"No, Ted...only talked in general terms. It was more than hinting, though. He was clear about what he wanted. Sex, not a new wife."

"But it did involve a...salary, you might say?"

"A check every month."

"No figure mentioned?"

"He kind of let me know that if I was interested, we could talk about it."

Henry Bowman was a geologist, not a lawyer or a private investigator, but he had a habit that would have stood him in very good stead in either of those other two professions: Whenever people told him something startling, and particularly when they wanted an opinion, Henry was absolutely disinterested. His manner implied that the issue in question was commonplace. It was this reaction, or lack of it, that Cindy Caswell received after explaining what her client had suggested.

"Did you want me to have him checked out?" Henry asked. "See if he's beat up any women and had it hushed up, get a look at his history, find out if he might try to use you as a perk for his best customers, things like that?" The request startled Cindy Caswell, for she had not expected it. Now that it came, she saw the logic behind it.

"Ah...I don't think that's a problem." She grinned suddenly. "You recall I've got some experience in spotting that kind of thing."

"So...what can I do about this for you?"

"Just give me your opinion." Henry rubbed his chin with the end of his pen before answering.

"No good way to evaluate an offer that hasn't been made yet. You thought about how much money you're looking to get, and what you're willing to give up?" Cindy considered this question.

"I don't know what he has in mind, but if I can't make an extra ten thousand in a year, I'm not interested." "That'd be once a week, mutually convenient time, your place for a couple of hours?"

"I guess. You think it's a terrible idea?"

"I don't really have an opinion right now. Need more information for that. Let me make a few guesses, and you tell me how I'm doing."

"Okay." The food arrived and Henry put ketchup and pepper on his hamburger and fries before continuing. He took a bite from the sandwich and sat back in the booth.

"Our executive is forty-five or fifty, married, with kids. People like him, and think he's a good guy. That includes his family, and also includes you, or you wouldn't even be considering his offer." "Dead-on so far," Cindy told him. Henry nodded and went on.

"Okay, since I got the age right, he would have been in his twenties during the 1970s. That was after it became okay to have a bunch of sex partners, but before the newspapers started telling everyone that a blow job might turn into a death sentence. So I see three possible situations. Number one, your boyfriend got married young, maybe because he had to, missed out on swinging bachelorhood, and now he wants to make up for it before he's too old to get it up any more. I don't see that one as likely. Guys like that are usually scared to death around young women.

"Number two, he had a swinging bachelorhood, fell in love with a woman who he married, but he likes variety, and wants someone new. Also not too likely, because then he wouldn't be talking about a mistress, he'd be trying to talk you into one weekend with him at the lake.

"The other guess, which is the one I'd put my money on, is that he likes his marriage and monogamy suits him okay, but his wife's sex drive has shot craps. I'll bet that having good sex with a friendly, good-looking woman is one of his all-time favorite things. He always knew he'd have to give that up eventually, but he was thinking maybe age seventy or so, not forty-five."

"I think you've hit it exactly right," Cindy Caswell said with a voice that showed she was impressed. "From what I know of him, I don't think he wants to divorce his wife. I think he loves her. Likes her, too," she added.

"It fits with wanting to pay you. I take it this guy is decent-looking?"

"Yes."

"So if he wanted to, he could fish for somebody who'd be impressed by him, and drop not-so-subtle hints to her that his marriage was on the rocks and if she stuck around, she'd be the one who didn't have to worry about car payments and the phone being turned off and all that, right? But if he did that, the girl might get impatient and call his wife, or bitch at him all the time, and more problems is not what he's looking for.

"So instead, he looks at you. You're successful, sharp, understand business, and have a firm grasp of the concept of 'added value'. And he makes you an offer that he hopes will benefit you both." "So you think it's an okay idea?"

"Maybe. Question is, though, what are you going to have to give up, hm?" Henry sat back and sipped his malt. "That's always the issue that the girl doesn't think about until it's too late." He remembered something and nodded.

"Friend of mine's sister, girl named Holly, she went to the Muny Opera with her girlfriend when she was eighteen, summer before her freshman year of college. Had a seat in about the fifth row. Intermission, guy comes up to them, says the star would like to see them backstage afterwards, gives them both passes. It's only Holly he's interested in, you understand, but he invites them both because he knows that's the way to start. I forget the guy's name, black song-and-dance man about forty-five, fifty. I'm sure the guy's in Vegas all the time-I just can't remember his name." Henry scowled, then waved his hand in dismissal.

"Anyway, Holly goes backstage, and the guy turns on the charm, wants to take her and her girlfriend out to some clubs in his limo."

