It's dark out and the apartment is quiet. I blink and look at the clock. 10:16. I yawn and pull myself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. I needed that; a long gloriously unconscious couple of hours . . . lot of hours.

After bathroom business comes hungry business. Dana business too since I have to see her face to face . . . that fact wakes me up pretty quickly. I don't know how I'm supposed to . be around her. I didn't face her today when I came home and I think if I did it would have put me in at the end of the line, more confused than I'm capable. And I'm not far from it anyway.

I make my way through a darkened room and then open the door to find . . . No Dana.

With a sloppy hand I find the lamp and click it on to flood the room with yellow light as the already whirling fan blows a gentle and ineffective wind. On the wooden table a white piece of paper flutters wildly under the little stone fertility statue I got a years back. The nearly-broad face of the orpiment stares back at me, reminding me what an asshole my college roommate was when he bought it for me after a pregnancy scare with my junior year girlfriend.

I reach over a snap up the paper to find Dana's small, loopy writing.

Harry. Had to go to work, be back after 3:00. There is leftover lasagna in the refrigerator and don't sit on the couch - I'll explain later. Dana.

She used put hearts all over her work and assignments but now it's just her neat script.

Why can't I sit on the couch?

Knock. Knock.

I drop the note on the table and go to the door, wiping my hand over my droopy eyes as I go. The door isn't locked and I should probably talk to Dana about that, like I need to get robbed on top of everything else.

"Lauren."

She's standing there with a self-doubt expression that asks 'Am I wrong to be here?'. I'm thinking . . . Yes.

"Hi, Harry. Can I come in?"

I nod and move to the side, I don't want to talk to her but I want to hear that I was right. Prideful bastard that I am.

"Look, I know I shouldn't have come but," she looks down, searching her words before her eyes go back to me. "I was wrong, I should have been more understanding. You just offered to take up general tutoring this summer and you didn't need to be saddled with my program too."

I nod again. She sees I'm not going to talk so she starts again.

"And, today, I don't know, I just needed confirmation. I wanted to know I was needed, after getting suspended and the whole thing with Daniel . . ." she trails off for my benefit but I don't need it. "I just needed something that I knew and was . . . Something that was familiar."

She stares straight at me with that and I know what she meant. She wanted me to pick up the pieces because that's what I do for her and it's what she does for everyone else.

"Please, Harry."

Shy eyes but determined. Her walk is slow as she approaches and she comes up, placing only one hand on my crossed arm. And I loosen my grip. And it's acceptance. She leans up and kisses me too slowly for what we both want.

**

"Brigitte, you're up in five!" Grainy yells. He's a boisterous and slimy, but just on the outside. Balding, nearly fifty and 5'3, he seems like a man who would screw you over for your last quarter and then push you down just to finish the job but it isn't really him, sure he's a jerk but he wouldn't cheat you out of a thing.

"Good tips tonight, good tips!" Casey smiles, waving various bills back and forth in front of my eyes. She's working a double tonight and I'm glad just so I can be around someone who makes me smile and has nothing to do with what's happening with where I live.

"I hope the tips are good because I really need the cash," I reply, dragging the full brush over my cheekbones while I stare into the mirror in the busy dressing room.

"Don't we all?"

"Brigitte! Go!" Grainy shouts.

**

"I really missed this," she whispers as her hands slide over my chest. My shirt is somewhere near the doorway and now she's found the button on my jeans. I don't say anything to her because she and I both know I don't want too. This isn't about her for me and it isn't about me for her. This is because she needs something that she knows and I just need . . . something.

I grab handfuls of her tight shirt and pull it upwards, she doesn't put her arms up right away, and I know I stretched the fabric but I don't care. Even if I know she does and is probably wondering how to repair the fabric and maybe clean the sink in a better way too. Finally it's gone and the simple white cotton bra is soon on the floor and my hands are filled with her breasts and her head is thrown back as I kiss her throat. But why does this feel so rehearsed?

**

The club is filled for a Friday night and half of my costume has found it's way off much to the pleasure of the gathering of yelling men. It used to be a cave-girl outfit with a fake fur top and skirt, then a bikini with tiger spots and . . . the boots. These boots are terrible, reaching my knee and covered in the most hideous, itchy white faux fur ever made.

I jut my hip out to one side for a thin man with brown hair and hesitant fingers that show a five-dollar bill. He slips it into the band of my bottoms before grinning widely like he conquered the world before he shouts.

