Chapter 1 - The Syren - Livia’s POV

This was the night that changed the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure I have my Princess Leia costume to thank for it.  Or perhaps I should say to blame for it…I still haven’t decided.  I’d believed that the costume had a magical effect on men, but as it turned out, the magical effect was…well…me. After that night, sex magic would never be just a song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers for me, again.

I took one final look at myself in the mirror, checking to make sure my bobby pins weren’t falling out and that my long, chestnut braid was still in place within the confines of the golden…hat…thing.  It was, but I doubted it would stay that way for long.  I tend to get a little wild when I dance and my hair inevitably suffers for it, but if that is the price of having thick, wavy, nearly waist-length hair, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.  None of the guys seemed to mind when I got a little disheveled, anyway, so I really don’t know why I was worrying about it. Actually, I’m pretty sure they liked me better that way, heh (insert dramatic eyebrow wiggle, here).

I was always surprised at how perfectly the costume came together.  The Princess Leia look really worked for me, perhaps because I have the same pale skin and my hair is a similar, perhaps slightly darker, shade of brown.  The armbands pinched a bit, but I ignored the sensation.  In sin city there is no room for going half-way.  With one last adjustment to the gold bikini top, I turned and pushed aside the curtain separating the dressing rooms from the back-stage area.  As I passed by the stairs to the DJ booth, I heard Logan call out my name…well, not really my name, but it worked.

“Lily, you said Halestorm to start off tonight, right?” he yelled over the vibrations of heavy percussion and rapid-fire, rhythmic lyrics pounding through the speakers: aka rap music.  I climbed the stairs into the booth so that I could answer him without screaming.

It always amazes me how well-insulated the inside of a DJ booth is from the cacophony of the music.  The DJ gets to pick any music he wants, whether awesome or shitty, and never has to suffer from the bleeding eardrums his choices and/or the volume of the music confer upon the rest of us.  Well, on me, at least…I have sensitive ears, ok?  I get migraines!  And no, this is not the time to ask if I’ve perhaps made a bad career choice.  Believe me, I think about that often enough on my own!

“Yes, please, give me something I can rock out to.  I’ll go crazy if I have to dance to rap all night!” I replied, somehow managing to keep most of my usual beginning-of-shift bitchiness from my voice.

And before you say anything, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t trying to hate on rap music.  Rap has its place, and it’s a staple of club life for a reason, but for me, personally, hip-hop dance wasn’t my preferred style.  For a girl who was raised dancing ballet, I excelled at smooth, sexy, sensual movements, not twerking, and I’d come to terms with this fact long ago.  It didn’t keep me from making good money!  Everyone has their own style, and embracing it is how you maximize your profits in this industry.

“Don’t you worry, girl, I’ll take care of you!  I’ll throw in some old school sensual rock for you while you’re in the back all night, too.  Maybe some Evanescence, or Daughtry.  I know it helps you keep your groove going,” he said with a sly grin, making me smile back at how he indulged my love of early 2000s alternative rock and metal. It had started off as a way to engage the primary customer base at this club, which is key to making more money, but I have come to love it so much that I listen to YouTube playlists at home for my own enjoyment.

“What makes you think I’ll be in the back all night?” I narrowed my eyes in mock suspicion.

“Experience. When are you not?” He gave me a conspiratorial wink.  “Also, I see you’re wearing a Star Wars costume.  I assume that means Timmy the nerd-boy will be here soon?  That’ll keep you in the back for at least an hour.”  He raised one of his eyebrows and gave me his cockiest smile.

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock” I responded with feigned awe.  “Since you’re clearly such an expert on my regulars and preferences, I’m sure you also remember that he likes to watch me dance to Britney, so play me a few of her sexier songs when you see us go in the back, ok?  There’s a doll,” I said, swinging my braid playfully over my shoulder.

Logan and I had established a pattern of friendly antagonism that always made my nights more fun.  I turned to go, but looked back to shoot him a genuine grin and say, “I’m actually really impressed you recognized the costume, though.”  He winked at me mysteriously and I made a mental note to ask him about this secret wealth of nerdy knowledge sometime, then made my way down the stairs and out onto the main floor, toward the edge of the stage.

