A False Dawn

SIXTY-EIGHT

The Club Xanadu was posh in a tacky kind of way. It was a cavernous club with plenty of seating in dark recessed areas away from the stage. A small chain hung across a flight of steps leading to a second floor. The sign in the middle of the chain read: VIP Only. On the stage, one dancer played to an audience of a dozen or so men. Her boredom was the only thing she was hiding.

Half a dozen women worked the room offering conversation and lap dances for hire. Ron Hamilton and I sat at a table away from the stage. His tie was lose, hair grayer than I remembered, dark circles under his eyes. He said, “This definitely isn’t your run-of-the-mill strip joint. The women all have the same type bodies and looks. Hand-picked from somewhere.”

“I always appreciated your powers of observation. Can you see what I see?”

“What’s that?”

“Lot’s of small cameras all over the room. If Santana is here today, he’s seen us.”

“We don’t look any different from the rest of the guys in here.”

“Maybe. But I’m thinking that if he’s the same perp from four years ago, he might recognize me. Remember the media frenzy? I hated to see my face in the papers.”

“Sean, you’ve changed. Job does that to us.”

A cocktail waitress approached our table. She said, “Hi, gentlemen. What can I get you?”

“Corona,” I said.

“Same thing,” Ron said.

She flashed a real smile and took an order from another table before going to the bar. The first dancer left the stage, slipped into a low cut dress and began working the room. She walked over to our table. Dark hair, black eyes, and smile that seemed as manufactured as her breasts. She said, “How about a dance?”

“Maybe later,” I said. I’d like to get to know you first.”

“Lot of guys just want somebody to talk to. My name’s Alicia?”

I said, “Sean and Ron.”

“Hi, Sean and Ron. Buy me a drink? ”

“Just don’t order champagne,” Ron said.

“Gottcha.”

The cocktail waitress brought our beers, and Alicia ordered a glass of white wine. She said, “I haven’t seen you fellas in here before. First time?”

Ron said, “Yeah, kinda hard to get out much anymore.”

“I understand. The wife factor, huh?”

“Something like that,” I said.

The cocktail waitress brought the glass of wine, set it in front of Alicia and said, “Gentlemen, you want to run a tab?”

I handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”

Alicia sipped from her glass. “I know all about the wife factor. This club is like a big ol’ group therapy place for men. Women got Oprah. Men got nobody.”

“Alicia,” I said, “Where’s Santana?”

She looked like she couldn’t swallow the sip of wine. She inhaled through flared nostrils. “I don’t know. I don’t see him.”

I saw her glance up at one of the hidden cameras. She positioned the wine glass in front of her lips. “Ya’ll cops? I haven’t done nothing.”

Ron said, “We didn’t say you did. All we want is a little information about—”

I cut Ron off, lifted my beer glass to my mouth said, “He reads lips, doesn’t he?”

She smiled and nodded with her eyes. “You got it, big guy.”

“He’s watching us now, isn’t he?”

“Maybe.”

“Alicia, what do you want to do when you move on from this profession?’

“I want to be an actress. Always wanted to since I was a little girl. First time I saw Sarah Michelle Gellar in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I knew I wanted to act.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling out a one hundred bill, folding it quickly, but giving her enough time to see the denomination. “This is you chance to act. I’ll take that lap dance, but what I really want is for you to whisper in my ear. Act like you’re telling me all the fantasies you think I want to hear, but you’re really responding to my questions. Okay?”

“I can do that.”

She stood and slipped off her dress. She wore nothing but a G-string. As the music started, she sat in my lap, and whispered in my ear. “What do you want to know?”

I could see the flash of glitter body makeup, smell her perfume, and feel the heat of her body against me. “Tell me everything you know about the person I mentioned.”

In a soft whisper she said, “He’s weird. Sort of a Michael Jackson weird, I guess. Real choosy about the girls he sleeps with. I’ve never done him. I wouldn’t. One of the girls, she’s doesn’t work here any more, told me about him.”

“What was her name?”

“She goes by the name Tabitha, but her real name is Robin Eastman. Anyway, she told me he showers before and after sex, and he shaves his body. Everywhere, even his friggin balls. No hair anywhere.”

“Where’s Robin?”

“She left a while back. Nobody’s seen or heard from her since.”

“Did she quit?”

“Don’t know. She would have told us bye if she quit. He probably had one of his managers fire her. Makes my skin crawl, the way he looks at you.”

“What color are his eyes?”

“Greenish, but I try not to look at his eyes.”

“Does he keep an office here?”

“I heard there’s an office above the VIP area, but I can’t say for sure it’s his.”

“How would you know if he’s here?”

“I’ve only seen him twice in the nine months I’ve worked here. There is a private entrance on the other side of the building.”

The music end. I handed her the money and closed her hand around it. “Good luck in your acting.”

“Thanks,” she said, zipping the dress up.