The Nightcrawler did a respectable salute to it, though. A line of about ten joss-house girls, complete with black bobbed wigs and exaggerated makeup to suggest slanting, mysterious eyes, emerged from the wings, dragging canvas flats painted to depict shabby buildings. They transformed the dance floor into a Shanghai street. The girls arranged themselves around the stage for Bill to inspect, but none of them was his beloved Lil. Their bright satin costumes were tight-fitting Chinese dresses, but with side slits all the way up the leg allowing them freedom to dance. You could also see the tops of their stockings and garter straps.

Not a bad show at all. And this was just the beginning.

Bill faded to the background while the girls swept around the floor with mincing little steps, waving painted fans and bowing. They took up the song, echoing Bill's words about his search for Shanghai Lil.

He wandered from one end of the canvas flats to the other and mimed knocking on doors, still looking, while the girls tried to interest him in their stunning charms. Bill tried a few dance steps with them, but at the last minute resisted temptation and got away from them. Ten more girls, costumed like American sailors, emerged from the doors and paired off to dance with their joss-house sisters, and was that ever an interesting sight.

Bill was still without a partner and drew a gun from his pocket. Just as he was about to end his lonely misery something like a shot went off, followed by several more in very rapid succession, like a miniature machine gun.

I sneaked a quick look at Gordy, but he was intently watching the show, unmoved by the noise. It was just part of the act. In this place that was rea.s.suring to know.

The gunshots turned out to be fireworks. The girls, both dancers and sailors, scattered, screaming in mock terror as a bloodred Chinese dragon lurched onto the stage. It snaked this way and that and ended up circling Bill, its head shaking and hinged mouth flapping up and down as though from laughter. This annoyed the h.e.l.l out of Bill, who finally lost patience and lifted the head off the person who had been controlling it.

The puppeteer inside turned out to be Shanghai Lil, and Bobbi never looked so good. She beamed at the audience and threw her arms wide, as though to catch their wave of applause. Bill embraced her and somehow her red satin pajamas got ripped away to reveal a brief scarlet jacket and pants so short they might have well started as a bathing suit. She wore red tap shoes and stockings that went all the way up into the pants with no garters showing at all, which I thought to be a good trick. Topping her head was a black wig like the rest of the girls, but sporting red bows on either side of her face. She was also made up like a Chinese doll, managing to look virginal despite her joss-house past.

She and Bill sang the greeting part of the number to each other, then broke into a tap routine. Bobbi had not been wasting her time with all those dance lessons. She told me the key to selling a number was to make it seem easy while at the same time looking like you're enjoying yourself. She accomplished both goals so far as I could judge, and the audience seemed to agree with me and started applauding again before she'd quite finished.

Bill faded again, allowing Bobbi to do a solo dance, then she joined him so the chorus could come forward.

The "sailors" did a respectable hornpipe, which led to a medley of military type songs, like "Over There" and "Columbia the Gem of the Ocean," which got cheers from the veterans. Then the other girls joined in for several fast- moving bars of solid American swing that quickly turned into a jitterbug. I never saw so many legs moving so wild and fast. You sure as h.e.l.l couldn't see anything like it in a movie now, not since Willie Hays had been called in to spoil everyone's fun.

The dance interlude was to allow Bobbi to catch her breath so she could belt out the closing of the number with Bill. They returned to the stage riding in a rickshaw pulled by four girls from the joss house, sang their piece, then rolled off in triumph, waving to the cheering audience.

The response was every performer's dream, not only a standing ovation, but one that started before the singers even came back for their bows. I yelled with the rest for an encore, and Bobbi must have picked my voice out of the crowd, for she looked in my direction, flashing the special smile she reserved only for me. I felt a lurch in my chest like my heart suddenly decided to start beating again, and had to sit down. G.o.d, what an effect she had on me.

Cathy Bloom looked in my direction. "It must be love," she wryly observed.

I couldn't deny it if I wanted to, and I sure as h.e.l.l wasn't about to do that. I applauded until my hands stung.