I scanned the crowd perfunctorily for Timmy, but I didn’t expect to find him.  It was still a little early for him to arrive. I suspected he liked to get off work and have a shot or two to loosen him up before he faced me, to get up the courage to come see me at all.  My suspicion had grown from the way he unfailingly smelled of vodka and peppermints when he got here, but never even glanced at the bar on his way in.  He’d once told me that he was here to see me, and he wasn’t going to waste one minute of our time together on anything else.  Oh Timmy. Such a sweet, little guy.  Well, not little, per se.  But sweet…and, you know, a guy.

I moved to the side of the stage to get ready.  The familiar knot of anticipation formed in the pit of my stomach and the adrenaline began pumping through my veins, making me feel tingly all over.  I don’t know why, but even after over three years of doing this, I still got nervous.  And excited.  And apprehensive.  The song mercifully began to fade out and I gave Isis a moment to collect her things and any loose bills, before I stepped up onto the raised platform.

My five-inch heels clicked loudly in the silence between the songs as I swayed, slowly, seductively, making my way to the middle of the stage.  The music, my kind of music, began to play and I grasped the pole with both hands and leaned forward against it, arching my back.  I mouthed the lyrics of the song and made eye contact with each man around the stage, telling him with my eyes that this dance was all for him.

“You don’t know that I see, you watch me every night…and I just can’t stop myself, from standing in the light.”

I gripped the pole as high up as I could reach and jumped, pulling myself up several feet and wrapping my thighs tightly around it to hold myself in place.  I wrapped my left calf around the pole, using my ankle to secure me, then thrust my right leg out, toes pointed, as I arched my back, slipped my arms out to the sides, and leaned back into the open air.  I hung there poised for several beats, once again making eye contact with the men so eagerly watching my every move, and mouthing the words to each of them in turn.

“Your hungry eyes are on me, and your look burns like the sun…”

The pole drifted slowly around, spinning me with it, and I let myself fall back, until the cold metal touched my bare skin. I grabbed the pole just below my head and allowed myself to flip down and back onto my feet, then turned, leaned against it, and reached for the front clasp holding together the gold bikini top.

“And I could pull the shades down…but this is so much fun…”

I popped the clasp open, letting my top slide low on my arms, exposing my pale, generous breasts and pink, saucer nipples to the greedy eyes of all the men in the room.  I reveled in the hunger I could read on their faces.  They wanted me.  Every single man in the room wanted me, and I knew just how to make them hungrier still.

“I’m turned on by you, getting off on me…”

The music left the slow, seductive beat behind and the tempo quickened and hardened, a rock-hard beat that made me want to thrust each movement.  I punched the first beat with a hip, then slowed down to revel in the energy from each thrust.  I slid my hands up my body, inching along until I reached the targets that every man in the room was imagining reaching himself.  I cupped my hands over my own breasts and squeezed, throwing my head back as if in ecstasy, lips parted and eyes closed.

I brought one finger to my mouth and drew it slowly across my tongue and bottom lip, opening my eyes, picking the man closest to me and making eye contact.  I held his gaze intensely as I drug my finger down my chest and gently rubbed it over a nipple, gasping a little as my nipple hardened and formed a tight knot in the center of my areola.  His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he tentatively extended a bill in my direction.

I reached for the pole above my head and used it as a guide, then threw one leg in the air and slid down the pole until I was lying on the floor of the stage.  I pushed my legs out to either side of me and rolled through a horizontal split, then levered myself up on hands and knees and crawled over to where his fingertips were still clutching the edge of the bill.  A twenty – he meant business.  I made sure to get a good look at his face so I wouldn’t forget to find him later.  Men who tip well on stage tend to be very profitable investments of my time.

When I was close enough, I leaned into him, tilting my chin down to look up at him through full lashes, then moved closer still.  I brushed the skin of my cheek against his and gently nibbled his earlobe, breathing warmly onto his neck, then pulled back and raised onto my knees so he could get a good view of what he was here to see.  I arched my back and put my hands on the ground behind me to support my weight.

