CLUB LA CASA TUESDAY TAKEOUT

La Casa de Fiesta: The House of Fun?

La Casa de Fiesta, Millinocket, Maine—”The House of Fun”? Really, Wes, what were you thinking? Back in the heyday of La Casa de Fiesta, a venue that surely has left many with stories of their own, PartyDancersUSA found itself drawn into the fold. The year was 2001 or maybe 2002, and it was all thanks to the smooth-talking charm of the club’s owner, Wes—a man who could be likened to a smiling snake, promising us the chance to put the club back on its feet once again. The opportunity seemed ripe, but as we would soon discover, La Casa de Fiesta was anything but a simple gig.

The Expanding Commitment at La Casa de Fiesta

PartyDancersUSA initially agreed to supply La Casa de Fiesta with 6 to 8 dancers every Friday and Saturday night for an entire year, no breaks. It seemed like a solid plan—a manageable commitment with plenty of time to prepare and deliver quality performances. However, it didn’t take long for that old smiling snake, Wes, to work his charm. Before we knew it, PartyDancersUSA was on the hook for more than just weekends.

Wes had succeeded in convincing us to extend our presence from Tuesday through Saturday every week. Smaller crews were scheduled during the week, with larger, more dynamic teams taking over on weekends. What started as a straightforward agreement quickly ballooned into a full-blown, five-night-a-week commitment. “Oh boy,” I thought, as the reality of the situation set in. The challenge had just grown exponentially, and La Casa de Fiesta was about to become a central focus for our team.

The Reality of La Casa de Fiesta

It can be said with all honesty that La Casa de Fiesta was definitely not “The House of Fun.” Anyone who’s spent up to five days a week making the two-hour trek there, then enduring eight hours at the club until 1 a.m., only to face another two-hour drive back home, knows that’s no definition of fun. The sheer monotony of sitting in that club night after night could drive anyone to the brink, and avoiding the temptation to become a raging alcoholic out of pure boredom was an achievement in itself.

But despite the grueling schedule and the less-than-glamorous atmosphere, PartyDancersUSA fulfilled this commitment with flying colors. We survived the entire year, navigating the ups and downs with Wes, Junior, Baby Junior, and the entire cast of circus characters that surrounded La Casa de Fiesta. This was no small feat, let me tell you! It was a test of endurance, patience, and professionalism, and we came out the other side stronger for it.

TUESDAY TAKEOUT DESCRIBES AN ALTERCATION AT CLUB LA CASA

A Tuesday Night at La Casa de Fiesta

It was late April, a Tuesday night, and as dead as you’d expect in Dolby Plantation. PartyDancersUSA had four dancers on the roster that evening, including our senior dancer, Raine. The excitement was so palpable—or rather, the lack thereof—that I found myself dozing off at a table near the entry, only to be jolted awake around 10 p.m. by Raine.

She wasn’t waking me up for nothing. “Money Mike” had just walked into the club, and with him came his entourage—an interesting mix to say the least. Among them was “Cocaine Mike,” a known drug dealer, and an ex-dancer from Millinocket who wasn’t just battling a bad attitude but also struggling with alcohol and drug problems. The ex-dancer wasn’t supposed to be in the club at all, especially not on a slow Tuesday night in April, when tensions were already high from the lack of action.

To make matters worse, this ex-dancer was hanging all over “Money Mike,” effectively cock-blocking—something the dancers nicknamed him for because he’d often come in on Tuesdays, drink, and throw money around. But tonight, with this ex-dancer clinging to him, Raine and the others were being cut off from the only potential big spender in the place. It was shaping up to be a night full of frustration, with the only lucrative opportunity in town slipping away right before our eyes.

Tensions Rise

Still groggy from my impromptu nap, I barely had time to gather my thoughts before Raine stormed over, loudly venting her frustrations. “Why is that bitch in here?” she fumed, “No one can get near Money Mike because of her!” It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant wake-up call, especially when I was already trying my hardest not to fall into the trap of drinking the night away—something that felt increasingly tempting in this line of work (and let’s not forget all those drinks I ended up paying for, courtesy of Wes, wherever he is now).

As Raine’s complaints rang in my ears, I waved her off, buying myself a minute to sort this mess out in my head. The situation was spiraling, and I knew I had to handle it carefully. The last thing we needed was for things to escalate further, but with tensions high and Money Mike being monopolized by the ex-dancer, it was clear that something needed to be done—and fast.

