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On a weekend afternoon in the bland, uptight nineteen-fifties, shortly after I'd finished college, my parents persuaded my boyfriend, who was always eager to please them, to take us to New Jersey to attend a burlesque and striptease show. This form of entertainment had been banned in Manhattan for more than a decade but was thriving across the Hudson, and expeditions of our kind weren't unusual for enlightened New Yorkers and their grown children. So we piled into the car, mother, stepfather, boyfriend, and I, and went to Union City's Hudson Theatre, where the pie-throwing episodes and lewd dialogues of classical burlesque alternated with a succession of gorgeously clad ...