Very suddenly the music stopped, the remaining dancers scampered quickly away and the whole club went virtually pitch-black, except for a few lights on the bar, a few cigarette and slot machines and the exit signs. After a minutes silence, punctuated by the odd hiss and shout for absolute quiet, a simple drum roll started at a low level and gradually rose in intensity and complexity. As an almost royal fanfare commenced, a single, very strong spotlight shone up into the girders of the high roof, to see Lucinda still dressed in the striped shirt, but now chastely buttoned almost to the neck, sitting calmly and serenely on a circus-style trapeze.

Russ jumped to his feet and punched the air, as he led the whistles, yells and cheers that erupted from the crowd. As an unseen mechanism lowered Lucinda slowly and gently to about eight feet above the runway, followed all the time by the shaft of brilliant light, she waved enthusiastically to the crowd, which responded by increasing their level of appreciation. When the trumpets and the drums stopped, she asked for silence with her hand and the crowd instantly obeyed to wait expectantly for the real show to commence.

***

They did not have long to wait, as within a few seconds, an old Rolling Stones hit blasted from the speakers and to a gasp from the audience, which was now all crowded around her, Lucinda somersaulted from the trapeze, landing precisely on her feet. She called for and was thrown a radio-microphone built into a Madonna-style headset by Jacob and then proceeded to strut up and down in an impersonation of the incomparable Mick Jagger.

'Well, boys!' She was shouting to be heard above the sound of Satisfaction. 'What, do you want me to do now?'

Various shouts from the simple 'Off, off' through the more grammatically-correct 'Take your clothes off' to the downright crude were returned and they gradually degenerated into a loud chant and a shrieking whistle. Those at the front were thrusting five, ten and even twenty-dollar bills towards the stage.

'Boys, boys!' She could just be heard. 'It's all going to cost. Jacob! I think with this audience, I'm going to need help from a pail?' Jacob had obviously been prepared and she caught the handle of the blue plastic bucket with her right hand. She then continued to slowly dance and swagger up and down, blowing and dispensing kisses, presenting just her feet to receive favours, skilfully avoiding grasping hands and pouting lips, and collecting the initial offerings.

The chanting had increased again and placing the bucket on the dance-floor, she started to dance vigorously and with a passion, that most of the other dancers had lacked. Her smile was wide, sexy and certainly not forced and she was obviously enjoying herself, as she played and milked the exuberant audience for all it was worth. She was revelling in the power and the control she had already thrown over and around them.

As Mick and the Stones finished, she had paused in her dancing and was walking round in the centre of the table that was surrounded by her friends and colleagues. She was looking and smiling at everybody to keep their attention, and whilst waiting for the music to restart, she passionately kissed Russ and the two Texans, cheekily winked at the two girls, but totally avoided any eye or other contact with the Englishman. She also raised a gigantic cheer, when she firmly slapped Russ' face for trying to put his hands under her shirt. For the misdemeanour she announced a fine of fifty dollars over the microphone and extracted an appropriate bill from his wallet, which she displayed to everybody, before throwing it with a flourish into the bucket.

***

He had seen strippers and dancers in pubs in the East End of London, plush men-only clubs in Hong Kong and strip joints in the wilder parts of Sydney, but he had never seen a dancer or a performance like this. This was striptease, with a high tease factor and as yet no strip! She had aroused and excited him, just as she had every other man in the club, and despite his preview of all the intimate and beautiful parts of her body, he was eagerly awaiting the next record, to see her reveal all. Or at least as much as Nevadan law would allow!

It is unusual to ever hear the second record in the United States, as it's connotations and visions of Liverpool and the football tragedies at Heysel and Hillsborough, would be very much lost and especially so in such an American city as Las Vegas. As the slow strains of You'll Never Walk Alone sung by Gerry Marsden started to echo around the club, Lucinda called again into the microphone. 'I borrowed this shirt from a friend.' She lifted the hem and quickly spun around to display her red G-string, framed by the stockings and suspenders to everybody, before dropping it back demurely in place. 'Should I give it back to him?'