After a moment I brought one of my hands around and began to slide it smoothly down the length of my torso, slowly making my way, further and further, then finally rubbing a gentle finger over the most sensitive place on my body.  I gasped dramatically from the intensity of the sensation, but more so because I knew that was what he wanted to see.  I then ran my finger along the lining of the gold leather bikini bottom, hooked it underneath the edge, and pulled the fabric away from my skin, giving the man a peak at what he truly wanted.  This also served as his directions for where to insert the bill.

He obediently lowered the twenty to the spot I had given him, his eyes eating up the sight of me, his breathing quickening and catching as he pushed the bill into the lining of my thong, expertly gliding a finger along my soft flesh as he pulled his hand back.  Well golly gee, this was not his first rodeo.  It was so smoothly done, none of the bouncers noticed a thing.  I pretended to shudder for him, closing my eyes, then I flipped back onto my hands and knees and looked up at him intensely.  He brought his finger up to his nose and inhaled deeply, then put it in his mouth, closing his eyes in pleasure as he sucked gently.  He met my eyes again with a knowing grin.  Definitely not his first rodeo…

I looked around and saw that there were plenty of other men with bills at the ready, eagerly awaiting their turn for a “private” moment with me.  I’ve always had that effect on men.  Even in a crowded room, I can look into a man’s eyes and make him feel like it is just the two of us.  I made my way around the stage to each, moving with feline grace on hands and knees to get from one to the next.

I managed to slip off the rest of my costume in the process, down to just a thong, and gave each man a special place to put his money…between my breasts or perhaps in my thong while I lay on my back with my feet on the ground, lifting myself close enough to his face that he could get a whiff of my unique aroma.  My scent is apparently magical, and generally encourages them to pull out more bills, just to have me near for a few moments more.  I honestly had no idea then how big of a racket I was actually running.

Finally, the song began to fade and I stopped to unceremoniously gather the pieces of my costume and all of the stray bills that had fallen out as I stripped.  This was always the moment that made me hate stripping the most, as I literally had to grub for my money.  But then again, I sure as hell wasn’t leaving a single dollar behind, so I’m not sure what that says about me.

I stepped off of the stage, making way for the next dancer, and began to sort the bills into a tidy pile, big bills on the inside, small bills on the outside.  $46 for my first stage dance of the night boded very well.  Generally, especially this early in the evening, even I was lucky to make more than $25 on stage, and I was one of the highest earners at the club.  Well, I suppose later on in a night when the drinks started flowing and the showoffs came out to “make it rain” on the girls, that figure probably increased significantly, but I wouldn’t really know.  I was always in the back by then.

My name is Livia Martin, and I am a Las Vegas stripper, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.  I suppose I must admit my real name is O-Livia, but I forced my friends and family to drop the “O” when I was a kid and became obsessed with streaming old episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess on Netflix.  Her daughter’s name was Livia, and I loved the sound of it so much, I would settle for nothing else. I might be over my Xena phase, but I still absolutely adore the name. And yes, I’m a hardcore geek.  I’ve come to terms with it.  Don’t worry, you will too.

Lily is my “stage name,” which is something used by the strip club franchise to make it harder for customers to figure out a dancer’s real identity and stalk her.  Some kind of CYA legal thing, I’m sure.  Not even the club employees know or call us by our real names.  I’m not really convinced that it helps much, since if someone really wanted to stalk me, they could just wait until the end of the night and follow my car home, but I’ve always been grateful to the practice for another reason.  I love having a stage name because it helps me clearly define an entirely different persona within my own head.

When I am at the club, I am Lily, every man’s fantasy, able to fluidly morph into whatever I sense he wants or needs.  Lily knows if a man wants trampy or seductive, cute and ditzy or girl next-door, fiery and passionate, or even authoritative mistress, and that is what she is for him, for that brief moment in time.  Lily is glamorous, exotic and exciting.  I, on the other hand, am a nerdy girl who sits in her apartment alone with her dog and watches old episodes of Game of Thrones for a fun night.

