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Pink Diamond could bear the weight of a healthy girl； and most could have been reduced to matchsticks by a ninety…pound junkie。
One dancer stood in the dust…choked area behind the stage waiting for her cue。 A muffled cough and snort sounded over the P。A。 She would bet her day's tips that Tommy； the DJ； was doing a line right there in the booth。 Usually he went to the men's room； but the manager wasn't here today； and no one else cared。
〃And now…in her last set of the day…The Sweetest Charm of the Orient…MISS LEE！〃
The first notes of her music pounded out of the speakers； a Cure song cranked up so loud that the words were distorted； but it didn't matter because no one else in this club had ever heard of the Cure except maybe a couple of the other dancers； and no one cared what music she danced to anyway as long as she showed her tits。 Miss Lee threw back the dusty velvet curtain and kicked one leg out； long and silky…pale； shod in a spike…heeled； silver…chained； black leather ankle boot； and the crowd went wild。
If you could call five or six unshaven； seedy…looking men a crowd。
And if a few listless hoots and whistles； the lewd waggling of a tongue in the general direction of her crotch； or the simple act of lifting beer to mouth could be considered wild。
Miss Lee undulated onto the tiny stage。 A ring of globe…shaped bulbs lit her from below； playing over her black vinyl T…strap and bra as she moved； showing off what curves she had。 Five or six of the bulbs were dead； spaced at uneven intervals like rotten teeth in a jaw。 She stalked to the pole placed strategically at center stage； wrapped her arms around it； and straddled it。 She arched her back and worked the pole with her hips； letting her mouth fall open and her eyes slip half…shut into the dazed； drugged…looking expression that was supposed to pass for ecstasy。 Then she pushed away from the pole； paused in front of the first stage rat； and began a slow insistent grind in front of his face。
After a couple of minutes he pinched two crumpled dollar bills out of his shirt pocket and slid them into her garter； making sure to run his nicotine…withered fingers as far up her thigh as he thought he could get away with。 His sour scowl never wavered。 Miss Lee gave him a geisha smile and moved on to the next customer； who was marginally young and good…looking； and therefore less likely to tip。
She wondered what they would think if they knew where her stage name came from。 She had been born in New Orleans of Korean parents； and Loup； the Pink Diamond's manager； had advised her to pick 〃some kinda fake Chinese name〃 to capitalize on her ethnic looks。 （〃Lotta guys go in for that kinda thing；〃 he'd added as if letting her in on a big guy…secret。） She had chosen the name Lee after a character from her favorite book； Naked Lunch。 When a customer was nasty or business was bad or she was just in no mood to shake her ass for a bunch of human dildoes； she would think of junk…filled needles jabbing into putrescent veins； of swollen cocks leaking foul greenish slime； of beautiful boys fistfucking by the light of a rotten…cheese moon。 It didn't make her happy； but it helped。
Her second song began。 The Pixies' 〃No。 13 Baby。〃 She glanced over at the DJ booth and saw Tommy grimace at the whining voice and churning psychedelic guitar： his tastes ran more to bands like Triumph and Foreigner； fake corporate metal； maybe a little Guns N' Roses if he was feeling really radical。
Miss Lee reached back to unhook her bra and felt a bill being tucked into the back of her garter； a dry hand whispering over her left buttcheek and gone before she could turn her head。 She caught sight of the customer in one of the mirrors that ringed the stage。 A tall black guy； head down； already disappearing into the darkness of the bar。 For some reason the black men who liked her seemed embarrassed by their attraction。 Maybe because she was so pale。
Surreptitiously she reached around and palmed the bill； slid it to the side of her leg。 It was a ten。 Jackpot。 That pushed her over the hundred…dollar mark； good money for the day shift： she could actually afford to go home。
She stared at her reflection receding into infinity as she peeled the vinyl top away from her small firm breasts。 A thin silver chain connected them； attached to delicate rings through both of her cafe…au…lait…colored nipples。 The rest of her skin was a pale matte almond； ribs showing through like slats in a shutter； body too scrawny except for her rounded shelf of a butt and her tiny potbelly； legs muscled from six…hour shifts on spike heels and long walks through the French Quarter。
Her face was rather flat； her wide lips unrouged…she hated the way she looked in lipstick； especially the greasy pink…orange stuff most of the other dancers smeared on their mouths…and her dark narrow eyes smudged with purple shadow and black mascara； half hidden by her messy platinum wig。 〃Yew got the most beautiful hair Ah ever seen；〃 a rube tourist had once told her reverently； and how she had longed to whip it off and drop it in his lap。
Instead she had smiled sweetly and taken his money。
Third song。 Prince's 〃Darling Nikki；〃 a small concession to the crowd； give 'em something they've heard before。 And it was a dirty song； the famous dirty song that had kicked off the PMRC's entire Crusade Against Dirty Music； or whatever it was； by using the word masturbating in its lyrics。 Bless it。 Miss Lee hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her G…string； pulled the tiny scrap of vinyl tight over her crotch； so that the folds of her labia were all but outlined in shiny black。 To get away with this trick she had to shave her pubic hair to the approximate size and shape of a Band…Aid； and it still wasn't enough； they always wanted to see more。
〃Pull it to the side；〃 some old fart would croak； waving a dollar in her face as if it were worth her job。
〃Lemme see some hair。〃
〃Hey； are you a natural blonde？〃 That line was always good for a snigger。
