Restless and throbbing, she headed back to the dorm without waiting for a security guard to take her. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and she was cold from the air-conditioning. She needed clarity—clarity that was interrupted when a man in a black shirt called after her. She picked up her pace and tried to ignore him. She was used to getting hit on, especially lately. She’d seen other Bunnies exude a strange magnetic energy, and now that she felt desired and adored, it was happening to her.

“Hey,” he said. “I want to spend some time with you.”

She didn’t have time for this guy. In two hours, she was supposed to work a Bob Hope charity fundraiser that she’d been looking forward to for weeks. She’d planned to return to her dorm room, take a quick nap, and shower. If she had time, she’d sneak off to the VIP lounge before it opened so that she could play piano, though what she truly craved were the pedals of the organ. She couldn’t explain it, but some days music built up inside her. On that day, she’d been hearing the complex melodic lines of the andante of Handel’s organ concertos op. 7 and she wanted to work it out on the keys.

The man heeled her like a dog. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“No. Why should I?” She tried to walk faster. She’d heard enough stories of guys who hung around the resort to make her wary. There were men who wanted to lure Bunnies into their cars. She’d heard that the previous summer a troubled Vietnam vet had accosted a Bunny in the parking lot and cut up her face with a razor. But that day, Sherri wasn’t too worried. It was a perfect, sunny afternoon. She had Arthur’s note in her pocket, she had her job, and she had music. What could go wrong?

He followed her, and she quickened her step. “I sat in your section last night,” he said.

Sherri slowed to look at him. He wasn’t familiar to her, and she had a good memory for faces. Then again, it was dark in the Cabaret. Frankie Avalon had performed, and the place was packed.

“I’m Mr. Saito,” he said. “Hinata Saito. Doesn’t that name ring any bells?”

“Sorry, no bells.”

“People call me Johnnie.” He opened the big black bag he was carrying, and Sherri worried for a moment that he was about to pull a gun. Instead, he lifted out a fancy camera. “I’m from the magazine.”