Confrontation in the Club

Still unsure of how to handle the situation, I decided to at least look like I was taking action. Getting up and moving around seemed like a good start—if nothing else, it might give Raine the impression that I was working on it and buy me a few minutes of peace. I headed toward the DJ control room, but I didn’t make it far. Raine, clearly not done venting, cut me off directly in front of the DJ window, her complaints now reaching a fever pitch. It was more of the same—gripes about the ex-dancer, and to be honest, it was all starting to sound like blah, blah, blah in my exhausted mind.

Just as I was trying to piece together a coherent response, “Miss America”—the ex-dancer herself—decided to stroll right between us. Without missing a beat, she dropped a verbal bomb, calling Raine a “c* * *,” as if she could just toss out the insult and keep walking like nothing happened.

The air between them crackled with tension. Whatever plans I had for de-escalation were about to be tested in a very real way.

The Moment of Decision

Raine’s head snapped around so fast I thought she might give herself whiplash. Her face flushed a deep red, and her eyes seemed to go almost white with fury. “Can I beat her ass? No, I’m gonna beat her ass for that,” she declared, her voice seething with anger.

In that split second, I weighed my options and realized there was no holding her back. The situation had reached a boiling point, and trying to intervene might have only made things worse. So, I simply nodded, giving her the unspoken green light. I stepped back, knowing that sometimes, the only way to defuse a situation like this was to let it run its course.

What happened next was inevitable, and I braced myself for the fallout.

Raine Takes Action

Like a bullet, Raine shot forward in a straight line, not pausing for a second. In her 8-inch platform heels, she power strutted toward “Miss America” with a determined focus that didn’t waver for a moment. Despite the precarious footwear, Raine—a petite 5’3″, 105-pound Cherokee Indian—was a force of nature.

Without even removing her heels, Raine unleashed a barrage of fury, quickly overpowering “Miss America” and beating her into submission. The scene was intense, with Raine’s small frame delivering a level of strength and determination that belied her size.

Once she had the ex-dancer subdued, Raine didn’t stop there. She grabbed her by the shirt collar and the belt of her pants, hauling her like a rag doll toward the front door. With one final push, Raine threw her out into the night, punctuating her actions with a clear message: “YOU’RE OUTTA HERE!”

I DIDN’T REALIZE WHAT WAS ON THE MENU FOR TUESDAY TAKEOUT

A New Threat Emerges

I stood there, completely in awe, watching as Raine single-handedly dealt with “Miss America.” The whole scene was playing out like a surreal action movie, and I was so engrossed that I hadn’t noticed another set of eyes also tracking Raine’s every move—”Cocaine Mike.”

As Raine power-marched past me with her defeated opponent in tow, almost at the front door, something caught my eye. Out of nowhere, I saw this huge guy—Cocaine Mike—charging toward Raine at full speed, his shoulder lowered like a battering ram. It was clear as day: he was going to take her out, and he was just moments away from impact.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized the imminent danger. Everything seemed to slow down as I processed what was about to happen, but there was no time to think—only time to react.

Taking Down Cocaine Mike

In that split second, instinct took over. Without a moment’s hesitation, I launched myself into action, delivering a full-force hockey check that sent “Cocaine Mike” crashing into the wall. The impact was solid, but Mike wasn’t done yet. He swung around with an elbow, catching me just below the left eye and leaving a painful, swelling egg as a reminder.

That didn’t sit well with me. Using the momentum from his elbow strike, I pivoted and took him down hard, flipping him backward onto the floor. With Mike now on his back, I had the upper hand. Fueled by adrenaline, I started giving him a taste of his own medicine, each punch landing with the kind of precision that only comes when you’re in the heat of the moment. “Mike” was now getting his own knuckle tattoo, courtesy of PartyDancersUSA.

The Aftermath

It wasn’t until later that I learned “Cocaine Mike” was not just some random tough guy—he was the local “connection,” and, at that time, the reigning bar brawl titleholder on the Millinocket bar circuit. Apparently, everyone knew who he was, but no one had thought to tell me. Not that it would have mattered.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t have cared who he was or what reputation he had. For me, it’s simple: if you make any attempt to injure one of my dancers, you’re done. Toast. No exceptions. My priorities were clear—protecting the team comes first, no matter who’s on the other side. It’s a cut-and-dry rule, and that night, “Cocaine Mike” learned it the hard way.