The men who came here could never see enough of her body； it was as if they wanted to take her apart。 If she could remove her G…string； they'd want her to bend over and spread her cheeks so they could look up her twat。 If she could do that； she supposed； they'd want her to unzip her skin and peel it off。
But it was a job （though precious few of the men who paid her salary seemed to realize that； it was amazing how many thought the dancers did this to meet guys or get erotic thrills）。 It allowed her to set her own schedule and paid better than waiting tables； which she had also done； dancing was much less demeaning。 People saw restaurant workers as automatons； extensions of the tables and chairs； fair game for anything from tip…stiffing to verbal abuse。
But dancers； especially ones with any kind of good looks； were often treated like the epitome of unattainable goddess…hood。 Even in a joint like the Pink Diamond； the men were crude and gross and often infuriating； but hardly ever flat…out mean。 And if they were； the dancers could have them kicked out。 Some girls tried to get customers thrown out just for making raunchy remarks。 Miss Lee thought this was stupid。 Men who made such remarks were usually drunk； and drunk men usually tipped better。 And she couldn't help pondering the morality of girls who shook their tits in the face of any guy with a dollar to his name； but blanched when they heard the word pussy。
It was an okay job； but she wouldn't mind winning the sweepstakes tomorrow。
She sank to the stage in a modified split that set them peering at her crotch in the eternal Quest to See Hair； collected a few more dollars； and disappeared behind the curtain as the last strains of 〃Darling Nikki〃 died。 She and the next dancer； a tall muscular girl with bleached…blond hair and smooth ebony skin who called herself Baby Doll； groped their way past each other in the cramped coffinlike area。 〃How are they？〃 Baby Doll whispered。
Miss Lee shrugged。 〃Not great。〃
〃Honey； they're never great。〃 Miss Lee laughed。 Baby Doll dabbed at her liberally applied pinky…orange lipstick； hoisted her heavy breasts so that they rode high and round in the D…cups of her red sequined halter top； and ducked onstage as Tommy botched the lead…in to her first song。
Miss Lee walked down a short shabby corridor to the dressing room。 The heels of her boots dug into the bare concrete floor and sent bolts of agony up her calves。 Boots were more fortable than the pumps most girls wore； since they gave her ankles some support； but at the end of a shift she could still feel every step she had taken on those four…inch spikes。
She tugged them off as soon as she hit the dressing room； collected the sweaty dollars stuffed into her garter and her G…string； peeled off both； and dove into her bag for street clothes。 An oversize black Ministry shirt； a pair of cutoffs； and her Converse All…Stars； one black； one purple； safety…pinned and scribbled upon； she had another pair just like it at home。 After six hours on high heels； there was nothing more forting than shoving your sore toes into a pair of soft； sloppy sneakers。
She stopped by the DJ booth to tip out…don't spend it all in one place； Tommy； sniffle snort…and cut through the club。 A blubbery redneck she'd table…danced for earlier tried to wave her over； but she stared right through him and kept heading for the door。 Once she was done； she was done。
Just outside the door she stopped； whipped off the platinum wig； and stuffed it into her bag。 Her hair underneath was black； buzzed nearly to the scalp except for wispy bangs that fell over her face and a few long skinny braids sprouting here and there。 One of her small ears was pierced with thirteen silver hoops beginning at the lobe and curling gracefully up around the delicate rim。 From the other dangled a single cross with a tiny ruby…eyed skull at its juncture。
She ran her hand through her buzz cut and breathed in the twilight air of the French Quarter and let Miss Lee go for another night。 She was Eddy Sung now； and her evenings were her own。
The gas lamps were just beginning to e on； their soft yellow glow flickering on every corner。 She thought of stopping off for a beer and a dozen oysters on the half…shell somewhere。 The salty； briny flavor of them always drove the taste of a day's false smiles out of her mouth。 But no； she decided； she would go home and check her mail and her messages； and then maybe she would call Zachary and see if he wanted to go eat oysters。 They were supposed to be an aphrodisiac； maybe they'd work on him。
Ha。 She should be so lucky。
Eddy allowed herself a rueful little laugh and set off through the Quarter for home。
Chapter Five
Zach was already throwing the last of his movable belongings into his car when Eddy arrived。 She had run all the way from her apartment on St。 Philip after hearing his message on her answering machine； and her face was flushed and sweaty； her breath ing in harsh shallow gasps。
But Zach looked worse。 His green eyes had a feverish sheen。 Beneath a ridiculous black bad…cowboy hat she hadn't seen before； his peaked pale face was nearly luminescent in the gaslit gloom of little Rue Madison。 He crammed a box of papers into the back seat of his Mustang； turned to grab another box； and saw Eddy。 His face froze。 For an instant he looked terrified。 Then he stumbled toward her and threw his arms around her。 Her heart broke a little； but Eddy was used to this； it happened every time she saw Zach。
〃They got you？〃
He nodded。 The words I told you so hung in the air； but she would not dream of speaking them。
〃How bad？〃
〃The warning said They know who you are； They know where you are。 I don't think They really know where I am yet or They'd be here。 But They could be finding out right now。 They could show up anytime。〃
Eddy glanced nervously back toward Chartres Street。 Except for an occasional ripple of street jazz or burst of drunken laughter； all was quiet。
〃I'm taking the incriminating stuff with me。 The puters； my disks； my notebooks。 The place will be clean if you want to move in。 If They show up and want to search； let 'em search。 They won't find a damn t