For those of you who don’t know how adult entertainment venues? dens of sin? Is there another phrase I can use to make my participation in this story sound less bad? no? okay then strip clubs work, allow me to explain. You pay your entry fee at the front and walk inside. You can sit anywhere in the main room and watch the main stage. Women will approach you every so often and ask, “Would you like a dance?” If you say yes, they begin the entertainment? Act of sin? Is there another phrase I can use to make this sound less shady? No? okay then stripping. The stripper （actual job title） charges the strippee （not a technical word） a standard flat rate per song.
Strip clubs don’t play the entirety of each song, only about a minute or two. That way they can charge you more. So, don’t bother trying to request “Bohemian Rhapsody” because you think it’s a good deal, you won’t make it anywhere near “Scaramouch.” I haven’t attempted this. I’m just clarifying, on background, for the educational purposes of this story.
Our group sat watching the main stage, declining various lap dance offers, when a particularly striking and articulate young woman hovered over me. “Hey baby. I’m Sunny. Would you like a dance?”
“No, I’m all right, thank you.”
Sunny leaned in. “Hey! I know who you are! You’re Kal Penn! I’m a really big fan. Are you sure you don’t want a dance?”
My buddies were floored, saying things like, “Dude, that stripper knows who Kal is. Unbelievable—he had one small part in that Van Wilder movie!”
“Come on, one dance?”
I again politely declined her offer. “That’s not really my thing but thank you very much.”
Sunny sized up our group and slid into the open chair next to mine.
“I’m just going to sit here and talk to you for a while then!”
“You’re talking to me off the clock?” I clarified. （My immigrant parents raised me right.）
“Yeah, off the clock, don’t worry. I just think it’s so cool that you’re here. I’m a really big fan of your movie. I’m Indian too!”
Oh shit! I thought. That’s amazing, an Indian American stripper! A note for you, dear reader: For all the impressive headway the Indian American community has made in lots of professions—medicine, engineering, the law—there are shamefully few of us in Sunny’s line of work.
For the next twenty minutes, Sunny and I got to know each other.
SUNNY: What was it like making Van Wilder?
ME: （sweating） I really enjoyed it.
SUNNY: What brings you to Vegas?
ME: （sweating and smiling） A college buddy’s bachelor party!
SUNNY: Are your Indian parents supportive of your acting career?
ME: You know, my dad moved to America with twelve dollars in his pocket and other ideas for their son, but they’re coming around! Okay, my turn. （sweating and smiling and trying to be funny） Are your Indian parents supportive of your stripping career?
SUNNY: It’s more of a side hustle than a career, so I don’t tell them about it.
ME: I figured; I was just joking.
An awkward pause.
SUNNY: Oh, so you think my life is a joke?
ME: No, not at all! I was totally kidd—
SUNNY: Relax, Taj, I’m kidding too.
Sunny winked.
ME: That was impressive. Pretty sure I just shit my pants, Sunny, thanks.
My buddies were watching every move in total amazement. One of my friends drunkenly reasoned that since I had started dating dudes recently, I must be having an excruciating time dealing with naked Sunny’s fangirl questions and tried to save me. “Hey, you don’t have to do this just to impress any of us.”
I gave him a stern smile that umistakably conveyed, “Back off, Ryan, I am loving this! It’s not every day a stripper tells me she’s a fan of my work! （An Indian American stripper no less.） She likes Van Wilder! You can impress her with the Excel spreadsheets you crunch at PwC later. Don’t cockblock my platonic moment! I am living liiiiiiffffe!”
ME: Sunny is a stage name, right?
SUNNY: Yup.
ME: Did you pick it because you’re a Catcher in the Rye fan?
SUNNY: Umm… no. Sorry.
ME: “No, that’s not why I picked it” or “No, I’m not a fan”？
SUNNY: No offense, but I’ve always thought Catcher was overrated. Franny and Zooey is way better Salinger.
ME: My God, who are you?!
It turned out that Sunny was a psychology doctoral student from the Bay Area who flew to Vegas a few times a month to work at the Crazy Horse Too.
Look at me, I thought. I really am a regular Holden Caulfield!1
Sunny excused herself every few minutes to make her lap dance rounds. Several of the guys in our group ordered some dances as well, but she always came right back to the open seat next to mine. At some point around four thirty, the bachelor decided it was time to return to the hotel.
“Kal, it was so nice to meet you!” Sunny said. “We should stay in touch!” The guys had formed a semicircle behind her. Did she just say we should stay in touch?
“Sure. Let me give you my number.” I wrote my digits down with a pen and handed it to her.
Sunny piped up, “It was really nice meeting all your friends too.” She winked at me, then turned around and flirtatiously winked at the dudes. Sunny knew how to make a guy look good.
My closing had to be smooth. “It was really great hanging out with you, Sunny,” I said as she turned to leave. “AND CAN I JUST SAY HOW REFRESHING IT IS TO MEET ANOTHER INDIAN AMERICAN IN A NONTRADITIONAL FIELD?”
Oh my God, why did I just say that? Ryan shook his head. Two of the guys put their hands over their eyes. This is the big-time star of Van Wilder? We quickly left.
* * *
The next morning I had no missed calls from Sunny. The guys imagined what the previous night could have been: Sunny comes over. She falls in love with Ryan’s incredible math skills. What a great love story: a kindhearted accountant and a balanced, sex-positive PhD student, meant to be. It was pretty late when we left the club. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe she’ll call today.
Our friend Raju threw cold water on our fairy tale: “You know that woman wasn’t actually Indian, right?”
“What do you mean? Of course she was Indian. We spent like an hour and a half talking about being brown!”
“Nah, dude. She was just trying to get us to buy more lap dances. That lady was from El Salvador.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. I heard her speaking Spanish to one of the other strippers.”
“So? I took French in high school.”
“Exactly. And you aren’t fluent.”
“What about the PhD program?”
“I’m pretty sure that part was real. But she was definitely not Indian.”
I couldn’t believe it. Yo, Latina Sunny was a good actor!
Today, the Crazy Horse Too is permanently closed. It apparently had a long history of mob ties. The shell of a building a few blocks west of the Las Vegas Strip shut down shortly after our attendance when the owner and some employees pleaded guilty to tax fraud and racketeering. Wherever you are, Sunny, I hope you got your PhD without getting caught up in all that. Your hustle still impresses me. I’d be down to grab a drink and talk Salinger sometime. And if you ever decide you want to put your psychology practice on hold to become a professional actor, I know a very high-powered casting director you should meet. She also can’t tell the difference between Indian and Latin.