by Ray Garton
The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed.
Music began to play, soft and slow, mournful and somehow reverent. The tune was unsettlingly familiar. A spotlight came on as something began to descend from the darkness above the stage, something white and rectangular. As it was slowly lowered, the music became louder and richer. Only when Davey realized what the object was did he recognize the song.
It was a white cross floating down to the stage, and the song was an old church hymn Davey remembered from his days in Sunday school. He found himself remembering the words:
"On a hill far away ... stood an old rugged cross ... the emblem of suffering and shame..."
The cross came lower ... and lower...
"...and I love that old cross ... where the dearest and best ... for a world of lost sinners was slain..."
The base of the cross gently came to rest on the floor of the stage and the soft, sorrowful music exploded with wailing guitars and thunderous drums. Red light bled over the cross and two dancers, a man and a woman, leaped from the darkness behind it.
The man wore only bulging bikini briefs and a clerical collar. He had bushy dark hair that swept around his head as he danced; shadows rippled over his sleek, muscular body.
The woman wore a black and red teddy and a nun's cowl over her long black hair. It was Anya.
They writhed around the cross, their movements sensual and flowing, then they closed in on it like sleek, predatory animals. They put their hands on it, caressed it, pressed their bodies to its sides, rubbed themselves against it. Anya wrapped one leg around the bottom of the cross and slid her crotch up and down its edge; her head fell back limply, mouth open and eyes closed, and her long hair swayed from beneath the cowl. The man locked his hands around the top of the cross and squatted until his jutting knees flanked the base; he thrust his hips forward several times before standing.
As the man stepped away from the cross, Anya held it to her, lifted it, and began dancing with it as if it were a partner.
The music throbbed like the pulse of an aroused giant.
The light changed from red to white to red again.
The man danced around Anya as she twirled and dipped the cross. She tilted it, straddled it, and began riding it like a lover.
Davey sipped his drink as he watched her. He noticed, as he lifted the glass to his lips, that his hand was trembling. Something deep inside him squirmed. A small remainder, perhaps, of his childhood, when his mother would dress him up on Sunday morning, lead him by the hand to the small church a few blocks away where he would squirm through Sunday School and the endless services. Hymns like “The Old Rugged Cross,” which was now thundering through the walls around him, an entirely different song now with its erotic beat, propelling the two hard, glistening bodies over the stage.
The song's words echoed in his head and his mind's ear heard them sung by his mother, her voice high and breathy and slightly off-key.
"And I'll cherish the old rugged cross ... till my trophies at last I lay down ... I will cling to the old rugged cross ... and exchange it someday for a crown."
For a moment, the voice was so vivid in his mind that he was afraid if he turned to his right, he would see her beside him, hymnal in her hands.
He blinked his eyes several times, dissolving the memory but not the guilt. Childish guilt. And he knew why it was there.
Because he enjoyed the feeling of the music rattling his bones. And he especially enjoyed Anya humping the cross with abandon, her tongue sweeping around her sparkling lips.
She slowed her movements, swinging her head to the beat of the music. Setting the cross upright, she stepped back and the man grabbed it, danced with it, then set it on its side. He lifted the base of it off the floor until it was sticking from between his legs like an enormous erection. He began sliding his hands up and down the shaft, rolling his head slowly as Anya danced around him. She dropped to her knees before him and wrapped her arms around it, opened her mouth wide, and began sliding her head along its length. The music became louder and more frenetic; the man bucked and writhed orgasmically.
They both stood, righted the cross, and flanked it, still moving with the beat, and backed away from the cross, slowly disappearing into the darkness. The music became deafening as it neared its finish. On the final roaring chord, the cross burst into flames; the flames instantly disappeared in a whump of purple smoke.
A spotlight shone on the pillar of smoke as it shifted and snaked through the air, gradually clearing to reveal a tall figure.
The music stopped.
Applause shattered the brief silence. Hoots and whistles rose above the sound of clapping hands.
Davey stared slack-jawed through the remaining wisps of smoke. After a moment, Davey began to applaud with the others.
The woman standing in the circle of light wore a black mask with glittering silver fringe and fine screens over the eyeholes. Only her mouth and chin were visible. She smiled at the crowd and raised her arms in greeting. Her sleeves bunched around her elbows, revealing shapely arms with unblemished, fair skin.
“Thank you!” she said loudly. She had no microphone, yet her voice carried quite clearly above the applause. She lowered her arms. “Thank you very much. Anya and Marcus—our dancers!"
Anya and her partner came out and took a bow. The applause swelled; there were more cheers. When the dancers slipped back into the darkness, the audience quieted down.
“Welcome to the Midnight Club,” the woman continued. “For those new to this establishment, I'm Shideh, your host."
There was more applause, but she raised a quieting hand.
“Thank you, but that's not necessary. We have a full evening of entertainment ahead and we've hardly begun."
Davey was certain he had never seen her before. But there was something oddly familiar about her. The folds of her purple and black costume moved gracefully over her curves. A diamond-shaped opening over her chest revealed pale, smooth flesh and deep cleavage. Her hands were large and elegant and somehow powerful.
