In a flash both girls were naked but for garter belts and fishnets. The music slowed to languid sludge in a too-sweet key, and they began caressing each other, vamping, stroking, kissing, tongues lizarding.

The black-haired girl sank to the carpet, lay on her back, arched her pelvis. The blonde shimmied between her partner's legs, lowered to her knees, bowed her head prayerfully, grazed the dark girl's abdomen with platinum spikes.

Tonguing the dark girl's navel. The dark girl writhed.

The blond girl looked up, placed a finger on her lip, as if contemplating what to do next. A big-eyed travesty of innocence, holding out her hands as if seeking counsel from the crowd.

The crowd cheered her on.

She tilted her head back to the dark girl's crotch, began to dip again, raised her face. Kneeling in place but not moving as the dark-haired girl, still bucking, took hold of her arm and urged her down.

The blond girl studied the audience. Took in the entire room.

Turning my way, giving me a full view of her face.

Long, oval face beneath the silvery spikes. Pale eyes under plucked brows, dominant but perfectly proportioned cleft chin.

Recognition was a splinter in my chest.

Hers too. The slyness dropped off her face, replaced by . . . a queasy smile.

She stared at me, and her head froze above the black-haired girl's writhing hips. I thought I saw her give the faintest headshake— denying something?

The music oozed on. The black-haired girl kept gyrating, started to realize something was off. Made a grab for Lauren's head.

Lauren didn't budge.

Then she did.

As she allowed herself to be dragged down, I escaped.

3

I DROVE HOME nearly blind with shame, cutting through dark, cold streets as if nothing mattered.

The closest I've come to having children are the people who've depended on me. Encountering Lauren had given me a glimpse of what the parents of whores and felons go through.

The look in her eyes when she'd recognized me— stripper's flaunt degrading to . . . imbalance. The uncertainty she'd never shown as a teenager.

Now she was twenty-one. Legal. That made me laugh out loud.

Why the hell had I gone to Harnsberger's party in the first place? Why hadn't I left when the tone of the evening became clear?

Because, as in most men, something in me craved fresh erotic imagery.

Robin was waiting up for me, but that night I was very poor company.

* * *

I slept terribly, woke the next morning wondering what, if anything, I should do about the encounter. At eight o'clock I called my service, and the operator informed me Lauren had phoned at midnight and asked for an appointment.

“She sounded urgent,” said the operator. “I knew about that cancellation at two, so I gave it to her. Hope that was okay, Dr. Delaware.”

“Sure,” I said, sick with dread. “Thanks.”

“We're here to serve, Doctor.”

* * *