The chorus and Bill vanished backstage and the lights brightened as Bobbi stepped up to a microphone near the Melodians so she could get her cue from Ted. They led off with a sprightly introduction, and she sang "Chinatown, My Chinatown." Not a real showcase for her voice, which was just beautiful, but it allowed her to work the personality angle. She really looked like she was having fun. Only I knew better. She was absolutely having the time of her life.

She bowed and hurried backstage while the applause was still strong and the Melodians' resident crooner took her place for a couple of songs. It also gave her a chance to change costumes. When she appeared a second time, she wore a delicately flowing set of pajamas in pale blue satin and held matching fans in each hand. Topping her black wig was a silly-looking hat shaped like a cup sitting on a saucer.

She did a few turns, waving the fans gracefully about, before being joined by six of the chorus girls dressed in similar outfits. They also used the fans, seeming to flutter and fly over the stage before bunching them all together like a giant flower. "Bill" suddenly burst from its center, dressed in a sailor suit now. He did a forward flip and landed lightly on his feet just as the Melodian crooner launched into "She Was a China Tea Cup, and He Was a Coffee Mug."

It was a very physical number for Bill, as he pursued his "tea cup" all over the stage, doing cartwheels and somersaults, all in time to the music. It looked to be a difficult piece to execute, but he hit all his cues and made it look easy. He got a special round of applause all for himself, and I wondered if he'd still be available for work by the time I got my own club up and running. It was something to dream about, anyway.

The show was an hour long, but seemed to flash by in half that time and ended with another standing ovation at the finale. The lights went out for the stage and came up in the rest of the house along with the level of conversation and activity. Orders for more drinks were requested at most tables; very few were being vacated.

"Looks like your customers are staying to see it again," I said to Gordy. "The ones in the lobby will be out of luck."

"There'll be other nights for them. In the meantime everyone's drinking. That's cash in the bank."

For him that was practically being garrulous. He was in a good mood.

Figuring it would be safe to see Bobbi during the break, I excused myself and headed backstage. I got caught up with the exiting Melodians, and for a few minutes the press was like Times Square on New Year's Eve. Mostly they were headed outside for a breath of air, some elbow room, and a smoke, since it was forbidden in the stage area, and I nearly ended up with them in the alley running behind the building. I fought clear and beat my way upstream until feminine voices predominated.

It was a lot more fun being surrounded by the chorus girls than the Melodians. Giggles and squeals of delight filled my ears, though it wasn't from my presence, but rather for the obvious success of the show. I wasn't the only boyfriend looking for his girl, but certainly the only one who could achieve a bit of privacy with her. The door to Bobbi's dressing room was wide open, unfortunately, and blocked with bodies, all of them giving her congratulations from the sound of things. I heard her laughter and knew without seeing she would be shining brighter than the spotlight out front.

And so it proved when I hacked my way through the mob. Some of the well-wishers knew me and simultaneously tried to get out of the way while pushing me forward. Every little bit helped. Suddenly I was next to Bobbi, grinning like an idiot. She let out a shriek of delight and threw herself in my arms. There must be a few things in the wide world that are better, but I sure as h.e.l.l couldn't think of any. I planted a big kiss on her to the hoots of everyone in the room.

Reaction seemed evenly divided from "Yeah, give 'er one for me," to "Jeez, throw a bucket of water on 'em."

Rachel, the woman who was in charge of costumes, read the writing on the wall and told everyone to clear out.

"She's gotta rest and change for the next show," she bellowed to one and all.

"Tell us another," someone yodeled back as a challenge, but people were gradually leaving the room. It was small to start with, and with a dozen or more squeezed in, there was no room to turn. Most had to back their way out. Rachel was the last to go.

"Don't forget to lock the door, honey," she advised as she pulled it shut with a wink.

I practically pounced on the key.

Bobbi was executing a neat pirouette, arms up and her head thrown back, laughing. "Wasn't it just the best thing you've ever seen?"

"Only because you were in it, sweetheart." I leaned against the door and crossed my arms, enjoying my own private show. Now wasn't the time to attempt another kiss; she was all but bouncing off the walls from sheer excitement. It was her moment and more than fine with me just to be able to watch her have it. After a few minutes the excess energy ran down enough for her to throw herself in my arms again for a big hug. I lifted her high and made a slow spin, laughing because she was laughing.