Being a stripper is certainly not what I’d imagined doing with my life, and I got into it simply via an opportune location, a desire to make a shit ton of money, and a naive, idealistic belief that a degree in Literature, following my passion for reading, could somehow equal a practical way to make a living.

Ok, fine…I’ll admit that pissing off my ex and trying to hide from a broken heart may have contributed a little…but what can I say?  I like my job, and I’m very, very good at it.  I’ve always had a way with men.  I’ve instinctively known what they want, and how to move, what to do, and what to say to make them think I have given it to them (think being the key word, in this business).  Until this night, I’d always believed I was just really good at reading people (or manipulating people, if I’m being realistic), but this was the night I found out that it was so much more than that.  This was the night I first met the hunters.

Chapter 2 - Michael - Livia’s POV

I finished counting my money and folded it in half around my garter, securing it in place with the hairband that I always wore around my wrist for just this purpose.  I’d learned the hard way that the safest place to keep your cash is against your bare skin, in plain sight; not in a purse, not in a locker, not anywhere but on your own person, where you can see and feel it, at all times.  So many girls didn’t follow this rule and ended up with their money stolen, either by a customer, or just as likely by another dancer.

Of course, the girl’s real mistake was probably the alcohol, pain killers, or cocaine she’d imbibed before her shift to be able to get herself to strip in the first place.  I often tried to tell these girls that if they couldn’t strip without being drunk or high, this was not the profession for them.  You will not make good money as a stripper unless you are smart and in control at all times.  You’ll just get taken advantage of repeatedly, and I saw it happen every night I danced.  It was incredibly sad, but really, what the hell could I really do for them?

In the beginning I’d tried to help them all, teach them what I’d learned, give them my key tips on how to avoid getting into scary situations.  It was hard-won advice.  They all thanked me and gave me fake air kisses, told me I was just “soooooo sweet,” and not a one of them heeded my counsel.  Eventually I realized it was just too late.  They were already lost to themselves by the time they decided to start stripping in the first place, and they didn’t desire or appreciate my input.  A part of me grieved the propensity for addiction that all of these girls seemed to have in common.  The rest of me just couldn’t let myself care anymore.

Lately it seemed more and more of the girls had become consumed by their addictions, to the point where they could barely maintain the illusion of walking and talking coherently, then had just…disappeared.  It was becoming a familiar phenomenon.  I would see a girl working one night, and the next night she wouldn’t show up for her shift, or the next night, or the next…and I’d never see her again.

It didn’t really surprise me when a girl disappeared, since strippers often drift from club to club in the hopes that each new club will somehow be different, that they will magically make more money without changing their tactics at all.  But what was really odd was that none of the girls who’d disappeared recently had bothered to clear out their lockers.  After a few weeks, the bouncers came in and cut through the locks, bagged up all of the clothes, shoes and accoutrement, then took the bags to the manager’s office closet for storage.

If you aren’t a stripper, you probably don’t see why this is a big deal, but let me tell you, those outfits and shoes are damned expensive!  The kinds of girls who were leaving their things behind were not, in my opinion, the kinds of earners who could afford to abandon all of their gear and start fresh.  Something felt off to me, somehow, but it was really none of my business.  I couldn’t save everyone, and I’d become tired of trying, as it always ended up breaking my heart.  The definition of insanity and all that.

I broke off my pondering and slung the pieces of my costume over my shoulder, moving away from the stage and sitting on a bench in the corner to put myself back together.  I had just snapped the clasp on my bikini top when a voice from behind me caught me off guard.

“You really are something extraordinary, do you know that?  That body of yours gets my imagination going like no other dancer I’ve ever seen.”  The man’s voice was deep and sultry, and it fell on my ears like silk, yet for some reason sent creepy shivers oozing down my spine.

I looked up to find the man I’d first danced for onstage standing two feet away from me, staring down at me with that same, ravenous hunger reflected in his eyes.  He was replete in a full business suit, as if he had just come from an important meeting.  I noticed he held his slender form very rigidly, like he could barely contain whatever primitive emotion it was that he was feeling.