'Yes! yes!' The audience was screaming.

'Pardon! I can't hear you!' She lifted the shirt and spun again. 'Should I give it back?'

'Yes! Yes!' The noise was now almost unbearable and poor Gerry could hardly be heard.

'Here he is!' She was yelling to compete with all the bedlam. The spotlight followed her hand to illuminate the Englishman. More and more noise erupted.

Lucinda's next move was a total surprise and a complete embarrassment to him. She offered both hands to the Englishman and pulled him in one heave straight onto the stage. As he blinked in the harsh spotlight, she put her arms around him, moved the microphone away from her mouth and kissed him tenderly on the lips and then deep in the mouth, before whispering an unheard something in his ear. As she pulled away and replaced the microphone to her mouth, she again proved her power by asking for and getting a partial silence, so she only had to compete with the now turned-down music.

'Do you want this fine man to take it off?' The last part had been drowned by the obvious response, which she quickly silenced with her hand.

'Now I want your full co-operation, while he does this!' A spattering of abusive calls were heard. 'He's very nervous and he hasn't done anything as dangerous and difficult as this in public before.' She raised her hand above her head. 'When I drop my hand, I want you to count slowly as he undoes each of these buttons. I take it you can all count up to six!' She touched each one in turn and a few derisive hoots sounded.

'Wait!' She was exercising her power and held them for fully twenty seconds until she had absolute dominance and the total submission of every man in the club.

Her hand fell! 'One!' The count exploded everywhere. His hands reached not for the top or the bottom buttons, as Lucinda and virtually everybody else had expected, but for one at her waist. She raised her hand again to prolong the excitement.

Her hand fell a second time, perhaps ten seconds later. 'Two!' This time he undid the top button to fully reveal the choker and its brooch at her throat.

Each time, she appeared to wait longer and longer before asking for the audience to count. 'Three!' His hands started to uncover her cleavage. 'Four!' And the bottom button was undone, to give a peek of the G-string as she pirouetted for the audience. 'Five!' And there was only the button holding the striped shirt across her bust.

Lucinda now spun away from him and danced provocatively and seductively for perhaps thirty seconds to Gerry's slow ballad, that had once been made famous by the much-more tuneful Judy Garland. There was not a silent individual in the house, as they all whooped and cheered. Then, she pulled him in towards her and they slowly completely a circuit of the floor, in a passionate embrace, before returning to their original positions. More whoops! More cheers and catcalls!

Her hand rose again and she finally got some sense of silence from the baying crowd. 'Six!' Completely drowned every other sound in the room, as her hand fell and he undid the last button.

She had teased them enough and she knew that they would not wait any longer, so in one quick move she threw the shirt off her shoulders, slipped her hands out of the cuffs and threw the striped shirt to the Englishman, who retired rather thankfully to his seat, with tremendous applause and cheers ringing in his ears.

Now the dance could properly commence.

***

She had been sexy and provocative earlier in the dance, but nothing had prepared the audience for what was to come, as she started to dance to Gloria Gaynor's, I Will Survive.

She was not ashamed to use every trick in the book, to milk the men of that audience of their last dollars. She purloined a man's glasses and fixed them across her breasts, whilst she danced. He didn't see much, but he rewarded her with twenty dollars under a suspender. She rubbed her breasts in men's faces and she allowed them to cup the globes of her bottom in their hands. Everything resulted in dollars being placed under her suspenders, in the tops of her stockings or under the strings of her minuscule pants. She thrusted her hips, gyrated her exceedingly-flat stomach, like only Arabian dancers are supposed to be able to do and she tossed and threw that enormous mane of red hair for all it was worth. As fast as she collected the bills and threw them in the bucket, more would appear and in the end she gave up dancing, just to be able to gather up more money.

Finally, the music finished and she regained the centre of the floor. 'Do you want to see some more?' She was using both hands to pull and stretch the sides of her minuscule pants. 'Are you sure?' She was yelling again, as the din and the clamour wouldn't have allowed her to be heard otherwise.

