Hangin' with Henrietta

"I just went to Rio, I just go to New York, I just go to Las Vegas, to Canada, Vancouver."

Because she's in such global demand, I decide to catch her show later that night.

As the schmaltzy opening chords of Sarah Brightman's version of "Time to Say Goodbye" begin, an attentive and doe-eyed crowd quietly surrounds the makeshift stage, which earlier was the Frolic Room's dance floor. Swan emerges in a blue sequin prom dress and a severely teased brown wig. Both look like they once belonged to Miss Texas 1987. Although Swan doesn't possess the pipes of her idols, Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand, she sure lip-syncs like 'em, bending back and slowly raising her arms dramatically whenever she pretends to belt out an extended note. The audience cheers enthusiastically as Swan twirls and extends her arm into the crowd for kisses on the back of her hand.

Then it's back to Henrietta, whose hand is embellished in gold — a ring and a matching dangling coin bracelet.

"That's some fabulous jewelry," I say, noticing the matching pendant around her neck.

"I only wear the real, genuine things," she replies and then busts out a story about meeting Gianni Versace at Club Deuce (222 14th St., Miami Beach). "I was in Versace's book modeling when he first came to Miami. When he first saw me, he told me: 'Wow, you're really Art Deco.' I'd go to his house nearby just for a party and I'd make homemade lasagna. He was always so thrilled."

Then I feel someone grab my lady-junk. I jump a little and glimpse a dancer's waxed bare ass on the stage. He pulls up his Speedo, presses himself against a wall, and begins humping it. Next my butt is being caressed. I turn around to find the banana-hammock mafia congregated behind me. About five of them stand there, giggling.

"What's your fascination with my ass?" I ask.

"Well, it was out there," says a beefy, thick-necked one.

I turn back and attempt to continue my conversation with Henrietta. A smaller, dark-haired stripper, with tattoos that creep up his biceps and spill onto his chest, isn't about to let that happen. He puts his arm around Henrietta and begins massaging the back of my neck with his free hand. After we ignore him for several minutes, he walks away.

"A lot of them, you know, are prostitutes on the side," Henrietta says and then pauses. "You want any of their numbers?"