What're you doin' here? You got a wife and a kid at home. It's a good home and you pay your mortagag with a good job. Good family, good home, good job, you got everything goin' for you; why are you here? You got a dark side, don't you, Dan? You got problems Roderika wouldn't understand. She even reads about them in the paper, it's just nobody figured out a Hungarian with a family is behind it.
And that's why you find yourself sitting here in a redded heap, in the tedious part of town at Cherrie's Jubiliee, the gentlemen's club. You come here everynight you can get away- even in the pouring down rain- but you just gotta see her. Your new favorite: the one with the golden hair and that wild look in her eyes. She dances like some kind of jungle godess and when she locks her eyes on you, it's like she's reading your mind and telling you it's all gonna be just fine. They kick you out if you try to get back stage but you know if you ever could talk to her, she'd understand you. You'd tell her about the constant struggle to keep yourself together. You'd tell her about how nobody ever gets you. And your girl, she'd smile sadly, take you by the hand and say she'd knew "just the thing to cheer you up." You've been dreaming about her for so long, you sometimes forget you've never met her.
Anyway, here you are. You slip off your wedding ring and shove it in the glove compartment along with some maps and a package of chocolate that came with the rental. You pull off your tie, too. Inside, a waitress asks your pleasure while she leans over, giving you a VIP tour of her chest. You don't want anything, but you order a beer to past the time while some blond bimbo on stage bucks and trots and swings a lasso like she can't decide if she's the cowgirl or the cow. Some collage boys up front were whistleing and cheering. They're low class; they cheer for any bare flesh they get. Oh, not you. It's all just skin to you until your girl comes on. And when she does, you won't cheer or whistle or tell her how to move. You just watch and show her with your eyes how much she means to you.
The blond finishes her act and prances back stage. That's when the music changes. You hear drums- navaho drums, low at first and then pounding in time with your heart. That's just an old cassete tape but it means one thing to you- her. With her short gold hair billowing around her in wild vines she arrives onto centre stage as if conjouring up something wicked. The spotlights hit the sweat droplets on her skin just right, bathing her in a hundred diamonds. You notice she missed one of her usual steps right there... that's alright. As the music grows louder, she dips and twirls, crawls and snarls, and just like every other night you dream it's all for you. Except tonight... well, tonight it is. About time. You love this girl, she must know. She gives you that special look now and then. What if it's not just a play for your money like all the others who have disapointed you before? You could be wrong, but you'll never know unless you try. And if they kick you out of the club, you'll take it as a sign. You'll go back to your wife and never come back to Cherrie's again. Maybe it would even break you of your unsavory habits.
You get up from your table and head twards the door, painted in red peeling letters, 'Staff Only'. When you get there, you tell the burley bouncer standing guard that your an attorney for the club's owner, and you just need to have a word with- well, he's not even paying attention; probably can't even hear you over the music. So you turn the knob and open the door just like that and he doesn't even stop you, and you take that as a sign that this was meant to be. Past the door, there's a hallway. It's quiet here. A buzzing light flickers overhead. You're careful not to brush against the wall- it's not clean here. When you turn the corner, she's there, waiting for you. It's just like your dreams. She takes your hand and with a sweet smile guides you back to the dressing room where there a no bouncers, no other dancers, just you and her. How could she know what you've been dreaming about all this time? Is she really so perfect? You see a pair of scissors on a counter and you wish you can take them and cut off a peice of her golden twine hair to keep with you always. You want her eyes in a jar to take out and look at every now and then.
And then bang. Reality catches up to you in a rush. Your angle is slamming you down on a grimey valor sofa with God-knows-what in every creveis. She tearing- no- DIGGING at your collar with nails like talons. This isn't like your fantasies at all. You always imagined that her wild animal stage persona was just a cover to disguise the lost little girl inside. You thought she'd cling to you. Now, she's kneeling over you like a wild dog, those freak finger nails drawing blood as they peirce your shoulders. Her pretty face screwed up in a grotesqe expression of something you can't name because you've never seen it on a human face. Her eyes are like wolves' eyes. God, what is she...? This is not what you wanted! Images of Roderika asleep at home play in your thoughts as you struggle in vain. She thinks you're out being a slave to your job. You close your eyes for a second then imagine you waking her up to beg her forgivness. You'd tell her everything. Maybe she would understand? Something wet hits your cheek and you hear a low, gutteral growl. You don't want to see, but her rancid breath takes you by surprise. When you look, all you see is a wall of massive teeth, dripping with siliva. It all goes black after that.
But you're not dead yet. No, that just means she started with your face, and by the sound of her screaming she'll probably go for your throat next. Sensitive ears, ya'know? The bad news is, they never find the siliva-slasher. Good news is, Roderika never finds out it was you. She just thinks you skipped town with some stripper named Cyote Cat.