"I think I see where this is going."

"Right. The girls are both virgins, but they love the attention, and they know he's not going to rape them both in a limo or a club, so they go. He takes 'em dancing, orders 'em champagne, the whole bit, and all the while people are recognizing him and wanting his autograph. The girls have a great time, and when they go home, that's all they can talk about for days.

"So then this guy calls my friend's sister every day from New York, wants her to come visit. Of course she says no, the guy's black, married, and has four kids older than she is. But this guy's no beginner, so he keeps up the charm, calls her every day, sends her plane tickets, all that.

"In a few weeks, she goes off to college. She had some scholarship money, and student loans lined up, and a part-time campus job like a lot of college kids. For most eighteen-year-olds, that's a big adventure, but Holly decides it sucks compared to running around with a star. So one weekend, she goes to New York.

"Let me guess," Cindy said. "She becomes his mistress."

"Right. And then college gets really boring, and her grades go to hell, so she drops out before the end of the first semester. And then three years later, guess what?"

"The star finds another eighteen-year-old."

"Exactly. And he's been supporting Holly, but it was all apartment rent, and car lease payments, and clothes. She has zero assets to show for those three years, no degree, no ability to get scholarship dough, or student loans, or an on-campus job, nothing. She's just a high school graduate that's three years older with no money and even less ambition.

"Now, I've got no moral objection to an eighteen-year-old being some black entertainer's mistress. Point is, though, my friend's sister gave up some things that she'll never get back. So if she'd asked me what to do before moving to be near Mr. Soft Shoe, I would have told her to insist upon a fixed monthly contribution to a good mutual fund. Thousand a month, she'd have fifty Gs as a nest egg right now, and she'd have choices. She could take charge of her life instead of being stuck in what I'm afraid is likely to become a cycle of poverty." Henry ate the last of his french fries and continued.

"Your case is a lot different. You aren't in awe of this guy at Caldo Electric, and don't have the hots for him. In fact, for sex, you'd rather be with another girl, right?" Henry continued without waiting for an answer. "So you've got different issues involved, but they still involve what you have to give up. Is this guy going to demand you be on call, where you can't make plans for yourself? Can you have another lover, male or female, or will that piss him off? Get that stuff nailed down and set your price accordingly."

Cindy Caswell stared at her plate. "I don't know what he has in mind exactly. "I'll have to talk to him." She looked up at Henry. "You don't seem surprised at the whole idea." Henry shook his head.

"What you're talking about's not terribly unusual. Several stewardesses have told me about identical setups they've got. Stew on a standard route will get together with a guy in another city two, three times a month for an extra thousand. She knows and likes him, so it's good for both of them." Henry laughed. "I'm the one that suggested the monthly mutual fund contribution, instead of just cash, to make sure the girls were really building for the future. That made sense to all the parties involved." Henry turned serious again.

"There's one thing you should always keep in mind: You're talking about an enterprise that rewards youth, not experience. You will not be able to earn what you can make now in ten, even five years. Your present financial compensation should reflect that fact." Henry switched to a different area of the subject. "What are your long-term goals here?"

"I want to be economically self-sufficient. Period. On top of that, like I told you before, I want to open a catering business. There are a lot of businesses doing a bad job at catering. I think I can do better."

"So you're looking to raise a bunch of money in a hurry, get a stake to work with?"

"Yes, but I don't want partners," she insisted. Henry started laughing. "What's so funny?"

"I think I've got a lot better idea for you than skimming an extra thousand a month from some frustrated executive, Cindy." He looked at his watch. "You got an extra couple hours to kill?"

"I'm a woman of leisure, at the moment." Henry handed her the check and then stood up.

"I'll get the tip," he said, reaching for his wallet. "You know those stupid government rules that encouraged your boss to close up shop?" Henry asked. "I think the same kind of regulations may offer a big opportunity for a motivated young woman like you. Any time they slam the door in one place, some other area jumps in to take up the slack. Come on."

"We're going to a strip joint?" Cindy Caswell demanded when Henry Bowman pulled into the parking lot on the Illinois side of the Mississippi River. "That's not my idea of a step up."

"Ever been here?" Henry asked.

"No, but I know what-"

"Ever heard about this place-specifically, I mean?" he interrupted.

"Not exactly."

"Then don't pass judgment yet. I think you're going to be very interested at what you see here tonight. Come on." Henry opened the door and stepped out of the GMC. He waited until Cindy got out also, then punched the power lock and closed the door behind him.