"Take off the top!"

He better have five more minutes and twenty more bucks.

**

"Ugh!"

Her blonde hair is spread out on my pillow and her face is in a grimace as I touch her, slipping my fingers inside teasingly before leaving her again.

If I pause for a moment and look at her . . . I can almost see someone else in her place.

"M-ore," she demands as with tightly closed eyes. I blink away who could be here because she isn't and I don't want her to be . . . Yeah.

**

I breath a sigh of relief as I step back stage, an arm over my chest, two fists full of money and a bikini top thrown over my arm. I dragged my number out as long as I could and it paid off.

Dumping what I held on the long vanity I pulled the rest from my boots and bottoms, trying to sort it out with visions of textbooks dancing in my head. I'm up two more times tonight and if this is any indication it's going to be pretty good.

**

"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh."

Lauren grunts. Always. She never moans or sighs or says anything, she grunts. She did say my name once but it was long and drawn and it sounded like I was killing her. She's a cheap porno soundtrack all by herself.

But who cares.

I just grip her shoulders tighter as my arms curl under her back and I bury my face in her neck because I'm starting to think of who could be here - even if this wasn't about her anymore than it was about the grunting woman below me. Maybe it was.

Maybe I didn't know it.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh."

I thrust into her faster and harder and I know she likes it like that. She proves it to my by clawing my neck and I can feel the skin breaking under her French manicured nails as she grips me through the precautionary latex that covers me.

And now I know this isn't about me because if it was I wouldn't care that it doesn't feel like what I wanted. It doesn't feel like her, or what I think she could feel like. It's about her. And I don't mean the grunting blonde below me.

**

"Little guy, back corner," Grainy tells me.

I turn to see the skinny, shy guy from earlier that requested my top. He wiggles his fingers in a greeting and I scrunch my nose up before I can stop it, he makes me uncomfortable, and I know what Grainy meant. Private dance.

"No, I don't think so," I say as I turn back to the bar. I stare at my cola and circle my straw around in the dark liquid. I don't do private dances, even when I'm this hard up for money. I tried, once, when I first started here. I was grabbed and made me not want to do it again.

"Come on, Brigitte, when are you going to learn the real money is one on one?"

I turn to him with a wicked look and bite out, "When are you going to learn I don't do private shows? Back off, Grainy."

"Fine, fine. But, remember, while the other girls making all that good money you could be the one to swoop in there and take it all."

He leaves and I shake my head, cash or not, it isn't worth it.

I drop my straw back into the cola and look across the bar, a man has his back turned to me and, although I know it isn't Harry, he has the same hair color and it reminds me of him. When I left he was still sleeping, at least I think he was, I couldn't look in. Not after last night.

But he needs that, he was beat and he needed a couple of quiet hours to drift off. Except now he's probably trying to do some work that he forgot. Harry Senate may be a few things but a slacker on his work he is not.

I catch my reflection in the angled mirror over the bar and I can see that I'm smiling. I haven't done that in a long time, not for any real reason. It feels good to smile.

**

"I'm going to get something to drink," Lauren tells me with a sedated and bemused voice. She pulls herself away and heads for the kitchen, stopping to pick up my jersey and slip it over her head on the way. I watch her go and . . . this tryst didn't help me much.

Now I'd like her to go but she hasn't left yet, obviously. After we were finished I rolled off of her and just lay there, making no move to touch her again. Tried to be the typical male pig. But she curled up next to me anyway and cuddled right up.

The strange thing is it didn't bother me as much as her wearing my clothes. It's like a sign of claim and I don't want her thinking she's mine - despite what just happened. Anything that happened, because she never was she and mine never will be. I don't feel that for her, I never felt anything that passionate for her, strong enough to want her to be MINE and not just my girlfriend. Just someone I have respect for and then have sex with.

"Want some?" Lauren asks from the doorway, tipping the glass forward a little to offer me water.

"No, I should get to sleep, I have work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," she tells me and it's clear she knows I'm lying.

But I don't miss a beat. "I know, I have to tutor someone."

I just spit that one out but I actually do have to go tomorrow, a small tour for some of the freshmen that will be coming in. I guess they'd like to keep freshmen-stuffed-in-garbage-cans/lockers to a minimum by giving them the extra advantage of not asking for directions.

