After exiting the bridge, he drove a few miles down a dark street with squat brick buildings on either side. They were plain, missing the charm of many of the older buildings in downtown St. Louis. Then he turned a corner. He came to another bridge, this one stretching over a lake and leading to a small, man-made island. At the end of the bridge was a sphere of colorful lights, beckoning him closer. The closer he got, the brighter the lights became. A digital billboard stretched over the bridge at the mid-way point. On top of the sign in bright red neon letters readWelcome to the Playground!And on the display, a woman with a white fur coat opened to reveal the red lingerie beneath swung back and forth on a wide swing. She leaped off, arms stretched forward as if she was reaching for someone to catch her. The image faded to black before she was caught. Mike drove beneath the sign right as the display began to repeat.
And then he was in the Playground. Up close, the kaleidoscope of colors separated into distinct signs, every one of them bright and determined to catch his eye. Mike drove slowly, exactly at the speed limit so that he could take in everything the red-light district had to offer—which was a lot more than strip clubs. A sign with old-fashioned flashing bulbs as a backdrop to pinup art of a woman kneeling in black stockings, coyly looking over her shoulder, offered live peep shows. Above a building with a glass front a giant green pot leaf glowed, advertising the smoke house below. A deck of cards lit to give off the effect that they were shuffling from one end of the sign to the other identified one of the many casinos he passed. There was a white stone building with tall narrow windows, all lit by a red light, with a bright purple sign proclaiming it as Madame Blyth’s Bordello.
He passed a cybersex chat cafe, a tantric massage parlor, and an outdoor boxing ring sheltered by a pavilion. There was a corkscrew water slide inside a giant glass tower, and they even had go-kart racing on a neon-lit track that swirled above the island like a life-sized Hot Wheels race set.
By the time he reached his destination, Mike was nearly on visual sensory overload. But he still admired The Flirtatious Fox. The building’s exterior was constructed from pristine white brick. A black and gold marquee with a digital display of exotic dancers flashed over the entrance. Above the marquee, a red and white neon fox perched, its tail flicking back and forth, the right eye blinking closed in a saucy wink.
Mike parked and got out of his SUV, making his way across black asphalt to where his co-workers had already gathered in a group on the sidewalk. He was the only one still dressed in his work clothes. If he’d gone home to change, there was a big chance he wouldn’t have come back out. Removing his tie was the best he could do for a casual look.
“You made it!”
“What do you think of the Playground so far?” Rebeca asked.
He looked around at the dizzying display of lights and entertainment and crowds of people walking the streets. “It’s a lot more than I expected.”
“Come on inside,” she said happily. “There’s even more good stuff to see.”
They herded him across the street to the Flirtatious Fox, through the gold framed doors, and into an explosion of color and sound and beautiful people. The club floor was a glossy dark red, the ceiling painted gold with flecks of glitter to make it sparkle. In the center hung a huge stained-glass globe, the light within it casting colorful reflections all around the room.
At the moment, the Fox’s dancers were in the middle of a group burlesque routine. They swept through the crowd, shimmying so that tassels on breasts and chests swung in delighted patrons’ faces. High kicks flashed secret places barely covered by the tiniest of thongs. Go-go dancers in boots and lace briefs dipped and twirled in gilded bird cages scattered throughout the club.
“Let’s sit over there!”
Rebeca spoke loudly so that the group could hear her over the music and cheering crowd, pointing out a section three rows back from the stage with several empty tables and chairs grouped together. They agreed but stayed where they were until the music ended. A shower of gold confetti rained down, the audience clapping and whistling as the performers took their bows before disappearing backstage in a swirl of color and glitter. Then their group headed for the spot Rebeca had chosen.
As soon as they settled in, a cocktail server came over to take their drink orders. The young man was dressed according to the theme for the night in green camouflage booty shorts, combat boots, and Army green tape over his nipples in anX. He efficiently took their orders, clearly at ease in his bare skin. Mike remembered a time when he’d been comfortable going without a shirt in public. Those days were over for him.
Their group talked and Mike easily joined in, appreciating that they were making the effort to get to know him and include him in their social group. It wasn’t long before the server returned and set Mike’s glass of rum and Coke in front of him. Mike had just taken a sip when the DJ’s voice boomed throughout the club.
“And now, patrons of The Flirtatious Fox. The act you’ve all been thirsting for. Please welcome to the stage the titillating, tantalizing, and always tempting...Glimmer!”
“Yes, we’re right on time,” Rebeca said as she excitedly straightened in her seat. “I love his performances.”
Eli put his drink down on the table. “Hell, I’m straight and I love seeing this guy dance.” He leaned over to look at Mike. “What about you Zielinski?”
“I’m bi.”
“Then you should like this performance.”
“If he’s Mike’s type,” someone put in.
“Glimmer is everybody’s type,” Rebeca said with a laugh.
The music changed to the slow, sultry bass beat of a popular hip-hop song. The red velvet curtain parted and a slim Caucasian man stepped through it, gliding onto the stage with a long-legged stride. He was dressed in a sexy version of Air Force dress blues. A pale blue shirt tied in a knot above his navel revealed a narrow waist and hard abs, the short sleeves rolled up over lean muscled arms. Tight, dark-blue shorts rode low on his hips and cut high on his thighs. Shiny, black over-the-knee boots, and a brimmed service hat pulled down low to shield the upper half of the dancer’s face completed the look.
The man started dancing, and Mike overheard a low conversation between Rebeca and the woman next to her.
“God, I would love to peg him.”
“Does he like women?”
“In my fantasies he does.”
The dancer gripped the pole and jumped up to swing around it, removing the hat and tossing it to the side. He flung his head back and a sheet of ink-black hair spilled down over his shoulders, flaring out like a silken flag as he spun. When he raised his head back up and looked out over the crowd, Mike’s mouth dropped open. His heartbeat paused before it picked up speed double time.
Even from three rows back he recognized those eyes. Tiger’s eyes. It was Stardust, the man he’d met yesterday at the firehouse.