Where the Republicans Roam

MASTER STEELOW HAS no idea the convention is happening next week. His small, boxy frame is pacing around the floor of 219 Flamingo East early on a Wednesday night glad-handing and chatting up the regular attendees to his weekly Flesh Theater event at the small, dark, dirty bar in the East Village. He's only half-heartedly listening to some of my questions about any special events planned when the Republican party tramples through town.

In between conversations with drag queens and leather-clad mistresses, he keeps asking what exactly the Republican National Convention is, when it's going to be and how many people are supposed to attend. Once he realizes it's the notoriously stuffy Republicans that are coming, he's confused about why he's being interviewed. He says he has no plans to promote his parties and events around the convention, but he looks concerned.

"Should I be doing that? I didn't really think this was their scene," he says.

He assures me, though, that the delegates are most welcome to his events, which cater to "the true alternative" lifestylists. He says white-collar Republican types frequent many of the public and private parties he organizes throughout the city. In the early portions of this particular Wednesday night, there are a few white, button-downed, middle-aged attendees who shamefully sip their drinks at the bar, or sit in a booth and wait for something to happen.

These guests definitely stand out from the heavily pierced Latino goth kids and dominatrixes. There is an older man, well into his sixties-he suspiciously resembles a younger Strom Thurmond-who is not-so-subtly sticking his hand down the back of his 50-ish, mousey female companion's skirt as they scurry around the dance floor, leaning into each other, swaying to some other song in their heads that's definitely not the blaring industrial music currently being pumped through the speakers.

"Of course they're welcome. We get people into clowns, balloons, feet, socks, nylons-we've seen them all," Steelow says, not realizing he's just lumped Republicans in with the same group of people who get turned on by clown costumes and socks.

He stops discussing the convention and stifles his canned welcome-to-New-York-City-come-check-out- my-party plea to the Republicans he hopes will get into this story to accept a hug from Lady Malice [editor's note: name changed to protect the?er, innocent?], one of his regular performers, who resembles a Samoan WWE wrestler. He begins to explain how there is no nudity at his public events because of the liquor license laws, but is interrupted by Ms. Malice plopping her breasts out of her leather corset and playfully whacking them against his shoulders. He quickly makes the point that because Lady Malice is a transexual, she's allowed to expose her nipples.

"Isn't that funny? You can only show your nipples if you have a dick," he whispers, pointing to his own crotch.

STEELOW MAY NOT REALIZE IT, but the RNC could provide a major boost to his business. While Democratic delegates are, traditionally, more scandalous than their well-heeled adversaries, plenty of popular, seemingly upstanding members of the GOP have had their colossal public fallouts due to ribald, kinky behavior. In fact, Republicans have been well-noted horndogs for years.

Everybody's heard the alleged stories of Warren G. Harding pounding his mistress in every corner of the White House while his wife was present, right? Then how about the recent Jack Ryan brouhaha? He's the now-former Illinois senate candidate who bowed out of the 2004 race after his ex-wife, actress Jeri Ryan, accused him of forcing her to attend sex clubs and humiliating her when she refused to have intercourse with him at one of the venues. Ryan denied the accusations, but did acknowledge publicly that he and his wife had attended an "avant-garde" club while on a romantic vacation in Paris, but that they both left immediately because they felt uncomfortable and vowed to each other that they would never go back again.

Governor of California and RNC all-star speaker Arnold Schwarzenegger almost saw his recount election campaign derailed when numerous women accused him of making lewd remarks, groping and, in one case, assault. Schwarzenegger admitted nothing, but did later apologize. And then there was the scandal surrounding Clinton-bashing moralizer Bill Bennett and his alleged paid liaison with a buffed-up dominatrix in Las Vegas.

Why then, does the GOP convention website trumpet the city's museums, restaurants and nightlife culture, yet fails to mention Master Steelow's events?

PAUL AND QUERINO, managers of the notoriously fun-sleazy nightspot Pyramid Club in the East Village, also had trouble grasping how the RNC convergence could benefit them. They don't plan to cater any of their nightly events around it, and according to Paul, have no interest in politics whatsoever. He says even though their crowd is very friendly and open to everyone-gay, straight, bi, Williamsburgers, fetishists, Goths, vampires, to name just a few-theirs probably won't be the spot GOP nightlife lovers flock to during the week.

On second thought, though, he considered their 1984-themed Friday-night dance party. "That night's very gay," he noted.

Even though Mary Cheney, the openly gay daughter of Vice President Dick Cheney, may be in attendance at the convention, the lesbian club promoters are not ramping up for more activity thanks to her presence. Apparently, the lesbian clubs-as most alternative clubs- expect a slow next couple weekends until "they" get out of town.

Megaboy Kate, co-owner of LovergirlNYC, a popular female dance party promotion company, said they will not be soliciting RNC ladies for their events. Nor do they expect them to be interested in their August 28 ladies beach party, which will feature a swimsuit contest and, take note, free hotdogs.