“...want you all to relax now and enjoy yourselves,” she went on. “For some, it's late. But here it's early, and the evening has just begun."
There was a flash of light, smoke billowed up from the floor and swallowed Shideh. The disembodied band appeared once again, and when the smoke began to clear, Shideh was gone.
When the music ended, the comedian came onto the stage and introduced himself. He was stylishly thin, stylishly dressed.
Davey looked around, hoping to see Anya again; he could not spot her in the crowd. He wondered if she would come back out at all. As his eyes scanned the smoky room, he noticed the side door opening. The black woman came out first; Cedric followed close behind. He escorted her back to her table.
She moved differently, slower, with less bounce in her step. A languid smile rested on her lips. Cedric seated her, touched her shoulder, and walked away. The other women leaned toward her and began chattering. She simply closed her eyes, smiled, and gently nodded.
“...but everybody seems to be afraid of death, am I right?” the comedian said. “Now me, I look at it this way. Dead people don't have to deal with public parking, you know what I mean?"
There was scattered laughter.
“ ... had a girlfriend die on me once,” the comedian went on. “Right in the middle of sex. She was giving me head and then she was dead."
A few quiet laughs.
“Only good thing was she didn't gag when I came in her mouth."
A roar of laughter and applause.
A hand came to rest on Davey's shoulder and he looked up with a jerk.
Anya smiled down at him.
Davey started to stand but her hand pressed on his shoulder and she laughed. “No, no, don't get up,” she said, seating herself. She wore a simple black and white dress with spaghetti straps. A necklace of tiny, glittering white beads hung from her slender neck.
Davey smiled and leaned toward her. “I ... I'm very impresse
d. You're an incredible dancer. Really, I've never seen anything”—he cleared his throat—“like that."
“Thank you, Davey."
“In fact,” he continued, “this whole place is like nothing I've ever seen before. I'm overwhelmed."
She raised her hands beneath her chin, her elbows propped on the table. “We take great pride in that."
Davey cocked a brow. “We?"
“Something to drink?” the waitress said, standing beside Anya.
“Yes,” Anya said. “House special for me and another of those for my friend."
“Oh, no,” Davey said. “I don't..."
Anya put her cool hand on his and Davey's whole arm tingled. She leaned toward him. “It's on me,” she said.
The waitress left.
Anya's hand remained on his.
“It's not every day,” she said, “a devoted fan waves me down on the street, you know.” She slid her hand away slowly.
“That dance...” Davey said.
“Irreverent, wasn't it?” She smiled mischievously.
“I recognized the song."
“Yes? Are you a churchgoer, Davey?” She gave him a sidelong look and smirked.
“Well, not anymore. I used to be. When I was a boy. But I've long since”—he chuckled—“veered from the straight and narrow path."
“Haven't we all.” Anya looked around the club. “Yes, the entertainment here is a bit out of the ordinary. Like him.” She nodded toward the comedian. “His humor is too ... oh, too dark, I suppose, for most tastes. But he fits in here."
“The woman with the white hair,” Davey said. “Does she always wear a mask?"
“Whenever she has an audience. Shideh is very theatrical. She prefers to surround herself with mystery. You met her earlier. She runs the token cage at Live Girls most of the time."
“That was her?” Davey asked, his brows rising with surprise. “It was so dark I couldn't see her."
“See what I mean?” She narrowed her eyes dramatically and said in a loud stage whisper, "Mystery!"
The waitress returned and set down their drinks. Anya's was in a tall clear glass; it was brownish red and looked thick.
“What is that?” Davey asked.
“House special. It's for employees and members only."
“This is a members-only club?"
“Not exclusively, no. Nonmembers have to pay more and make reservations well in advance."
“How do you become a member?"
She smiled. “There's a long waiting list. And it's expensive. Very expensive."
Davey's attention was torn. He was fascinated by his surroundings, but he could not take his eyes from Anya. She sipped her drink, produced a cigarette, and lit it. Every angle of her face, her body, was pleasing to the eye; every move she made was beautiful.
One side of her mouth rose in a half smile. “You're staring,” she said quietly.
He blinked and turned away. “I'm sorry.” Looking again at the closed door across the room, he asked, “What's in there?"
“Why do you ask?"
“Just curious.” He shrugged.
Her fingers curled around her glass and her nostrils flared delicately. “Rest rooms,” she said simply. Her expression made no attempt to hide the untruth of her reply. She seemed entertained by his curiosity, but a brief coldness in her eyes suggested he not pursue it.
Davey sipped his fresh drink. It was stronger than the first and went down heavily.
“Will you be dancing again tonight?” he asked.
“Once more, then I'm done."
“Do you have any plans after work?"
“I was going to go home. Why?"
“Well, I thought maybe we could go have a drink, or something."
What am I doing? he thought. Beth just walked out on me, Casey wants to start something, and I'm pursuing this total stranger who ... His eyes moved slowly over her perfect face.... who is absolutely gorgeous.
“We're having a drink here,” she said.
“I mean someplace a little quieter. I'd...” He ignored his apprehension and folded his arms on the table as he leaned toward her.