She looked down at me and giggled. "Look at you, your face is covered with my makeup."

"Now, how in h.e.l.l can I look at me?" I asked, and stepped before her dressing-table mirror. It reflected back an image of Bobbi suspended by some invisible support in midair. Generally I avoid mirrors; not seeing myself in them always gives me the creeps, but this was a whole different kind of reaction. I spun her again, faster. She yelped and wrapped her legs around me. I halted and considered the image. "That looks interesting, don't you think?"

"Oh, G.o.d, Jack!" Suddenly horrified, she started to let her legs drop, but I shifted my grip and hugged her close.

"Just a minute, baby, this has possibilities." I turned her one way and then another to get all the angles, and each one looked better than the last. She tried to catch sight of herself over her shoulder. "What, with my b.u.t.t hanging in the air like that?"

"Yeah, I like it."

"I thought you hated mirrors."

"I think I'm about to reconsider my opinion."

"This is wrinkling my costume," she said, eyes narrowing.

Never argue with a lady about her clothes while she's still wearing them. I set her down and forced myself to be patient until the inconvenient garments were hanging up in their tiny closet. For once she had on underwear, a bra.s.siere.

"What's this for?" I asked, fingering a satiny strap.

"My b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounce around too much when I'm dancing. I don't want to be sore, especially there."

"Hmm, yes, but doesn't it restrict your breathing?"

She snuggled close. "Well, maybe a little bit. Besides, I'd like to find out how good you are at taking one off."

I love a challenge.

"One-handed, from the front," she added.

"You are one hard-to-please woman," I grumbled, but went to work. She held still, but her hands were busy unb.u.t.toning my pants, which made me squirm. Once they were unb.u.t.toned, she started up a whole new kind of a.s.sault, which was extremely distracting.

"What's taking you so long?" she inquired, somewhat too innocently.

"I think it's welded shut."

"Keep trying."

"Ah! That tickles!"

"Does it? Oh, good, lemme try here... and maybe here ..."

The d.a.m.n thing finally came unhooked, allowing me to wreak the kind of revenge that left her gasping.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Later!" we shouted together at the offender. The knock was not repeated, and we got down to serious business.

In the cold light of practicality, it should be difficult, if not impossible, to shuck one's clothing while trying to give your partner a tonsillectomy with your tongue. Somehow, and I'm still not sure how, we managed.

I had some small section of my brain working on a related subject: the mirror. The aforesaid possibilities intrigued me. Since my change, all mirrors had ever aroused in me was annoyance-until I'd seen Bobbi suspended in midair and in just that position. Now it was arousal of quite a different sort.

When we worked our way down to the point that it was skin to skin, I lifted her up again, cupping my hands to support her b.u.t.t.

"Jack, you can't be serious," she protested, but she snuck a look at her reflection.

"Let's just give it a try. If you don't like it, I'll stop."

"Like has nothing to do with it, I'm just trying to get used to the idea."

I put my back to the mirror. "How do you like the view?"

"My G.o.d, I can see right through-oh, this is crazy!"

And, apparently, arousing to her as well, to judge by things. She locked her legs around my hips, and once we got ourselves properly adjusted, it went just great for both of us.

Her eyes were half-shut, and she was holding on for dear life. As if I could drop her at this critical point. "Jack, are you ready? I'm almost there-oh-it's-"

I'd been ready for this all night, every night, and every moment that I was with her. My corner teeth were out. I pressed my lips hard against the flushed and hot skin of her throat, drawing another moan from her. The timing had to be just right, but we'd had plenty of practice. I knew exactly when to bite down... she held in her scream-ecstasy, not pain-and spasmed against me. I'd turned sideways and now watched her writhing image in the mirror as the pleasure rolled over her, over us both. I drew gently on her life, extending the moment.

"It's too much," she whispered. "G.o.d, I can hardly... hardly..."

I knew better. She hadn't had nearly enough yet and neither had I. Nuzzling deeper, I took another sip of her red fire; she urged me to take more. I did, but very, very slowly.