He was an average looking man, with longish brown hair tucked behind moderately-sized ears, a slight build, medium height, and unassuming gray eyes…but then again, there was something in the way that he looked at me that just seemed threatening.  As I held his gaze, I got the distinct impression from those eyes that he wanted to lay claim to me, to dominate me, even though nothing else about him, not even his stance, was remotely intimidating.  In fact, his body language was almost timid.  It really gave me the creeps, but honestly, a lot of men in this club gave me the creeps.  It was kind of a hazard of the job (insert shrug emoji here).

“Aww, you are so sweet to say so.” I replied in my most sincere and seductive tone.  This wasn’t my first rodeo, either. I could handle myself.  “Perhaps you’d like to go back for a private dance and spend a few minutes getting to know each other a little better?  I have a regular coming sometime soon, but I bet we could squeeze in a few dances before he gets here.”

“I’m not sure I am…” he paused and drew in a slightly ragged breath, “ready to be…alone with you quite yet.  You may be…too much for me to handle.  What do you say we find a quiet corner out here to sit and chat?  Let me buy you a drink?  I can make it worth your while…”  He reached into an inner pocket in his suitcoat and pulled out something that he kept carefully cupped in his hand.  He gave me a flash look at the contents, a small, plastic bag with a powdered white substance in it, and then smoothly replaced it into the interior pocket from which it had come.

Fuckin’ eh.  It never fails to annoy me when people automatically assume that just because you’re a stripper, you’re willing to trade your services for drugs instead of cash.  I suddenly wanted nothing to do with this man, no matter how much money he had to bandy about when tipping girls on stage.  I could make my money just fine without putting up with this crap.

“Actually, that would not be worth my while at all.  I don’t do drugs, ever, and I don’t drink on the job.  Period.  I like being in control of all of my faculties, at all times.  I find that it is very conducive to doing my job well and making money, as well as, you know, not getting addicted to drugs and ruining my life.  I would say thanks for the offer, but I really don’t appreciate it.  I’m gonna go look for my friend who will be in soon.  You have a good night.”  I did my best to keep the venom out of my voice, then walked quickly past him in the direction of the dressing rooms.

“Just wait a moment, my dear…please…I truly didn’t mean to offend.” his words came out rushed and desperate.  “Wait…STOP!!”

I decided I would stop.  I whirled imperiously back around to face him.  “What’s your name?” I asked him in a neutral tone, keeping my face carefully blank.

He stared at me for a moment, seeming to pull himself back together from the state of desperation and intensity he had so quickly lapsed into. “My name is Michael, my dear. An…”

“Ok, Michael,” I clipped, cutting off whatever else he had been planning to say. “I’ll accept your apology and we can start again, on one condition.  Are you interested in hearing me out?”

“Yes, of course…anything,” he replied immediately.

I walked a few feet over to a nearby table and grabbed an empty, dark-brown beer bottle.  The occupant of the table gave me an odd look, but I ignored him.  I turned around and extended it toward Michael.

“If you will take that bag that you just showed me, stuff it into this bottle and let me throw it into the big trash can in the back, we can start again, no hard feelings.  But you also have to promise me you won’t ever bring that stuff back into this club.  If you’re not willing to do that, I’m gonna walk over and get that bouncer over there, you see him?”  I pointed to Sam, who was tucked into a corner about a dozen yards away.  Sam looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head slightly to let him know I didn’t need him.  At least not yet.

“I’m gonna go get him and tell him I need you immediately removed from the premises.  They trust me around here, and they’ll do that for me if I tell them to, don’t think I am bluffing.  So, what do you say?”  I stared directly into his eyes, implacable and unyielding.  For a moment, I saw a fury there that frightened me.  For just a fraction of a second, I got the feeling that he might simply attack me right there in the middle of the club, so vast was the depth of the rage I felt from those eyes; and then the moment passed and he appeared to get himself back under control.  His lips drew into a thin line and curved up just the barest hint at the corners.  He reached out reluctantly and took the proffered bottle from my hand.

“How could I possibly refuse such an offer as that?” he uttered smoothly.  With a motion so slick even I had a hard time following it, he reached back into his coat pocket, retrieved the packet and slid it down the neck of the bottle.  His eyes had never left mine.  He extended the bottle toward me and I carefully took it from him.

