Catch a Falling Knife

complete control of her movements. She received the loudest applause and most cheers of any of the dancers. There were so many bills on the stage that it took her a while to collect them all. While she did several men yelled, “Take off the mask.”
    Her brightly lipsticked mouth smiled, she waved to the audience, money and bra in hand, and the curtains swallowed her. I looked at Albert. He stared after her, his mouth slightly open. She had affected him so much that he had forgotten to hide it.
    “I’m going to the restroom,” I said, and stood up before he recovered enough to respond. I made my way to the doorway with signs indicating that men’s and women’s rooms (thank goodness) existed in that direction. It was the same doorway I had seen several of the dancers take men through for lap dances.
    I used the women’s restroom—the beer was getting to me—and as I came out I noticed another door, leading to…where? The lap-dance area and the dressing rooms? I opened the door and entered a dimly lit hallway with music blaring from hidden speakers.
    I closed the door behind me and glanced to the right. I saw what looked like openings to several cubicles. The head and bare back of one of the girls suddenly appeared out of the first one, her hair flying, her body gyrating. She disappeared and then reappeared and bent over backwards until her hair touched the floor. Her naked body was toned with muscle, but still feminine, and I had to admit that she exuded an animal eroticism. I hoped her victim—or customer—was enjoying her attentions.
    I turned the other way and saw brightness. I went around a corner and found myself at the entrance to the dressing room. I looked inside; the walls were hung with the traditional mirrors, surrounded with naked light bulbs. Several of the girls sat in front of mirrors, in various stages of undress, working on their faces. I looked around for the Shooting Star, but none of them had her body type, with or without a mask.
    One of the blond dolls spotted me in the mirror, turned around and said, “Well, howdy, Grandma. Are you the new dancer?”
    The others guffawed and I smiled, saying, “I’m looking for the Shooting Star.”
    “You and the rest of the whole friggin’ world,” the girl who had greeted me said. “She ain’t here.”
    “But she just came offstage a few minutes ago.”
    “She came through here just like her name—ssswishhh—she almost always does that, and went out there.” She pointed to a door with an Exit sign over it.”
    “Isn’t she doing another show tonight?”
    “Oh, she’ll be back. She comes waltzing in here about ten minutes before her gig, wearing this gigantic jacket with a hood and her mask. Underneath, she’s wearing her costume so all’s she has to do is take off the coat and she’s ready to go on.”
    “Do you know her name?”
    “Honey, nobody knows her name. She’s about as friendly as a mud fence. I don’t think even Lefty knows her right name.”
“Lefty? Is he the guy who takes the money and announces the dancers?”
    “Naw, Lefty’s the boss. Stays in the back and counts the money. When he’s not in here copping feels.” The girls laughed. “Makes sure we always get screwed out of our rightful share. Why are you so interested in the Star, anyway? She’s just a stuck-up little slut, getting her jollies by provoking the customers we worked our asses off to get. She’ll be gone in six months when something else grabs her attention.”
     “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I think you’re all great dancers. And thanks for your help. My name is Lillian, by the way.”
    “I’m Cherub,” the blond said. “This here’s Francie, Dixie and Jewel. Sounds like a friggin’ law firm.”
    They all laughed and I joined them. “Do you have a…business card or something, Cherub?” I asked.
    “Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact.” She dug around in her purse and produced a slightly creased card, which she handed to me. “You writing a book or something?”
    “It’s an idea. In any case, I need to talk to the Shooting Star. If you learn any more about her, would you give me a call?” She agreed and I wrote my name and phone number on the back of another of her cards. Then I said, “Well, I’d better get back out there. My son will be wondering where I am.”
    “Not many mothers would bring their sons to a place like this,” Cherub said. “Is it his birthday or something?”
    “Something like that. At the