LES GALS
The location of Les Gals at 136 West 42nd Street remained a pivotal destination for transients traveling incognito; seeking asylum and the Show World aesthetic in close proximity to the commute home. Interspersed between such sordid attractions as a Wurlitzer organ store, a topless shoeshine joint, and the lewd New Bryant Theater, amidst skells, beggars, and 3-card monte dealers that pervaded the block, Richie bought the building for a mere $350,000; actually considered a steal at the time.
Vinny Palmieri: ‘Back then you had the legal right to be a porn store if you sold exactly (1) item in the bookstore. But if you went and announced that you were going into the (adult) business, they would right away bring in the zoning law. In other words, it was under the wire if you sold only (1) item.’ The ground floor of Les Gals constituted a well-stocked bookstore conveniently arranged with a repertoire of graphic hard-core pornography; not exactly on the Christmas list of the Moral Majority. Videocassettes (VHS and Beta tapes) adaptable to the PAL/SECAM system were displayed in abundance, with imported fuck books, assorted novelties, and marital devices devoted to sexual pleasure second to none (with the exception of mail-order brides). (16) video-peep booths provided privacy for chronic masturbators lacking intimacy, among other things. As per Richie’s trademark, the cubicles were immaculate, which was the preference of the clientele as they were routinely swabbed by a custodian; unblemished by even the most loathsome sexual pervert on furlough from Riker’s Island.
Since ‘booth babies’ frequently rotated their bookings between the flagship store and the surrounding satellites, the girls were often deployed to Les Gals, where private Fantasy Booths were found on the 3rd floor (originally on the second). Since many of the exotic dancers cultivated a ‘following’, gentlemen would gravitate from peep to peep, or wherever they went, as long as it was above ground (as the tendency for show girls to expire on a moment’s notice). But in spite of their self-destructive lifestyles, customers placed their strippers on pedestals and worshipped them through plexiglass; whereas the girls often auctioned off their undergarments to the highest bidder(!).
Not to be underestimated and also located on the same floor: a spectacular (18) window round Peep-A-Live stage, for that hot bed of orgasms known as Love Teams, performing Live Sex Acts before stardom and early death. Voyeurs thoroughly thrived on the live shows, which usually featured a couple cuddling and copulating within their life expectancy; and from the perspective of management, an insurance policy that no Show World token would go forsaken.
Although on the premises the girls were protected by management, on the street they were unfortunately susceptible to predators and left to fend for themselves. Suffice to say, there were numerous pitfalls associated with the peepshows, whereas the illicit nature of the business often provoked an unpredictable environment. Situations where infatuation turned to obsession; and a chance encounter turned deadly on occasion in the event that a girl exercised poor judgement in her decision to ‘date’ a customer, who appeared respectable and non-threatening, for the most part.
‘SOMETHING HAPPENS EVERY FUCKING DAY’
Manager John Colasanti: ‘Once on the night shift at Les Gals, I was hovering nearby ‘the stick’, which was the counter in the bookstore where we processed transactions (its referred to as ‘the stick’ simply because if there’s ever a problem, we gotta Louisville Slugger hidden back behind the desk). Anyway, ‘Big Man’ (that’s what they called him) was working the stick behind the counter, which was equipped with a microphone. But then for some unknown reason, he went upstairs where the live girls were, while I covered for him at the register. I was right there at the stick, near the staircase to the second floor, when I noticed a black man standing at the very top of the stairs. Then without warning, Big Man comes up behind him and cracks him over the head with a baseball bat! The man just fell plop to the landing, but he was actually face up on the floor. There was so much blood, it looked like a ‘halo’ on the back of his head. Immediately I told Big Man ‘Get out of here; jump into a cab and do something. Get the fuck out of here!’ Apparently the black man in a pool of blood was abusing one of the girls. After Big man split the premises, I called the ambulance, and of course the cops showed up. And they asked me what happened. ‘He busted his head,’ I told them. So they hauled him off and the porter mopped up the blood. Meanwhile, later on, nothing ever transpired. Strangely enough, there were no repercussions.’