The reply was obvious.

***

What the crowd thought they wanted and would get and what they actually got in the end, were totally different.

Quickly, her shoes had been kicked off and she had leapt and caught hold of the trapeze. Seconds later and she had back-somersaulted onto the bar and she was pulling backwards and forwards in time with the motion of the trapeze to make it swing. Within thirty seconds, she was swinging through almost thirty feet and had set up a steady rhythm.

'Well, boys!' She now felt confident enough to let go with her hands and just balance on the bar, as she addressed them through the microphone. 'I can assure you that this is very dangerous, and as I'm working without a net and a bra for that matter, I must request you behave yourself! Any hanky-panky and I'll come ...' Her warning was interrupted as she flipped backwards and head downwards to catch the bar with the backs of her knees and then lock her feet around the supporting ropes. The crowd had initially gasped and screamed, but on realising that it was all part of an act and no dangerous accident, they applauded and cheered as Lucinda had expected.

What they were witnessing was not the silly display of a drunken amateur goaded by stupid friends, but a theatrical performance by a real hardened and stone cold sober professional, who knew exactly what risks to take and moves to perform.

Two swings later and she was sitting on the bar again. 'Sorry about that boys.' She was still kidding them, it was all a mistake. 'I'm a little out of practice.'

For the next three minutes or so, she swung to and fro, balanced and held with knees, hands and arms, somersaulted forwards and backwards and twisted left and right, giving a bravura performance without any trace of a hitch, to completely disprove her statement about practice. It was now obvious, as to the brief word with Helen, as the two girls had stripped to their uniform and jumped on to the stage. They were now parading up and down with the bucket collecting the money and dishing out favours if and when necessary.

***

After she dismounted triumphantly, by sliding the short distance down a rope in the traditional manner, Lucinda bowed to all corners of the room to take the tumultuous applause and the deafening cheers, whoops and whistles. She then proceeded to shake hands and kiss as many of the delirious punters as she could.

It took a long time for things to calm down and it was only when Jacob himself jumped on to the stage carrying a bottle of his best Moet and Chandon, that any sort of order was restored. 'Ladies and Gentlemen!' He called trying to be heard. 'Please listen. I have a very pleasant duty to perform, in that I'd like to present this lovely, gorgeous lady, who's been so sporting and very entertaining tonight with this bottle of real French champagne all of the way from la belle France!' More applause and cheers followed.

'Thank you, Jacob!' She was breathing heavily and she paused to catch some air. 'Thank you.' She kissed Jacob for his thanks. 'I'd also like to thank my boss, Russ Gilbert, for putting me up to this with his offer of one thousand dollars to Jacob's personal charity, which as you may know is to help all those down and outs, who fall on hard times in this wonderful city of ours.' Everybody was now clapping as Russ joined them all.

'I didn't think she'd do it!' He was trying to keep a brave face on it. 'She's a wonderful girl! Worth every penny I pay her. At work and here!' But at least he could afford the money and Lucinda's performance would be something to remember! He then wrote the cheque immediately, to show that there were no ill feelings, at least to Jacob, displaying proudly like some boxing trophy high above his head. Lucinda accepted the cheque with pleasure and gave her boss the deepest kiss she had ever dared in return.

As Russ turned to walk away, she called after him. 'Russ! Do you want to some champagne?' He fell for it hook, link and sinker and he could not get out of the way as she shook the bottle and popped the cork all in one movement, as any good racing driver can do. He took the full force of the bubbling liquid and was quickly engulfed in the spray and soaked right through to the skin. In trying to escape, he slipped on the very wet floor and fell. Finally, she emptied the remains of the bottle over the prostrate and now very angry Russ, to peals of laughter from everybody in the club.

Now was not the time to hang around. So she took the now-heavy bucket from Helen, jumped down and grabbing her escort, she plunged virtually naked out of the club and into a waiting cab.

Copyright 1999 by Ewart Higgins