As she was about to turn away, he said, “Valerie?”

“Yes, Paulus.”

“I just wanted to say…”

“Yes?”

He smiled up at her shyly. “I like your apartment.”

* * *

They stood in moonlight, like the best of friends; many of the streetlights were out, a testament to the District’s ongoing fiscal crisis. The asphalt was opalescent from the rain and the occasional oil slick. The city had grown quiet, as if the last of the rain had swept all sounds away along with the dust, grime, and grit that had been in the air. Only a distant hum, as of a colossal generator, came to them, like a rumor from some hidden underworld.

Sydny gestured to a car that had appeared out of the night, and had now pulled up to the curb, its engine idling. “Someone is waiting for you.”

Julie looked at the car: it was black and it appeared armored. For an instant her heart lurched in her chest. Had Hemingway come here? At once, her eyes lowered; she felt engulfed in shame.

Sydny stood very close to her. “Don’t do that, kitten. Shame is bad for your health.” She tapped the side of Julie’s head. “You know, here, where things get fucked up easily.”

“Who’s in the car?”

“A friend I phoned. All he wants is to talk.”

Julie stared into Sydny’s beautiful, cat-like face.

“Listen, kitten, everything is in your hands. If you don’t want to get into the car you can simply walk home.”

For some reason she could not explain, she trusted this woman. “I don’t think I want to do that.” She took a step toward the car, then turned back. “Why do you do what you do?” she asked. “Is it out of necessity?”

“You mean is it the only thing I can make money at?” Sydny laughed. “I have a degree from Georgetown. Poli-sci, the theory and practice of politics.” She arched an eyebrow. “In this town, I’m making the best use of my degree.” She squeezed Julie’s hand. “And there’s something else. Something important, vital even. I like it, kitten, and in life you have to do what you like, otherwise your life is shit. I love being onstage. I love showing off my body. I love the sheen my skin gets when I work the pole; it’s the same sheen I get during sex. But most of all I like the control I have over the men watching me. I can see what’s in their eyes. They fantasize about me in the dark, and after they go home. They fuck me in their minds. I can’t tell you how great that feeling is. It’s like, I don’t know, like how I imagine having wings would be, soaring up into the clouds.”

A pair of worry lines appeared between Julie’s eyes. “But what about what happens, in, you know, Heaven?”

“What, the lap dances? They don’t mean anything. It’s acting 101, kitten, nothing more.”

“But there are exceptions.”