"Do you really think anyone attending the GOP convention would be interested in attending a lesbian party?" she said. I inform her that Mary Cheney is quite the dyke.

"Well, yeah, I guess she could come. But does she wear Birkenstocks? If she does, she won't really fit in at my party. Our party is very chic."

One underground promoter who's admittedly not happy about the convention is Hal Gould, of Albion-Batcave entertainment, which has held a boisterous Saturday-night goth party at Downtime nightclub saddled with the unfortunate address of 251 W. 30th St.-just a couple blocks away from the madness at Madison Square Garden. Gould, who just received his citizenship and will be legally voting for the first time this year, says that his Saturday-night party, also scheduled for August 28, will be one of the slower nights this year. But then again, the whole summer's been tough on him, and the convention is just another pain in the ass.

"We're treating that night like we treat a snowstorm. So, we'll have a smaller staff and stock up differently."

Gould said that he already had a band back out that evening because of the strict parking provisions issued by the city; they didn't want to deal with the parking and driving restrictions near the club. The most annoying thing to Gould, however, is the elevated walkway constructed for the event.

"It's like they can't walk on the precious streets of New York City."

Still, Gould would love it if the delegates stopped by and mingled with his leather-clad, spooky-faced patrons at Batcave on Saturday night.

"They should see the city as it really is."

BACK AT 219 FLAMINGO'S Flesh Theater, Master Steelow is rounding up the regulars from his party, telling them that I'm doing a story for the New York Post and that it's "about the election." He brings over some vampire kids. (Or, rather, they're people dressed "vampirish"; I was later told that Steelow's parties rarely have real, court-holding vampires-you know, the kind who drink blood and absinthe.) He shows me their pendants, as they sit silently, waiting for me to ask them questions. Once they find out the story is actually about the RNC, they up and walk away.

"He's doing a story. For the Post!," Steelow says again to an enormous gay black man with fangs and what appear to be full leather overalls and giant silver claws. The giant gay black vampire-man says that he'd love to use his claws on visiting Republicans. He doesn't say it in a violent way-like he wants to carve them up and eat them-but more lovingly, like he would scratch their backs as gently as he would a newborn kitten.

Steelow then introduces me to Kevin Carpet, who is somewhat of a local celebrity around the scene because of his "trampling" fetish. Kevin apparently attends a lot of clubs in the area-he's a big fan of Thursday nights at Pyramid-where he wraps himself in a rug, lays conspicuously on the floor in front of the bar and lets people walk on him. He's had 15 people standing on him at once.

"That's while I was under the rug. I've [had] eight people without the rug," he notes with an eerie childlike cadence that imparts both approval and sympathy. Kevin talks about how great the scene is and that the people-Republicans, in this case-should really come out because of the great, friendly atmosphere.

Kevin, in turn, calls over two smallish goth girls and asks them if they'd mind standing on top of him to demonstrate his fetish. They happily oblige and walk all over his belly, his chest and his legs in their giant, square-shaped monster boots. He then asks another girl, clad in camouflage pants and black wifebeater, if she'd put her foot on him as well. She lazily props her foot up to his neck and continues to text-message.

Steelow says trampling is very big at his events, as is other s&m bondage-type play. Though he doesn't necessarily promote it that way, his guests are free to do whatever they want-so long as they "play nice." Whatever that means.

Slave Bruce, a submissive, is a regular at these events; he likes to be beaten. A small man with a wiry build and gray hair, Bruce could easily pass as an English teacher at a community college. He comes into the club wearing a blue button-down shirt, shorts and sandals. After having a drink at the bar, he takes his pants off to reveal a leather thong.

According to one mistress-Master Steelow's girlfriend, who did not wish to be named-Bruce is into scatting. Unfortunately, that can only take place outside the club area at "private parties," or else Steelow risks being shut down by the health department. Some of the other private-party activities include regular golden showers, parties where people get puked on and (hold on to your hats, delegates) pink shower parties-where men are flogged with dirty tampons.

"Maybe that's something they'd be into," Steelow jokes.

Before Bruce dons his leather mask, Steelow goads his girlfriend to spit in his mouth. The community college teacher eagerly opens his mouth and Steelow's girlfriend hocks and launches a spitball. Bruce thanks her, dons a leather mask, then straps himself to a pole in the bar. He spends the rest of the night waiting to be spanked, prodded, poked, pinched, slapped, yanked and bullied. An awful drag queen with pigtails, a half-shirt and a hairy beer gut intermittently pinches his nipples and licks his face before returning to the dance floor for a Nine Inch Nails song.

Steelow shares with me a light-hearted anecdote from a recent private party. It seems that his girlfriend-the mistress who won't be named-nailed Bruce with a strap-on.

"He was moaning like a mule," he laughs.

A mule. That's the Democratic symbol, right?