She nods stiffly and sets the glass down with a clunk before she comes in and rips her clothes off of the floor and heads to the bathroom. She's pissed and I don't care. Lauren used me just as much as I used her, we didn't do this to be with each other and have one of those sweet intimate moments. We did this because we each needed something and we got it, no matter how unfulfilling it feels in the end.

It was a mutual demand.

Human need.

But as the door bangs open as she stalks in I think that maybe I used her a little more.

She sits next to me on the bed and doesn't look at me even when I lift my head from the pillow while she roughly puts her sandals on. Slowly, very slowly, I place a hand on her back and she sighs, stopping before looking at me. I lean over and kiss her gently, I pull back to a slight smile, and I know she's appeased for now.

"I, I should go. I have a million things to do tomorrow and I don't want to drive back to my place in the morning and it's already half past one."

I nod because I didn't want her to stay anyway, didn't want Dana to see.

She kisses me again and stands, waving as she leaves. When I hear the front door close my eyes follow suit. I'm tired and grateful that I'm comfortable in my post coitus state but it doesn't feel as good going to sleep without the fake 'peachy' smells that have faded from the room since she slept here last.

**

"Good morning, girl. I'm going home," Casey yells as she leaves. It is morning, nearly 3:00 and I'm getting ready to go home too. Home to Harry. Harry my friend and not my romantic interest in the least.

The glitter on my arms from my last dance refuses to come off and it's the same way with the sparkling over my chest and cheeks but I just sigh and take off the g-string that's left from my violet mini skirt and tube-top costume. Not the easiest thing to bend over with when you don't wear a bra and customers grumble when you hold your breasts from falling.

But it was worth it; I haven't even counted it yet, but the thick wad of assorted bills won't even fit into the rubber bands on the dressing table. When the bands snap it is a GOOD sign.

I finish dressing and stuff the rest of my things into my backpack and leave the empty dressing room, with only an hour and a half left until they close there aren't as many dancers who stick around. The club is now filled with absurdly drunken patrons who usually have spent every cent on drinks or a dancer earlier in the night; there isn't much money to be made.

The back door automatically locks as it slams shut and I head up the small back alley behind 'Diva Divine', it's better this way then out the front with a group of guys who aren't too drunk to see that you are one of the dancers following behind.

"Now keep your mouth shut, you fucking bitch, or I'll slice you from ear to ear."

It was so quick I couldn't even think . . . There is a knife pressed to my throat and I can feel the tip already pushing into my skin. God, what's he going to do?

"Give me the money."

"I-I can't--" I try to say before he hits me with his right fist and I fall to the dirty asphalt.

He's ripping the bag from my arm and tearing it open. Make-up and the rest of my things fall beside me as I hold my throbbing jaw. That fucker, how could he do that to me?

When my curling iron falls next to my face I can see the metal glinting in the poor light and before I can think about it I grab it and sit up. I plunge it forward and I want to hit him in the nuts with it but the hit jarred my perception and I miss but he 'oomph's' anyway when I stab the blunt end in his gut.

"Fucking whore," he gasps. I don't feel the second punch until I'm already back on the ground from the impact. He's wheezing as he riffles through my bag again before pulling out the wad of bills. There's so much there, less than what I could make elsewhere but I never did need a well-known club when anyone who walks in could know Dana Poole was on the stage.

"No!" I scream. That's my money, I need that money for college! I jump for his legs and he tries to kick me off before I feel something warm on my left shoulder. I let go from shock and I can tell he stabbed me.

"Whore!" he shouts as I let go and fall back. He seems nervous, like he didn't really mean to do it. "You should have let go! You should have just let go!"

He turns and runs away and I realize that I didn't even notice what he looked like, with all that happened I didn't look.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I just need to calm down and I'll be okay. I sit up slowly and reach to touch my back, the green, short-sleeved shirt I have on is sliced like my skin, but now I know he didn't stab me. A long cut travels from my shoulder to almost the middle of my back, I think. It's a slightly slanted line, and it's bleeding. Badly. I grab for the green tank top I changed out of earlier and hold it to the red mess. I touch my face and one side is already swelling.

Slowly, with one arm holding the makeshift rag, the injured side of me gathers up my things and tries to put everything in my bag. It takes a few minutes but it gets done. I can't zip it so I just hold it, struggling to my feet. I need to get home.