk Exotic is perpetually under (Las Vegas-style) clandestine surveillance by club management.
It’s for their own protection. Their cabaret license could depend on it.
“We have to be very careful,” says House Mom Hetzel. “We have to adhere to all the rules and regulations.” Indeed, the city’s Liquor and Tavern Regulations strictly dictate virtually every negligible aspect of the club’s operation. (There was just a minor parking lot scuffle to report at license renewal in June.)
Female nipples, for example, are locally decreed to remain forever obscured, areola and all – if only by a swipe of liquid latex, which dries on clear and can be festooned with metallic glitter or iridescent powder.
G-strings? Gee, no! Nothing less than a thong, providing full coverage in front and minimally an inch and a quarter wide where the buttocks meet the spine, is deemed permissible to remain in accordance with the body of law as defined in Chapter 90/Section 22 of the Code of Ordinances (“…The costume shall be of such dimensions and so conformed, fabricated and affixed to the body so as to completely cover the sex organs, the pubic hair and the cleavage of the buttocks at all times”).
“There are laws in place,” says Hetzel. “And we go out of our way to obey them all. That’s definitely an area where we do not bend.”
You can bend if you want, but you -better not touch. Chapter 106/Section 7 unequivocally precludes it. No friction, feeling, kissing, cuddling or tactile connection whatsoever is tolerated within the windowless confines of Silk Exotic. Which would explain the absolute prohibition of what aficionados generally regard as a fundamental activity at upscale gentlemen’s clubs worldwide.
“Lap dances,” Hetzel affirms, “are not allowed.
“We do have table dances in the show lounge,” she notes, “but there can’t be any physical contact, and the girls have to keep their tops on. They can go topless on stage and in the private rooms, but when they’re alone with a customer, [the girls’] feet must be kept on the floor at all times.”
And when the time comes that the all-seeing eyes do spy an infraction – when a girl steps over the line or a gentleman’s behavior is less than gentlemanly?
“If it’s a customer, they’ll be asked to leave the club,” says Hetzel. “If it’s a dancer, it’s grounds for immediate dismissal.”
Admittance to Silk Exotic’s“Very Special VIPParty”: $12.
One bottle of Miller Genuine Draft beer: $4.25.
Sinking a “Boobyball” bank shot for the chance to extract a prize from between the legs of an internationally renowned XXXactress without using your hands: priceless.
It’s 9 p.m. Wednesday – a big night at the big club with a big crowd for the triumphant homecoming of a big name in the business. Even this “annoying” reporter has returned from expulsion to experience the phenomenon of Brittany Andrews, the Milwaukee-born, Hollywood-based platinum blond legend of innumerable periodical pictorials and more than 150 adult film classics, including Dominance, Erosity! and Foot Bangers II.
“Those are double-D cups, fellas!” shouts J.J. Diamond, the ever-obnoxious in-house MC.“That’s the real thing, boys!” he says of the famous featured act, who started out dancing locally in 1992 and was recently named one of the “Top Ten Porn Stars of All Time” by Playboy magazine.
“Are you feelin’ it now?” Diamond cries into his microphone as the 30-year-old pride of Pulaski High slathers her naked torso with whipping cream, tops it with a cherry and crabwalks precariously along the length of the stage.
“There’s such a brief window of opportunity,” says Pam Hetzel. “You’re only young and pretty for a limited amount of time. It’s only a profession – not a career.”
The audience goes wild.
A deluge of wadded paper money rains down on Brittany Andrews.
The house girls are watching, waiting their turn.
Me, I’m still just here for the story.
Perry M. Lamek is a regular contributor to Milwaukee Magazine.His last feature, “Net Worth,” a profile of Marquette University basketball coach Tom Crean, was named the Best Single Sports Story of 2003 by the Milwaukee Press Club.
