A small, innocuous, rectangular-shaped building
on the corner of Eliot and Washington Streets, Aga's was "Established
Since 1947" according to its sign. A few years ago, Aga's painted
"Bikini Bar" in massive lettering on the side of the building
facing Melnea Cass, piqueing the sensibilities of neighborhood watchdogs (and
no doubt soon-to-be-across-the-street neighbor HBI, Inc). The lettering
was removed.
My original plan had been to check out the
"Bikini Bar" with a visibly pregnant friend (bars serve
soft drinks, too) who was also in need of adventure but she found her adventure
abroad before we got the chance. Finally, one night last October, my friend D
and I enjoyed cultural attractions at both ends of Boston: a Martin McDonough
play at the Charlestown Working Theatre followed by drinks and, um, dancing
at Aga's.
Like The Roxburian, I'd been, at first, a
little intimidated and frightened by the prospect of Aga's. I imagined a
dark, dingy place, the air fogged blue with dense smoke from cigarettes of all
types and levels of legality, and heavily tattooed (ha! like that means
anything anymore!) glowering ganstas with their guns resting on the bar by
their beers; vicious drug dealers doing lines off the bellies of their women;
one-eyed pirates with knives between their teeth and assault rifles on their
backs and ...well, you get the picture. But the more I really thought
about it, the more I realized that some of Boston's very best bars over the
years were "dives", places that may have appeared to be scary but that
were in reality great spots to hang out. The Blue Sands, the Rat, and others,
the memories of which have been smothered by copious consumption of their wares,
are some that spring to mind. Anyway, how bad could Aga's be, really?
One clue that assumptions and reality are often
divergent was that, walking past the bar on warm evenings, the bouncer was
sometimes sitting on a stool just outside the door reading a book. I'm not a
fan of stereotypes (except, it seems, about grandmothers) but I've worked in bars and in most cases it was rare that
any of the doormen would read anything more than a newspaper when things were
quiet. Turns out that Nathan, the book-reading bouncer, is a really nice
guy - former Marine currently apprenticed to become an electrician and working
nights to make a little extra dough. Good-bye, one-eyed pirates with
knives.
So on the night of the big adventure, we travel from
the dark humor of McDonough, to the deadly quiet of Dudley (the safest place in
Boston after sundown because no one is there). Nathan greets us at the door and
requests a five dollar cover charge. The bar is against the wall on the right
as you enter and to the left there are a couple of chairs and tables and then a small dance
floor. There are two male customers, the bartender, two women who turn
out to be the dancers, Nathan, and D and me. And that's it. All night,
and it’s a Saturday, people come and go but D and I are the only ones there for
longer than 20 minutes and at no time in the evening are there ever more than
five customers, total, in the bar.
At
one point, there’s a latino guy with his buddy and girlfriend. Later in the night, a distinguished looking
black man in a velvet jacket with a massive cross hanging around his neck rushes
past Nathan and through the door leaving a trail of scent in his wake. Alice
refuses to serve him and prods Nathan to get “The Reverend” out of the
bar. A white guy who looks like an
undercover cop comes in for a few minutes and chats with Alice at the end of
the bar. She tells me that he’s a “friend of the bar” around the same time
she’s telling me that the City doesn’t like Aga’s. A couple of single black guys come and go. Most
of the night it is just D and me with the dancers, the bartender, the bouncer. Good-bye, vicious
drug-dealers.
The dancers are Visa and Trina, both youngish,
one black, one white and they take turns moving on the dance platform in bikinis. During breaks between sets, they throw on tee
shirts and shorts. Their dancing is uninspired. Trina appears bored, almost sullen, and
stares at herself in the mirror behind the bar as she moves as if she is dancing for herself - or to avoid thinking about the eyes on her. Occasionally, when there are male customers
in the bar, she will “accidentally” pop a nipple from her bikini top. The red,
glassy squint of Visa’s eyes hint that she’s got a good buzz on. Her dancing is more of a get down on all
fours, thrusting, humping, and grinding her fifi in your direction kind of
thing. I am happier talking to them than seeing them dance and in my
mortification for both of them, I shower them with dollar bills – ones, fives,
even tens. It becomes a very expensive
night - atypical in my dive experience. D and I buy them one drink each (they warn us that Alice will get mad if they have more) and chat with
them, between their dances, about work, life, dreams and goals. Trina says that she manages a store during
the day. Visa, when asked if she had so
much money she could do whatever she wants, says she would have a butt augmentation. Goodbye, assault weapons.
The women’s dance sets and breaks are managed by
owner and bartender, Alice, a post middle-aged woman whose Greek immigrant father-in-law was the
original Aga, whose daughter does the books and whose son sometimes help out with the business. She lets Trina or Visa know that a break is over and it’s time to
dance again. The raunchiest hip-hop music booms from loud speakers and petite Alice,
gray hair peaking out from beneath her hat, knows all the words and sings along (imagine your grandmother mouthing, "you a fine muthafucka wontcha back that ass up") while mixing drinks, and keeping track of dances and breaks
and money coming in, mostly from D and I who over-order and over-tip Alice
(even though she’s over-charging us) because we think she’s so
cute and funny and atypical and the place is so diverting.
Goodbye, glowering ganstas.
When we first arrive and are getting to know
Trina, and Visa, and Alice, and Nate, D says, “We have to make a documentary
about this place.” I am thinking the same thing. Over the course of the night, (after several
beers, then Jack and cokes, then shots of whatever) occasionally, while D is
talking to Trina or Visa and I am talking to Alice or Nate, D will lean over and say in my ear, “we are sooo
lucky”. Not because we are drunk at an
off-the-beaten-track bar but because we do not have to dance there - we have
educations and economic resources and people who care about us and would help
us out before we would have to dance at Aga’s. Still, we are determined, before the hangovers
set in, that we will frequent Aga’s,
that we will become regulars there; we will make a documentary about the
place and its history; we will support Alice and Nate and Trina and Visa in the
only way that we can – by putting dollars in their pockets - or bikinis. Beyond that,
whether they use those dollars to buy butt augmentations or get tattoos or earn a plumber’s
license is not really up to us or within our control.
Fear of the unknown alchemised into melancholy and what we had hoped would be an adventure became more of the same, all over again: ordinary people trying to get by in the only ways they know how. Walking home and the next day and even now all I can think is
it would be great to find a way to turn Aga's, which is really a cute little building in a great location, from a 'bikini
bar' to a burgers n beer joint or even better - a Wally's II.
Keep
Nathan on the door
. Alice can still pour and
sing all the lyrics to every filthy gansta rap song you've ever heard, and
Trina
and
Visa can
waitress
. The Aga's team would make more money and the neighborhood would gain a local business that just about everyone would be eager to support.