There was something dangerous about this man.  Something that frightened me to my core.  I wasn’t sure what nefarious deeds he might be up to outside this club, but I suddenly knew with certainty that there was nefariousness to be found.  Well, he had acquiesced to my request, so I had to make good on my bargain.  I would play nice, but I would not be letting my guard down around this one anytime soon.  Not even for a moment.

“I’ll just take this to the back and throw it away.  Why don’t you have a seat here?  I’ll be back in a moment, and we can have that chat?”

“Of course, certainly.  Hurry back, my dear.”

I tried to walk nonchalantly back to the dressing rooms but had to fight the urge to run the entire way.  Of course, running in five-inch heels is not super easy, so that helped keep me at a normal pace.  Finally, I pushed aside the curtain, ducked behind a row of lockers and leaned against them in relief.  It was so nice to be out from under that intense gaze, those creepy AF eyes.  Seriously, WTF.

I looked down at the bottle in my hand and wanted to be rid of it that very moment.  I threw it into the nearest trash can and turned, but then I thought perhaps I had better try to destroy the contents, as well.  Call me pessimistic, but I could just see one of the other girls noticing it and breaking open the bottle to get at it.  After the experience I’d just had, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was laced with GHB or something.

I saw some chopsticks sticking out of the side of a styrofoam container in the bin, and I snatched one up along with the bottle and brought them both over to one of the sinks.  I started stabbing hurriedly into the bottle with the chopstick, breaking the bag open in as many places as I could, then turned one of the knobs on the sink, and stuck the mouth of the bottle under the running stream of water.  It fizzed slightly as it filled, and I poured out the contents, repeating this several times until I couldn’t see any more of the powder lurking inside. I threw the bottle back in the trash and was glad to have it over with.

Next, I knew I had to find a bouncer or management or someone and warn them about this guy.  I also had to go back and play nice.  I’d agreed to do that, and I would, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make sure he was being watched at all times.  I ran down the back hall calling Tony’s name, hoping the burly night manager would hear and come find me.  I was in luck.  He popped his head out of his office and frowned when he saw the look on my face.

“Lily…you ok?” he asked, honestly concerned.

“Yeah, I’m ok, really, but there is a weirdo creep out there that I would really appreciate you guys keeping an eye on for me.  He offered me drugs and he seems to maybe have some anger management issues.  I’m not saying throw him out.  I honestly think it’s better if we don’t piss him off any more than he already is, but I’d feel a lot better if you guys could keep an eye on him, just in case.  Make sure he doesn’t try to give drugs to any of the other girls tonight?”

“Of course, Lily, just point him out to me.”  Thank you, Tony.  He was kind of a meat head….and sometimes he could be a greedy prick, but underneath that he was a decent guy.

“Ok, well, I promised him I would come back out and talk for a minute if he would settle down, so just watch who I go sit with when I walk back out on the floor, ok?  I’m hoping Timmy will be here soon and I’ll only have to talk to him for a minute, but I would hate for him to take advantage of one of the other girls who aren’t as…you know…confident as I am.”

“Ok, I’ll swing around and come in the front entrance to the main floor.  Don’t worry, we can take it from here.”  He gave me a reassuring smile and started in the opposite direction.

I steeled my nerves and headed back out onto the floor.  He was still sitting in the exact same place, staring right at me as if he hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time I’d been gone.  It was a bit disconcerting, but I plastered a winning smile on my face and started forward.

I did a quick circuit of the room, looking for Timmy, but I still didn’t see him.  I did see a few people I recognized, though.  There was old Cyrus, sitting in his usual place at the front bar and chatting it up with our adorable new bartender, and there was Jim, the head lighting technician for one of the Cirque du Soleil shows, sitting near the entrance, getting a table dance from Isis. Then there was that hot, young, blonde guy again, off in the back corner by himself, as per usual of late. I thought I remembered one of the girls telling me his name was Kayden or Brayden or something.

