A/N: My thank yous to Team Jazzward for your help with this chapter. xx

DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but if you're here, you knew that already. ;)

-FONO-

The two rehearsals prior to Miss Swan's performance go as I expect, and I have no trouble with her music, committing it to memory easily. I'm surprised to find her set list includes several instrumental numbers, featuring members of the band, but she informs me it's necessary for her costume changes.

When I arrive at the club on Saturday evening, I walk down the steps just beyond the gate, giving the password for this week after a small window behind the grill slides open.

"Jerry sent me."

When the unmarked door creaks open, I slip past Henry, one of our lookouts, who closes the door behind me and returns to his perch on a stool in the small room that is no bigger than a closet, facing the street.

"Evening, Mr. Masen."

"Evening, Henry."

"How's it looking?"

He points toward the stack of cards he's collected from arriving patrons. "Not an empty seat in the house. See for yourself. Two of diamonds."

I nod in understanding.

Two knocks. Red light. Diamond frame on the wall.

If a customer can't decipher Henry's directions, they will find themselves entering the back alley behind the building and without their entry card for one of the most private clubs in the city. There are no second chances to get it right.

Normally, I enter through the back entrance, but Felix deemed it unavailable for tonight. I weave my way between the dark corridors, many appearing to be dead ends. Only a select few know there are hidden doors concealing access into the neighboring buildings that house the large stores of Mike's liquor supply.

In the event the police ever get past the side door unexpectedly, Mike has a maze-like system in place for guiding them to a storage room filled with wooden crates of artwork and other furnishings.

In order to get a card and the weekly password, a patron would need to visit the restaurant upstairs or the bakery down the street, both owned by Mike's family, and order "Mike's favorite cannoli," which isn't on the menu." The password gets you in the side door, but with a card you'll get the next code for finding the right door to enter the club.

Pausing next to a red light and a wall with a diamond-shaped frame of one of Mike's Italian relatives, I knock twice on the wall. A door carefully concealed by various moldings opens to another hallway, leading to the main room.

I stare out over the dimly lit room filled with hazy smoke and raucous laughter. Women cloaked in furs and wearing the latest beaded dresses flirt shamelessly with men dressed in finely tailored suits while puffing away on cigars.

Mike's stock of gin and whiskey flows freely, keeping Jimmie busy preparing the latest cocktails for a night of fun and frolic. Happy to see such a great turnout, I'm shocked when I finally find Mike hiding away in his office with his own bottle of whiskey, stressing over tonight's anticipated performer.

"She'll be here, Mike," I promise, as he refills his glass. "Stop worrying. You know how women can be."

"But this is Miss Swan. Have you known her to be late yet?"

"Well, no."

"She said she would be here half an hour ago. I wonder what's causing the delay."

"She isn't supposed to go on until nine. There's plenty of time. The more everyone drinks the better. The band is tuning up and we will start playing soon."

"Good. That's good. At least everyone will be in place, then I'll need to introduce her once she's here."

"It will be a great night, Mike. You only need to worry about counting all of your money."

The back door near his office swings open loudly, getting our attention, and Mike and I jump up to see who it is. Two burly men walk inside—one carrying several suitcases while another has a small trunk. They're followed by a woman who I don't recognize.

"Right in here, I believe." The woman directs them to the dressing room next to Mike's office.

Mike halts her progress beyond his office door. "Excuse me, I don't believe we've met."

"Oh, I'm here to assist Miss Swan for the evening. My name is Jessica Stanley." She holds out her gloved hand for him to shake.

Mike sags visibly in relief at her words, taking her hand in his. "Oh, thank goodness. Miss Swan is on her way?"

"She will be here soon. Are you Mr. Newton?"

"Yes."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Newton." She winks, flicking away her long hair and giving us a clear view of her ample cleavage.

Mike's smile widens at this woman's not-so-subtle flirtations and his eyes never leave her chest. "Oh, no, Miss Stanley. The pleasure is all mine."

"Miss Stanley." A familiar voice warns as I notice Felix standing behind Miss Swan's assistant. "Let's keep moving."

"Right. Sorry. I need to set everything up. Maybe you can buy me a drink later, Mr. Newton?"

"You can count on it," Mike promises, as his eyes roam Miss Stanley's departing hourglass figure.

She hurries toward the dressing room as Felix's imposing form fills the hallway.

"Gentlemen, I'm going back to the hotel for Miss Swan." He nods toward the two men, exiting the dressing room. "They're with me."

The men take their posts—one at the door to Miss Swan's dressing room and the other moves into position, standing next to the back door.

"No one in or out of either door except me or Miss Stanley. Understood?"

At their nods, Felix departs, and we walk down the hallway past her dressing room, and look out over the excited crowd.

"At least her costumes are here," I reassure.

"Yeah. I wonder if Miss Stanley can sing."

"Miss Stanley?"

"Yeah. When Miss Swan leaves on Monday . . ."

There's a flutter in my stomach at the mention of her departure. Even though she's been here less than a week, she's affected everyone she's encountered, including me. I may have developed my own soft spot for her, and I'm filled with disappointment at not getting to know her better.

". . . I've got to find someone to take her place and keep the money flowing. Sam Uley and his band aren't cheap, but I'll hang onto them for as long as I can."

"Maybe he knows another singer?" I suggest.

"He mentioned a dancer—an Indian who wears a skimpy costume of beads and feathers. She could be an opening act, you know, a taste of the exotic to get everyone's blood pumping before the main course."

"Sounds like one of those Ziegfeld girls that used to dance at the Illinois Theatre."

"That's right. I miss those days when we could catch the Ziegfeld Follies and those barely there costumes of lace and pearls. Now they only show movies, but it's a great place to go for necking with the right girl or even the wrong one if she's willing."

At his mention of necking, my mind instantly goes to Miss Swan. It isn't the first time I've wondered what kissing her red lips would feel like. But she doesn't seem like the type of woman who would share her kisses so freely as many of the women here tonight are doing.

I spot Mary Alice with a few friends who I know how their lips feel and other softer more private areas. I return her wave with a nod, sending her entire table into a fit of giggles. I scan the room, noticing many familiar faces, but a lot of new ones too.

"It's a full house. Great job."

"Thanks, Edward."

The back door opening draws us away from the crowd, and Mike lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when he sees Felix walking down the hallway. He stops at the dressing room door but turns, blocking Miss Swan from our view as she ducks into the room with the door closing quickly behind her.

"Finally." Mike sighs in relief.

With the arrival of Miss Swan and the band in place, it's time for me to take my spot.

I pat Mike on the shoulder. "It looks like it's shaping up to be a night to remember."

"Let's hope."

A/N: Thanks for reading. xx