Henry paid the man at the front desk a four dollar cover charge for himself and he and Cindy walked inside. Women got in free. The inside of PT's Show Club was dark, but there was enough light to see that the place was clean. There were four raised, hexagonal 'stages' on the lower level, and two more on the smaller area up three steps at the north end of the room. Fifteen or twenty chairs were around each stage, and small tables with upholstered armchairs around them filled up the rest of the large room. A deejay in a booth at the east side of the room was announcing the next number as Henry led Cindy to one of the tables near the steps leading to the raised section at the north end.

"All right, now we're going to switch things around just a little bit, bring up four more stages of lovely Dreamgirl entertainment. How many guys out there want to see more naked ladies, let me hear a big 'Hell, yeah!'"

"Hell, yeah!" a number of men in the crowd yelled obligingly.

"PT's in Sauget: You know you're there when you can taste the air. Naked ladies, cold beer, and complimentary matches-it just doesn't get any better than this. Don't be shy, gentlemen, move on up to those stages, and be sure to ask your favorite Dreamgirl about one of those private, private table dances up in the Love Zone. Don't forget, too, we've got party shots here at PT's, just ask your waitress for a PT's party shot, my favorite is tequila-no salt, no lime, chase it with a cigarette, it'll do you just fine. Now it's time to switch things around a little bit. On Stage Two, Thunder's private playground over by the bar, Stage Two, we've got T.J., lovely T.J. on Stage Two; on Stage Three there's Nikki, long and lean and sometimes mean Nikki on Stage Three over in the pinball corner; coming up next on Stage Four, clap your hands for Tiffany, Tiffany on Stage Four; and our feature for the next three numbers up on the mainstage, her first time up tonight, let's hear a nice round of applause for Destiny, Destiny on Stage One."

As each girl's name was called, the dancer already on stage took the new girl's hand and welcomed her up onto the stage before stepping down. The girls getting onto the stages were clothed, one in a cocktail dress, one in a nurse's uniform, and two in Vegas-type costumes. The girls getting off the stages were naked except for G-strings and high heels, and carried their outer clothing. The music started, and Cindy saw that three of the four departing dancers had each taken a man from her stage by the hand. All three pairs passed by them and walked up the steps to the empty, elevated area at the north end of the large room. The fourth dancer who had just finished her set went back to the dressing room.

Cindy looked around the darkened club. Some of the dancers not on stage were sitting on men's laps, talking to them, while others were walking around the room, asking questions of men at the tables. Sometimes the man would stand up, pick up his drink, and the woman would lead him by the hand to the north section of the room. Other times, the woman would rub up against the man for a few moments, and the customer would then slip a bill under the elastic of her G-string.

"Okay, what's going on here," Henry explained, "is that the girls pay the management for the rental of the stages, and-"

"What?" Cindy exclaimed, interrupting him.

"It's not very much," Henry added quickly. "About twenty-five dollars for an eight-hour shift. Then, the girls go onstage for three-song sets. Depending on how crowded it is, they'll be down to G-strings by the second or the third song. Anyone sitting at the stage is expected to slip at least a dollar in the girl's G-string when she dances in front of him. Friday and Saturday at midnight, that might mean forty, fifty bucks in tips for three songs. Monday afternoon, it might be less than ten. But the real dough comes in when it's not your turn on stage." Henry gestured to the girls walking around the room.

"What they're doing is dollar dances. The girl wiggles around on the guy's lap and rubs her boobs in his face for a few seconds, and he puts a dollar in her G-string. Maybe then she goes on to the next guy. But what she's really trying to set up, same as when she's onstage, is a 'private', over there in the back," Henry explained, nodding his head towards the elevated section to their right. "That's where she sits on his lap and climbs all over him for a whole song, maybe more if he's a good customer or she likes him because he's friendly and not a jerk."

"How much is that?"

"Twenty minimum. Most girls charge twenty-five. A couple girls charge more, which pisses off some of the other dancers who assume they're letting the guys feel them up or squeeze their tits, or do something else that's not allowed."

"Are they?" Cindy asked, amazed at the dollars involved.

"Absolutely not. Owners can get in all kinds of trouble if the customers do anything more daring than rub the girls' backs, so the managers watch real carefully, and they got a couple hidden cameras in the walls and ceiling with monitors in the office. They'll toss the guy out and tell the girl she can't work here any more if they see anything illegal. And what dancer's going to let a guy do something that could get her in trouble? Way it's set up, the girls break no laws, have a safe place to work, have no risk of getting hurt or catching anything other than a cold, and make a pile of money. Watch."

The song ended, and Cindy watched as one of the girls in the 'private' area walked back past the two of them, grabbed another customer, and took him back up to the 'Love Zone'.