Few months back, a huge jet black monster SUV stop abruptly. In a flash, two big guys in business suits and each with a wireless earphone and jumped out and started looking over the area. They were obviously security personal.

One entered the store and took a quick look around while in constant contact on his two-way wireless system. The other guy stood guard next to the SUV. Just then, in an instant, the former Mayor of New York, Rudy Guiliani, exited the car and came into to the store, inquiring about an acoustic student guitar for this young daughter. Within seconds, Rudy completed his purchase and was back inside the dark tinted windowed tinted SUV.

Rudy has been hailed as the man responsible for cleaning up the crime in New York City, changing zoning laws, forcing the closing of many adult entertainment establishments in the area around music row. Before Rudy came along the neighborhood in and around music row was a much different place. The amusement park family attractions you now see brightening up the area was at that time in the early eighties a depressed run down symbol of failure. Major entertainment stores such a Disney, Toys ‘R’ Us, Herseys and MTV studios replaced rows of XXX rated theaters and boarded up and gated store fronts.  The pre-Guiliani days in and around west 48th street were a very saddening sight indeed.  Crime in and around music row was common place.  It seemed that not a day would go by with out an incident.

The day I was hired I was so excited to get the job I didn’t stop to think just how bad crime was at the time in the area.  Leave it to my grandmother to set me straight. When I called her to tell her the good news about my new position she replied in her charming typical Italian grandmother accent, “Very – a – good – a -news Stevie!” “One -a -thing, do you getta paid in cash?” “Yes every Saturday” I answered proudly. “Well be-a careful around -a there. Also on the train you, could-a get- a mugged.”

My Grandmother is one smart lady, and has never yet steered me wrong. So on my first payday, I hid my $165 paycheck under my black jeans, deep within one of my black cowboy boots, inside my sock, and headed to the train station looking back and forth the whole way. Finally , I made my way down the subway stairs and thankfully the train quickly arrived. But I was still stressed out completely, remembering grandma’s words. I settled into my seat, wearing my black leather jacket, black jeans and black boots and with my long hair , I believe the other passengers on that train thought I was going to mug them!

After Rudy’s famous clean up of the times square area only a couple of the “up scale” Gentlemen’s clubs remained opened. Many of the dancers that work at those clubs shop in the store with their ‘wana be’ rock star boyfriends. The ladies buy their boys only the top of the line drum sets, bass & electric guitars. (The sad part of the story is that when they eventually break up – and they always do — she still has to pay for the expensive instrument she purchased for him on her personal credit card.)

Rock guitars and strip clubs seem to be a natural mix.

One of the owners  of a remaining strip club in the area is a guitar player/collector. (You should see my store’s stock man race down to the club with a guitar purchase delivery. (I could only wish he worked that fast in and around the store!) One day  the owner of the club  gave me a call:

“Stevie can you do me a favor?” I have one of the exotic dancers here from Florida, she would like to purchase a guitar. Please help her out”

“Send her right over,” I replied. “By the way, what does she look like? And also, what is her name?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you this,you can’t miss her,” he answered with a devious chuckle, refusing to give me any further info.

About an hour later in walked an X-rated version of a young Dolly Parton, blonde, just over 5′ tall, with the squeakiest little cartoonish voice.  I must say my friend was right, “you couldn’t miss ‘them’ , I am her!”  Well of course the sales guys all proceeded to lose their cool. One by one they walked by    trying not to look interested but staring never the less.

“Hi, I am Karla Kupcakes, you must be Steve.”

“Indeed I am and indeed you are!” I answered back smiling from ear to ear.  She picked out a nice Fender Jaguar guitar to try. As she began to play the instrument it was plainly obvious that she was struggling to get comfortable with the shape of the guitar. She looked up at me then started to giggle and said, “I really like this guitar, I will take it even though my big boobs keep getting in the way!”   The only reply I could think of at that point was, “that’s great, I see…I mean cash or charge?”

As Karla was getting ready to leave the store, she reached into her large pocketbook and handed me an envelope containing a signed picture and a video  tape. “Steve, I give these away only to my most very favorite fan !” she said with an innocent smile.

Later that evening  my girlfriend at the time  casually asked me how my day was. I replied: “The usual, how was yours?”

“Fine” she said. “By the way, what is    that video tape on the dinning room table?” I told her that a dancer from one of the clubs who’s owner is a collector of  customshop  guitars  gave it to me.  Continuing the story I explained that she stopped in to purchased a guitar. “I think its a demo tape she sends out to apply for jobs as a dancer in other strip joints – Ya know, just like Demi Moore in “Striptease,” I casually answered as cool as can be.

“Pop it in, let’s have a look see,” She replied.

I inserted the tape in the VCR machine and pressed the play button. Much to my surprise the tape of Karla was of the XXX rated hardcore variety! My girlfriend at the time cracked up: “So -the usual- at work today Steve?”

As it turned out, a few of the guys from work went down to the club that night to check out Karla’s show, The very next morning   each arrived at work with her photo in hand. One of the guys even yelled over to me excitedly: “Hey Steve, check it out, Karla said that I am her favorite fan!”

Lesson Learn-do not believe everything anyone says to you