This was not Lavi's first time at a club. He had gone to a different one with a more suggestive name (the Black Rabbit) once before, but that had been after a particularly long and difficult week at work. After nearly drowning in cleavage, the bookman had pretty much sworn off clubbing. However, his working life had become tedious to the point of unbearably dull. He needed at least one night of blaring music and blinding lights to clear his head.

Lavi had arrived earlier than most customers. The dancers were not even here, yet-only a few scumbags who preferred to drink away their problems. Lavi teetered his glass with one finger, but he did not touch the amber poison inside. He was not partial to ruining his mind and limiting his senses by drinking toxin made to appear edible. He had merely bought the "beverage" so that the bartender would not kick him out before the real show began. Like most businesses, the Jade Club tended to be kinder to paying customers than browsing bums. If nothing else, Lavi had purchased himself a few hours of customer service.

The bookman watched the other customers with disinterest and dreaded all the work with which he would be tasked tomorrow, the forsaken Monday. In this way, he passed the time until the party-goers arrived. The change that overcame the entire club was vibrant and loud. The pale lights turned to flashes of pink and green, illuminating off of the tiles. The idle background music grew annoyingly loud, the low bass pounding its way into Lavi's eardrums with unnecessary force. Bodies flooded the club to move mindlessly to the music. Lavi watched the new arrivals, still uninterested. A few girls in scanty clothing strutted past, pointed at him, and snickered. Lavi eyed them dully. They were attractive, yes, but their brains could not keep up with their breasts. They were ornaments—pretty, but generally useless—lovely, but not beautiful. They were not the reason he was here.

Why was he here? He certainly had better places to be, but news had spread about a famous belly dancer without a name who would be coming to perform at this club. Lavi could appreciate a good performance, and he did not mind looking at pretty women.

"Hey, Cutie, you new here?" a girl appeared close to Lavi. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes clouded. She did not look completely inebriated, but she was definitely drunk. "Why don't we play a little?"

The girl tried to climb onto Lavi's lap, ignoring the bookman's attempts to pull away from her. "No, wait—" he protested.

"What's wrong, Good Boy?" she teased him. "Scared of getting your hands dirty?"

"That's not—" He was cut off by the feeling of her hand reaching between his thighs. Before he could stop himself, he was shoving her off of him. "Get off!"

The girl fell to the floor. She glared up at him with a hurt expression. "What's your problem?" she wailed, beating his leg with her uncoordinated fist, unsteadily standing, and stomping waveringly away.

Lavi watched her go, but his attention was distracted when the lights changed. They focused on the center of the stage where everyone was dancing. An announcement blared through the speakers: "Everyone, please step aside to welcome our guest performer, the nameless dancer come here for all your pleasure. Just remember: keep your hands off the merchandise."

The people all around made way, clearing a space for the guest performer. She was quite a sight, really. She was pale; even her hair was white. Her face was decorated with elaborate, red markings. Her left arm was a fleshy maroon color, and a green cross was tattooed on the back of her hand. Her outfit was nothing short of stunning. Her black-and-silver-sequined top hugged her shapely breasts. Beads draped down in front of her toned midriff, and her back was almost entirely exposed. She had short hair, so her angular shoulder blades could be seen jutting out against her skin. Her backside was covered by a triangular skirt bedazzled like her top to match. Her nails were painted black, and her skin was clear of blemishes, except for her arm and the markings on her face. Her gray-shadowed eyes—

were looking straight at Lavi.

It was just for a moment, but if Lavi's thoughts had possibly been somewhere else, they were now fixated on the dancer. The music started, and she began to dance. She moved slowly at first. Her hips seemed to move of their own accord, separated from the rest of her body. Her feet did not move very often, but, when they did, they only accentuated her movements. Her stomach muscles stretched and collapsed. Her shoulders rolled mesmerizingly both with and against her movements. Her arms were like serpents, weaving, waving, winding. A few people lewdly watched her, but she blocked them with some part of her body. She was smart and lovely. She was unique and talented. She was beautiful.

She danced for hours. Her skin glistened after all that time, but she did not seem to tire. Lavi watched her all the while, transfixed. Each time her eyes met his, his heart would beat painfully fast, and his face would heat up. He was grateful that all of the light was on her and not him. She finished her last dance with an astounding ending pose. The people watching her clapped and wooted. Lavi's hands met each other fiercely. He watched her bow once, twice, thrice, then step through the crowd to enter a backroom. Lavi felt a compelling urge to follow her, to talk to her, if only to compliment her incredible performance. Most of all, though, he longed to know her name. He waited, eagerly watching the door, but she did not reappear. He sighed. Well, he had seen for what he had come. Leaving his poison on the bar counter, he weaved through the crowd toward the exit. Fortunately, that intrusive, inebriated girl did not appear again.

Lavi started down the sidewalk. The buildings on either side of the street rose high above him, separated by individual alleyways. Cars followed close behind one another on the pavement. The concrete was wet with a recent rain, and the air reeked with the smell of pollution and cigarette smoke. God, he hated this place: the city. There was so much rush and business, and the air was positively suffocating.

As he stepped past the alley between the Jade Club and one of its neighboring buildings, he heard, buried within the background noise of the city, a faint, but audible, click of a door being closed. Lavi turned, and his heart skipped a beat.

It was her. She had changed into a loose-fitting T-shirt and overcoat. She wore sweatpants and tennis shoes. All of her clothing was some shade of white or gray. The change in her appearance was surprising, but, to Lavi, she was no less beautiful. She started down the alley in the opposite direction. Before Lavi could stop himself, he was following her. He was halfway down the alley by the time she turned around, a fire in her eyes, her stance strong, one hand guarding her face, and the other wielding an extended pocket knife that she had drawn from her jacket pocket. "Why are you following me?" she demanded.

"Whoa, whoa," Lavi stepped back and held up his hands. "I don't mean any harm."

"You don't, now." Her eyes glinted dangerously. "What do you want?"

"Um," Lavi's words stuck in his throat. He swallowed and brought them up again: "I-I just wanted to compliment your performance. You're a great dancer."

"Thanks," she replied shortly. "Now, if that's all you have to say, beat it." Still holding her knife at the ready, she turned with apparent care and took her leave, glancing over her shoulder from time to time to assure that the bookman did not pursue her.

"Wait." Lavi took one step forward.

She swiveled to face him. "What do you want, now?"

Lavi could not help feeling even more flustered. "I was, uh, just wondering if-if I could, um, get your number. Would that be alright?"

At first, she looked outraged. Then, her face curled upward in a mischievous grin. "Alright, sure. I'll give you my number."

"Oh, uh, thanks. Just a moment, please." Lavi scrambled through his pockets in search of his phone, found it in his coat pocket, and prepared to enter a new contact.

"Five, five, five—three, eight, two—five, six, three, three. Now, fuck off." She turned and strutted confidently away, even folding the knife and putting her hands in her pockets.

Lavi scrambled to type the number into his phone. When he looked up and saw her leaving, he called, "Thank you!" Before entering her name into the new contact, however, Lavi called the number. The tone rang three times before being answered by an old man who seemed rather irritated at being called by a stranger. The man was on the verge of an angry rant by the time Lavi hung up. Despite his disappointment, Lavi was relieved to know that the nameless dancer was too beautiful to let anyone soil her.