"Exactly. And thus, life goes on." Vincent started gathering up the newspapers. "I tell you though, I think your side and hers are both so f**ked up, it's not even funny. Why the rules? Why does a succubus always have to take away someone's life when she's with them? Why can't you have the choice? And why can't Yasmine make love? Why can't she be in love?"
Good question. I don't think Vincent really expected an answer, but I had to give one anyway.
"Because that's the way it is. The way the system works. The way it's always worked."
"The system is f**ked-up," he said.
I thought about it and nodded. "No arguments."
Smiling, he reached for his coat and slipped it on. "You're okay for a succubus."
Vincent left, off to do whatever it was one did with a posse of angels. I almost envied him because I had something to do that I wasn't looking forward to at all. It was another necessary evil.
I had to get Tawny a job.
After that debacle of a dance lesson, I'd told her I'd help. I might not be able to do much about my mysterious energy loss or angelic romances, but I sure as hell could do something to expedite Niphon's departure.
I drove down to Seatac, a city that owes its entire existence to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. It's more of a shadow, really, spreading around the airport in a blanket of long-term parking lots and cheap hotels. It also has a couple of strip clubs because really, what else are out-of-town businessmen supposed to do in their downtime?
It was late afternoon, so business was slow when I stepped inside Low Blow. A few bored-looking men sat scattered throughout the place, which was dingy and in need of some serious redecorating. Or, well, any decorating. A couple of the guys glanced up with interest as I walked through. Apparently, I held more appeal than the poor brunette trying her damnedest to f**k a pole in time to the dulcet sounds of Pink Floyd's "Young Lust."
I opened my mouth to speak to the bartender, but a voice behind me interrupted.
"Ho...ly...shit. I don't believe it. I don't f**king believe it."
I turned and looked into the long, narrow face of Simon Chesterfield, the proud proprietor of this dive. Between his face and lanky body, he always reminded me of a weasel. His black mustache never quite seemed able to grow in completely, and he dressed in brand name clothes that were always one size too small. He was chummy with the local Hellish players, and rumor had it he was in line to be an imp, eventually selling his soul for immortality and the chance to be a diabolical salesman.
"You finally come to dance for me, doll?"
"You wish."
For a sleazy guy who ran a sleazy establishment, Simon actually had a legitimate appreciation for dance. I'd once seen him trying to choreograph his strippers and had been impressed by his sense of aesthetics and rhythm. His employees hadn't really caught on. Such talents were kind of wasted here, and I used to wonder why he didn't take his business to one of the more affluent suburbs where he could get a higher caliber of dancers. The reason he stayed, I'd later learned, was that this was a better venue for all sorts of other shady business he conducted.
Still, Simon had a sharp eye and knew what a good dancer I was. He'd been on me for years to come work for him.
"We need to talk," I explained. "Business."
"It's what I do." With a sweeping gesture, he pointed to a doorway beside the bar. "Let's go to my office then."
His 'office' was barely a broom closet, but it had a stool for me to sit on. Resting my heels on a mid-level bar, I brought my knees up to my chest. It made my gray linen skirt slide up a bit. Simon watched with an interest that was more professional than personal.
"Fuck, woman. You come dance for me, and I could make a killing." He shook his head and collapsed into a rolling faux leather chair. "A succubus on my stage. Fuck."
I tilted my head to the side. "It's funny you mention that because that's kind of why I'm here."
I think my innocent tone set his alarms off. He eyed me suspiciously. "I thought you said you didn't want a job."
"Not me. We just got a new succubus, and she's looking for a gig. Didn't you hear?"
"No..." He frowned. "And she wants to dance? Here?"
"Yep," I said glibly. "She can't wait to take her clothes off." Wasn't that the truth.
Simon leaned back in the chair and put his feet on the desk. Casual pose or not, he was still on guard. "What's the catch?"
"Why does there have to be a catch? You should be excited about this. We're doing you a favor."
"You're offering to drop a succubus into my lap. That sounds too good to be true, so it is too good to be true." He paused, still thinking. "And why are you here instead of her?"
"I'm altruistic."
"Georgina," he said warningly.
"Okay," I admitted. "She's kind of...new."
"How new?"
"Really new. Still under warranty."
"There's still a catch here somewhere."
"Well...she's..." I spun through my mental rolodex of adjectives. "Inept."
He raised one narrow eyebrow. "Inept?"
"She's still learning how to get men." Since Simon probably wanted sexy women working for him, I figured it wasn't worth mentioning that Tawny wasn't so much learning as she was still trying to find her way to class. "And she's a, um, bad dancer."
"How bad?"
"Bad."
"Can you be a little more specific on what level of bad we're dealing with?"
"Remember Gigli?"
"Jesus. So, why do you think I'd want to take on a shitty dancer?"
"Simon," I exclaimed. "All your dancers are shitty."
"Not all of them," he said. "And it's not like I'm trying to get more. We have standards."
I gave him a pointed look.
"Alright, alright." He ran a hand through his gelled black hair. "What do I get in return?"
Now I was the indignant one. "What do you mean? You're getting a succubus dancer. What else do you need?"
"I'm getting a succubus charity case. I'm the one doing you a favor." His eyes were shrewd. Yeah. He'd make a good imp someday. He was this close to breaking out a contract. "I want you. Dance for me two nights this week."
"No."
"One night."
"Simon, there is nothing in this world that's going to get me to dance here, not even a succubus charity case. Pick something else."
"Okay, fine." He pondered. "You. I want you."
"Hey, I just told you - "
"No, no. Not as a dancer. As in right now. On the desk."
I sighed. That kind of want.
"Look, if I've gotta hire a bad succubus, I might as well f**k a good one."
"Interesting logic. Aren't you worried about your soul?"
He looked at me like he couldn't believe I'd had the audacity to ask such a thing. It was similar to the look I'd given him when he said Low Blow had standards.
"Noted." I stood up. "But not this body. Pick another shape."
Simon snorted. "You think I'm interested in a pinup girl crossed with an Ann Taylor model? Fuck that. I want a sixteen-year-old version of Liza Minnelli. In a school girl's uniform."
I stared. "I have no idea what that would look like."
He started undoing his pants. "You're a smart girl. Figure it out."
Sighing again, I shape-shifted, taking on a small body with a black pixie haircut. Baby smooth skin. Green plaid skirt with matching vest. Simon grunted his approval.
Turning, I rested my hands on the desk and bent over, thrusting my ass out toward him. I hoped it would be over soon. If I could just get the weasel comparison out of my head, this would probably be a lot easier.
I felt his hands slide along my legs as he pushed the skirt up. Suddenly, he froze.
"A thong? Are you insane, woman?"
"You're a sick bastard," I told him. The thong changed to white cotton panties.
"Don't I know it."
He pushed the panties down and thrust forward. Well, I guess it was a thrust. Simon wasn't that well-endowed. I was on the verge of saying something like, "Are you there yet?" Alas, the Tawny situation was too dire. I couldn't risk Simon changing his mind about her for the sake of a joke, no matter how funny.
But, whatever Simon lacked in size, he made up for in enthusiasm. He gripped my hips, nails digging into my bare flesh as he pounded away. I had to keep a fierce hold on the desk. Eventually, seeking variety, Simon flipped me over to my back. He unfastened my blouse and bra, exposing small, perky br**sts that had just "blossomed into womanhood." Eyes on them and not my face, he grabbed my legs and spread them so that my ankles practically rested on his shoulders.