Anya tilted her head back a bit and cocked a brow, prompting him.
“I'd like to get to know you,” he said.
She smiled with satisfaction. "Would you, Davey?"
“Yes."
“Are you sure that would be a good idea?"
“Why wouldn't it?"
She smoked her cigarette and sipped her drink, closing her eyes as the rim of the glass touched her lips.
“Surely you have a wife? A girlfriend?” she asked. “You seem to be a nice, respectable fellow. I would think you'd have someone."
“You say that as if you aren't nice and respectable."
“Well.” She shrugged. “Some wouldn't think so."
“I'm not some. You seem very nice to me. And I'm ... I'm very attracted to you."
She chuckled behind closed lips, watched him closely, then stood, putting out her cigarette.
“Well?” Davey said. “What about later?"
She lifted her drink as if to sip it, considered it a moment, then placed it back on the table.
“Meet me in the front lobby after my next performance,” she said, her hand resting on the glass. “We'll go to my place."
Davey nodded, vaguely uncomfortable under her unwavering gaze.
“You're not going to finish your drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I won't be needing it."
7
____________________________
THE MOMENT DAVEY STEPPED INTO ANYA'S DARK, CHILLY apartment, she embraced him, opened her mouth, then closed it over his, running her tongue across his lips.
Davey stiffened—partially because the kiss was such a contrast from the cool behavior she'd exhibited all night and partially because her tongue was so startlingly cool—then slowly relaxed and put his arms around her.
Anya pulled her head away.
“You're not getting boyish on me, are you, Davey Owen?” she asked. “It was your idea to get together."
“Yeah, I know. I just..."
She laughed. It was filled with genuine pleasure.
“You didn't expect this all at once?"
“Not really,” Davey said. “No."
“But it's what you wanted, isn't it?"
He nodded.
Her eyes examined his face carefully. “You're a very weak person, Davey,” she said quietly.
He flinched. Davey remembered what Casey had told him the day before.
You have no spine.
“Why do you say that?” he asked with an edge to his voice.
She smiled. “Because you're here."
Taking his hand, Anya led him through the living room. The windows were open and white curtains fluttered in the cold wind like ghosts. Down a hall, she took him into a bedroom.
She turned and kissed him again, and slipped a hand between the buttons of his coat.
Davey sucked in a breath at the chill of her palms through his shirt. She drew his tongue deeply into her mouth. When Davey put his hands on her back, he felt bare skin, soft as a baby's and cool from the night air. She lifted one leg and pressed it between his, against the hard lump in his pants. When Davey stepped back to take his coat off, he saw that her dress lay crumpled around her feet. She slipped her shoes off as his coat fell to the floor, then led him by the hand to her bed, pulled the covers back, and began unbuttoning his pants. Davey put his hands on her breasts, and caressed the round undersides with his fingers.
Davey undressed slowly with trembling hands as she kissed his face. He remembered the look in her eyes when he first saw her behind that smeared glass in the booth, that look that promised so much. This is what that promise had been, the fresh, clean smell of her, the way his skin tingled when she touched him. She pulled his undershorts down and kissed his erection, then licked her way back up over his stomach and chest to his throat. He touched her thick black hair an
d kissed her temples, her eyes.
There was nothing in the darkness but her skin and her smell and her hands, nothing in his life but her breasts and lips, her tongue and her teeth tugging gently at his flesh. He hadn't lost his job, Beth hadn't left him, he didn't live in a huge, dirty city that sat on an island like a dark, hunkering beast waiting to gulp down anything that wandered by. His whole body quivered as he fought the urge to furiously devour her beneath him.
He wanted it to last, to linger, so he forced his movements to come slowly.
“You like this, Davey Owen?” she asked him. He could not see her lips in the darkness but he could feel them moving against his shoulder. “You like all this?"
Davey tried to speak, but couldn't.
She rolled over and knelt by him; her hair swung lightly over his face and shoulders.
“You like surrendering yourself like this, don't you, Davey?"
Surrender? he thought, but the word dissolved in his mind and fluttered away like a breath of vapor on a cold night. He ran his hands down her slender body as she leaned forward and kissed his neck and ears, his throat, his chest.
Davey tried to reciprocate, to kiss her and touch her in return, but his energy seemed to be flowing from his body, leaving him through every spot of flesh touched by her tongue, her lips, her fingers.
Anya wrapped her fingers around his moistening penis and slid her hand up and down slowly.
Davey moaned and lifted his pelvis toward her.
She gently rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock and touched his testicles lightly with her fingertips.
“You want to be in my mouth again, don't you?” she whispered.
He wanted to reply, but his lips would not come together. He nodded, eyes closed, chin jutting, and she put her lips on him, teasing him with her mouth, running the tip of her tongue along the bottom of his shaft, and then, as she had in the booth, she plunged her mouth down on him, all the way to his groin, and began lifting her head up and down, up and down, while Davey's whole body squirmed and shifted over the mattress. He gulped air and moaned, touching her head with his hand; his arm was so weak he couldn't hold it up and it slid heavily back down to the bed.