The Lightning Bolt Reminder

Let’s just say that the “lightning bolt” scar running down Mike’s left cheek is a permanent reminder of the night he should’ve minded his own business. After delivering five quick punches, enough to leave a mark that would last a lifetime, the entire bar jumped in to pull us apart, preventing any further damage to “Cocaine Mike.”

I was still seething, the egg under my left eye throbbing with every heartbeat, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. Fueled by adrenaline and anger, I made a move to go after him again, but Mike had other ideas. Realizing he was outmatched, he made a hasty exit, disappearing out the door in a blur. It was clear he didn’t want to stick around for round two.

A Cold Beer and a Curious Question

After the chaos settled and I confirmed that the dancers were safely tucked away in the dressing room, I made my way over to the bar. My eye was throbbing, and I needed a cold beer—both to quench my thirst and to hold against the swelling on my face. Wes Junior was bartending, and as I ordered my beer, he started giving me grief about the fight. I wasn’t in the mood for any more nonsense, so I cut him off with a sharp, “Just get the fuckin’ beer, Junior.”

Without another word, he did just that, sliding the bottle across the bar. I tipped it back, letting the cold liquid soothe my throat, while also pressing the bottle to the swelling under my eye. As I did, I noticed Junior eyeing my hands with a puzzled expression. “What?” I asked, my voice carrying a hint of annoyance.

“Where’s the rings?” he asked, still looking a bit confused.

“Why?” I shot back.

Junior leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. “You see his face? He had a cut down one side about 5 inches long. I figured you had rings on, but you don’t.”

“Nope, no rings,” I replied, finishing that first beer and signaling for another. It was going to be a long night, and I knew this was just the beginning of many more beers to come.

LISTEN WHEN YOU ARE THE TUESDAY TAKEOUT IT’S TIME TO STAY HOME

Back to Business

After downing another beer, I made my way to the dressing room where all the dancers were huddled, fully dressed, and clearly ready to head home. Surprised, I asked why they were packing it in early. They didn’t have a good answer—just a mix of uncertainty and the lingering adrenaline from the night’s chaos.

Realizing the night was far from over, I instructed them to get back to work. Without much hesitation, they nodded and got ready to hit the floor again.

As it turned out, “Money Mike” was still in the club, seemingly unfazed by the earlier drama. He found the whole incident amusing and, true to his reputation, began showering the dancers with cash. With the tension broken and everyone back in action, the night quickly turned around. The dancers were happy, the money was flowing, and it seemed like, despite everything, we were ending the night on a high note.

An Unexpected Visit

Except for “Cocaine Mike,” the night had turned around nicely. He was far from happy, though—so unhappy, in fact, that after heading to the local hospital to get stitched up, this idiot coke dealer decided to call the sheriff and try to have someone arrested. Can you imagine my surprise? Just an hour after the fight, with things settling back into the usual dull boredom, the sheriff showed up, looking for me and demanding some answers.

I knew I had to handle this carefully, so I gave the sheriff a straightforward explanation of what had gone down. He listened intently, and when I finished, he gave me a look, almost like he was amused, and said, “You know, you tattooed his face pretty bad?”

I just shrugged. At that point, I was done with the whole situation and ready to move on. The sheriff seemed to get that. He folded up his notebook, gave me a nod, and told me to have a good evening before heading out the door. It was clear that even he understood that some things just sorted themselves out.

An Unlikely Conclusion

To wrap things up, I never saw “Miss America” again after that night. As for “Cocaine Mike,” I only crossed paths with him one more time at La Casa de Fiesta. It was a brief encounter—Mike and his brother approached me at the bar, and to my surprise, they asked if they could buy me a beer. I wasn’t one to hold a grudge, especially not in this line of work, so I accepted the offer. We clinked bottles, and that was that.

It was a strange, almost surreal conclusion to a wild night—one that left a lasting mark in more ways than one. But in the end, a beer is just a beer, and sometimes, that’s all it takes to move on.

Moving On from La Casa de Fiesta

As for La Casa de Fiesta, PartyDancersUSA moved on the very day our one-year contract was up. It wasn’t a moment too soon—Wes, the owner, had tried to take over our action, and that was the last straw. Wes passed away a few years later, and Junior, unfortunately, got tangled up in drug problems and fled the state. Raine, after six memorable years with PartyDancersUSA, also moved on to other things.

As for La Casa de Fiesta itself, it eventually changed hands. New owners took over, and I genuinely hope they never pick up the phone to call PartyDancersUSA. No disrespect, but no thank you—too many ghosts there, right, Wes?