He was a bit of an odd duck around here, coming in several nights a week, but strictly avoiding looking at any of the girls on stage, and never getting any dances.  I’d heard that he would occasionally pay a girl just to sit and talk with him, which wasn’t incredibly unusual, but was enough to set him apart, combined with his other odd behavior.  I supposed he could just be a really shy guy who wanted to sit and talk with a girl, and didn’t like to sit at home, alone.  The only problem with that theory was that he was gorgeous, and I couldn’t imagine him needing to come to a strip club and pay a dancer to talk to him.  Oh well, didn’t really matter to me either way.  This was my job, and I didn’t have time for anyone who didn’t want a dance.

I reached the table where Michael waited and sat down across from him.  He seemed to have mellowed in the last few minutes, and he even had a glass of wine in hand, as well as what appeared to be a Shirley Temple waiting on my side of the table.  The guy was so calm, the scene so typical, I wondered if perhaps I hadn’t overreacted a little.  But, no, there had been no mistaking the malice in his eyes before. I reminded myself, firmly, not to let down my guard.

“Lily…you came back.  I wouldn’t have blamed you for simply avoiding me the rest of the night.  I am truly sorry to have offended you.  I suppose I made an assumption about you based on other dancers I have known in the past, and that was not fair.  Honestly though, you are the exception to the rule on that particular topic.  I’ve never had any other girls refuse the offer.”

“Well, I am certainly not your typical stripper, I’ll give you that.”

“Even so, I feel wretched about the entire episode, and I would like to make it up to you.  I was told that your non-poison of choice is a Shirley Temple,” he smirked and gestured to the drink on the table.  “Please, I offer it in apology.  I will never again insult you with anything that would deprive you of the full use of your faculties.”

I looked at the drink hesitantly.  There was no way in hell I was gonna drink that, but I wrapped my hand around the cold, slick surface of the glass, so as not to seem rude.  Every look and gesture seemed to indicate he was genuinely remorseful, but I still felt a huge sense of unease from his proximity, my instincts warring with my interpretation of his presentation and demeanor.

“I suppose I might also have over-reacted a bit,” I began hesitantly.  “You just have to understand how many times I’ve watched girls lose themselves to drugs and addictions around here.  Seriously, if you’d seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t take these things lightly.  It ruins lives.  I watch it happen on a regular basis, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  I take it very seriously.”  My hand tightened around the glass in frustration, and I sighed, feeling myself cave in, ever so slightly.

“Really, you have to promise me you will never bring that stuff in here again.  OK?”  I looked up at him pleadingly, hoping he would see in my eyes just how heartbreaking it all really was.

“I swear on my life.  Never again, truly,” he responded, almost flippantly, as if waving away the matter entirely.

“Now, may I presume to offer a toast?  To…new friends and the keeping of solemn vows.”  He looked at me sincerely and gestured again to the glass in my hand.  What the hell, I thought…what is this guy’s deal?  He just did a complete emotional 180 in, like, half a second!

“To new friends, and the keeping of solemn vows,” I repeated robotically, ready to be done with this man and this conversation, to move on with my night.  I held my glass up to clink against his.  Out of habit, I brought the glass to my lips and began to tip it up to drink, when someone suddenly grabbed my shoulders from behind and startled me so much the glass fell from my hands and tumbled onto the floor.  Thankfully, I managed to jump out of the way in time to avoid staining my costume and the glass miraculously managed to not to break, the contents merely spilling onto the jaguar-print carpet.

“May I cut in,” Timmy had piped cheerfully, and then immediately began apologizing for startling me when he realized what his actions had just caused to happen.

“Timmy,” I spouted happily, a wide smile spreading across my face.  “Oh, don’t worry about it, someone will come clean it up.” I said in response to his apologies.  “I’m so happy you made it!”  I stood up from the chair so I could turn and give him a hug.

“Michael, I am so sorry about the drink, but I’m really glad we were able to put all of that behind us!  This is the man I told you I was expecting, so I’m gonna have to go now, but perhaps I will see you later on tonight?”

Michael narrowed his eyes and took a sip of his wine.  He brought up his glass again as if offering another toast and whispered, “Count on it,” but I’d already turned away and was walking, hand-in-hand with Timmy, toward the “champagne” room.