Step into CoHo Productions' Live Girls and you're stepping into a strippers' dressing room—really an unraised stage with a row of lockers and two long tables littered with makeup and lingerie. Did you think you'd see sexed-up tramps lubricating their thighs with extra-virgin olive oil? Of course you didn't, which is why Natalie Rose's voyeuristic play falls short as an exposé or a lesson, but gets by on some soapy entertainment. Neither a glamorous ode nor a pitying harp, Live Girls commits itself to the middling reality of exotic dancer-dom. But as the older gentleman exiting CoHo's Nob Hill theater before me put it, "All that play did was make me worry about my daughters." JANE CARLEN