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Janie.”

      Stella nodded and walked away.

      Ernie took a drag off his cigarette. “Don’t take it personal. Stella’s not much of a talker.”

      After Janie put her clothes on, she helped Ernie while waiting for four p.m. She wiped down the tables, cleaned the bathrooms, and vacuumed. He made them each a sandwich of bologna and white bread with Thousand Island dressing and barbecued potato chips smashed into the bread. Janie had been on the road long enough to eat whatever was in front of her and not complain. The sandwich was actually pretty good.

      At about three, a woman came through the door. She wore a green scarf tied around her red hair and a pair of dark glasses. She went to the cooler behind the bar and took out a can of tomato juice not looking at Janie. “ Who’s this?” she asked Ernie as she popped open the can and poured the juice into a cocktail glass, garnishing it with a lemon slice.

      Ernie was doing another crossword puzzle. “New dancer. Delores, this here’s Janie. And vise versey.”

      Delores took off her sunglasses and squinted hard at Janie. “You ever done this before?”

      “Strip? No ma’am.”

      “Baby, we aren’t strippers here. Stripping’s different from the shit Ernie pays for. We’re dancers. You just get naked and dance.” Delores smiled. “She’ll do. She’s respectful.” Delores picked up her juice and took Janie by the elbow. “Let’s get you ready for show biz.”

      Janie followed her to the dressing room.

      “How old are you?” Delores asked.

      “I’m eighteen.”

      Delores snorted. “Sure. And I’m really Ann Margaret.”

      Janie spoke softly. “I’m sixteen.”

      “Anybody out looking for you?” Delores asked.

      “Nope.”

      Delores shook her head. “You have a place to stay?”

      “I’m just going to be here a couple of days.”

      “You can stay at my place tonight.”

      A blonde girl in a pair of tight jeans burst into the dressing room. “Hey Dee! Look what I got at the Bargain Barn. Don’t you love this little top? I love pink. Maybe I’ll do my nails to match.” She noticed Janie. “You going to be the new girl? I’m Amber. You’d look good in blue – baby blue! Set off your eyes.”

      Amber tossed Janie a pair of ice-blue bikini bottoms from a box on the floor. Janie wondered how a pair of blue panties on her ass was going to make her eyes look blue, but she didn’t say anything. Delores handed Janie a tube of lipstick. “You better get ready. You’re up first.” From her purse she took a metal box and opened it. She handed Janie a pill. “Take this. It’ll make your life easier.”

      Janie swallowed the rocket shaped pill and looked at her face in the mirror. Whoever she was once was just about gone. She smeared on lipstick, took off her clothes, and pulled on the blue bikini bottoms, licking a pair of pasties and sticking them on her nipples. She put on the white robe and cinched it shut. She’d be Mohammed Ali and float like a butterfly. Nothing would touch her.

      Music blared from the bar. The voices of men and the occasional crack of billiard balls reached the dressing room as the place filled up.

      It was almost four.

      Delores smiled at Janie. “You look real sweet, honey. Don’t worry. Today’s payday for most of those monkeys out there. They just want to see some fresh tail. Shake your ass around and you’ll be fine. Dance three numbers and then come on back. You can pick out your own music on the jukebox. Okay?”

      Janie walked to the jukebox and looked at the playlist. Patsy Cline’s Crazy. Lots of Rolling Stones, some Marvin Gaye. Janie peered over her shoulder. The men in the bar wore work boots and denim jackets; they smoked cigarettes and drank beer; their loud voices erupted into even louder laughter. Janie looked at every song twice before picking out her three.

      Ernie yelled from the bar. “You’re up.”

      Janie took the stairs one at a time. There were only two steps.

      Her first song started with Keith Richard’s guitar solo, Can’t You Hear Me Knocking. She’d loved dancing to this song since the Sticky Fingers album came out when she was twelve. She dropped her robe, and somebody whistled. Men yelled up at her. She couldn’t move. The men were so loud she couldn’t think. She thought she would throw up or pass out.

      Stella appeared at the edge of the stage. “Come on down.” His voice was deep. Janie took the steps quickly this time, pulling her robe on as she went. The crowd booed. Stella handed her a pair of sunglasses. He motioned to the room full of men. “You going to let them mess with you? Get your Zen on, girl. You’ll be fine.”

      She put on the black-mirrored Ray-Bans. “Can I start over?”

      Stella walked to the jukebox and pushed some buttons. Keith Richards started playing again, then Charlie Watts on the drums, and finally Mick Jagger. Janie took a deep breath. You could do just about anything if you thought about it right. Janie jumped up on the stage like a fighter coming out strong from her corner. She remembered watching boxing matches with her dad a long time ago. The boxers would always dance in their corner throwing punches at the air. Janie pretended she was a boxer. She threw punches at an invisible opponent. The crowd yelled and catcalled. She took a deep breath and dropped her robe. Somebody whistled. Somebody shouted. She kept her shades on and danced the set, glad the songs bled into each other and she’d be through soon. She concentrated on the music, singing along in her head and ignoring everything going on around her.

      As abruptly as it started, it was over. The music ended and Amber came out.

      Janie stepped off the stage.

      Ernie yelled over to her from the bar, “You got the job. We’ll call you Shady Lady.”

      Janie pulled the robe around her and went back to the dressing room to wait for her next set. She wondered how she could do this again but knew already that done once, it would be easy enough to just keep going.

      Sympathy for the Devil

      “HEY, ERNIE GIVE ME A BIRD AND A BUD.” PAUL JESSE pulled a bill from his money clip. He carried a roll of bills sorted by denomination with the presidents facing the same way. He placed a Jackson on the bar and sat down. It was still early and only a couple regulars, old men with nothing much to do sipped beer and waited for the dancers to come on.

      Ernie took a bottle of Wild Turkey off the shelf behind him and poured Paul a shot glass, grabbed a bottled Bud from the cooler and put the change on the bar, counting it off out loud. “Where you been hiding yourself?”

      Paul took a sip of beer and wiped his Fu Manchu. “Went down to the city to see my kid and do a little business.”

      “You take your bike?”

      “Yeah. Twelve hours straight. My back is killing me.”

      Ernie laughed.

      Paul Jesse thought of The Habit as his office. He’d never been a grunt; never done more than a cursory pass at a straight job. He liked to think of himself as a Mongol trader from faraway times running drugs between Seattle and San Francisco – occasionally a trip East with a carload of dope. He’d known Ernie and Stella growing up in San Francisco where their families all lived within blocks of each other. Paul kept the dealing at The Habit low-key and mellow, gave a good deal, and never much looked at the women. He believed in the Golden Rule: deal unto others as you would have them deal unto you. He didn’t so much sell the drugs as they sold themselves. He merely delivered them. His bags of dope were never short; whatever he sold was guaranteed to get you high; he never ripped anyone off, didn’t sleep with their women, and if he stayed overnight on a long trip, he turned his hosts on to

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