She took the Scotch he held out, and smiled. It was her professional smile. Burt was going to be a lot of work.

“So do you,” she purred. “Here. Have a seat. My name’s Velvet, Burt.”

“I’m Burt,” he blurted, and blushed bright red.

He was sweating heavily, dark wet rings under his arms and trickles sliding down his face to drip on his collar. She made sure her smile stayed professional and put several underlines on her mental note to shower. Poor man. If it was such an ordeal for him, why did he do it?

His sweat smelled different than she was used to. Acrid. Was he sick? She didn’t like the thought of fucking a sick man, though she’d probably done it often enough. Thank god for rubbers.

Enough foreplay, she thought, and, sipping her Scotch, slowly unbuttoned her silk blouse while he watched. Revealed the baby-blue bra. It had a front hook on it, and she popped it to let the blouse and bra slide slowly down her arms and off, a wave of silk and lace. The air-conditioning felt damp and cold on her skin, like nervous fingers.

She leaned back against the pillows and dribbled a little Scotch on her nipples.

“Lick it off,” she commanded. Jesus, he was red. Gasping for air. He started to lean forward to obey her, then sat up and pulled at his tie.

“Can’t,” he croaked, and fumbled with his shirt buttons. She leaned forward again, genuinely spooked now, as his glass fell out of his hand and tumbled slowly to the carpet, spilling a Scotch rain.

Oh, god, he was going to croak on her. She’d always been afraid of that, had asked Ming what to do, but Ming said it never happened, just in the movies, and now here he was croaking right in front of her—

He clawed at his shirt. She caught a single horrified glimpse of his eyes and they were red, as if they’d filled up with blood. His face was the color of bricks.

“Burt?” she managed to gasp, and smelled something cooking.

His shirt burst into flame. White flame. She felt herself moving and knew that she was crawling away from him, but she couldn’t stop watching, and the shirt was melting into his skin and burning; she saw polyester blisters sizzle and explode on his skin, raw red muscle peel away and turn lacy black. His chest was burning. His arms. His back.

Water, she thought blankly. I’d better get some water.