She sighed, soft, shuddering breath warm against my ear.

I made it last for us both.

Then, enough. I didn't want to exhaust her for the next show or she'd kill me later. She was groggy from the exertion, though, as I carried her over to a sofa and stretched her out on it. The marks on her throat still seeped. I knelt and kissed them clean, tasting her makeup, the thin sheen of salty sweat, and the blood. Its flow finally stopped, and I held her close, my lips against her temples to feel the tickle of her pulse there. It gradually slowed to normal. I pulled a blanket down from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her. While she rested, I got dressed again, stealing looks at her the whole time. Her makeup was smeared and the black wig askew, revealing her platinum hair beneath, and still she seemed to be the most perfect angel, even more beautiful than the night I'd met her.

She stirred sleepily. "Why'd you stop?" she murmured.

"Didn't want to wear you out."

"I think it was more of a case of me wearing you in. Did I look good on you?"

"Magnificent would be the right word."

I wanted her all over again. Resisting temptation-this time-I pulled my pants up and made sure I got the b.u.t.tons done up right. It wasn't that I was hungry for more blood-I could satisfy mere appet.i.te feeding from the cattle at the Stockyards-I was hungry for more Bobbi.

Her eyes drifted shut, and I moved quietly, allowing her to doze. There was a covered tray on a table. I peeked, discovering a pile of sandwiches and a big gla.s.s of grape juice sitting ready. After such a demanding show, and certainly after what we'd done, she'd wake up ravenous.

I sat and watched her, and knew myself to be one h.e.l.l of a lucky guy. Our first meeting hadn't gone too smoothly.

She'd been told to lure me into a trap, which happened to be where I wanted to go, and though scared of the man who had ordered it, she'd tried to warn me away, to save me. Our first kiss had been my idea; I'd made it happen using hypnosis. I broke it off, though, knowing it was wrong. It felt wrong; it tasted wrong. But our second kiss had been her idea. And since then things had been nothing but right for us.

It happened fast, our romance, fast-without thought or plan beyond an immediate sating of physical and emotional need while we were both in a tense and dangerous situation. Things should have fallen apart for us afterward... but never did. That made me think that if we'd met in more normal circ.u.mstances, taken time to get to know each other first, dated, and talked like other couples, the same thing would have happened.

She was a wonder. Inspiring. I hadn't always been so uninhibited at lovemaking. I'd learned a lot from sweet Maureen, but Bobbi always seemed to push me further, and I would try new things, casting off old restraints. With her telling me what she liked and when, and me adding in a few variations of my own, we'd done better than all right by each other. It had taken us a while to get it right, though, but the best way to get good at anything is to practice, practice, practice. I learned how far I could safely carry things with her, how much to take, when to stop, when to keep going. What we felt was one long climax, but I took care not to go too far. If I truly abandoned myself to her whispered urgings, I could drain her too much, and the last thing I wanted to do was to hurt her.

She woke up suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath and looking wildly around. "The time... !"

"It's okay, you've got thirty minutes."

She visibly relaxed. "Whew, I thought I was a goner."

"Not while I'm around." I got the tray and put it on the low table in front of the couch. "Here, get this down."

"Just a little, I don't want to be burping through the next show. Is the juice room temperature?"

" 'Fraid so."

"Good. Could you draw me a cup of hot water from the tap? It'll cut the sugar in the juice." The heat also kept her vocal cords from seizing up. Cold refreshments were only for after a show. I got her water from the bathroom sink while she ate half an egg sandwich, leaving the crusts on the plate.

"You need more than that," I said as she covered the tray up again.

"I'll have it later. This is enough to keep me from collapsing-oh, don't look so worried-but it won't slow me down. I can't be dancing up a storm if my stomach's busy trying to digest stuff."

"And you're going to be doing this twice a night for the next four weeks?"

"That's s...o...b..z," she said brightly. "And in the final week I'll be rehearsing my next show here-unless something comes up."

"Something like what?"

"Oh, anything, really."

"Y'know, Gordy hinted that there was-does the name Ike LaCelle mean-"

"He didn't tell you, did he?" She looked dismayed.

"Who, Ike?"