The pink neon sign towered above the city’s premier gentlemen’s club, inviting men to come inside and examine its dancers’ wares. Located on Delaware Avenue, just a stone’s throw from the river and mere steps from the city’s voter registration offices, the club hosted businessmen from all over the world and high rollers from up and down the East Coast.

It was the place where well-heeled men escaped the realities of their mundane lives, and where silicone and stilettos shaped a fake world where fake love was exchanged for twenties and fifties. The gleaming poles and colored lights made every girl appear to be a star, and from their comfortable booths and tables, the men watched each performer claim her fifteen minutes of fame.

The round-faced, bespectacled man in the tan leisure suit was a regular. He worked as a CPA at a downtown firm, spending each day with numbers and forms. Every Tuesday, he worked late, and at 7:00 PM sharp, he stacked his papers in two piles on his desk and went to the washroom, where he neatly parted his red hair, smoothed out his unruly eyebrows, and sprayed on two squirts of Old Spice.

After maneuvering his ten-year-old Honda out of the underground lot, he drove the two and a half miles to the strip club, pulled into the outdoor parking lot, and parked in the third space from the end. He sat in the car and counted out exactly four hundred dollars in tens for the other girls, and eight hundred dollars in twenties for Misty.

Tonight he’d adhered to his routine, sitting at the bar for two hours, then moving to the booth in the middle of the room. Because the troubled economy made Tuesdays even slower than usual, the girls were grateful for his presence and gave him just enough extras to make sure they got their share of his bounty. They moved across the stage with a fluidity that was alluring, their hips swaying and their hair flipping as their bottoms clapped and their breasts bounced to the rhythm of techno mixes.

The man in the tan suit was duly impressed by their attempts to turn his head, and he rewarded them with several tens from his tightly guarded roll. But he was never truly excited until Misty came to the stage.

It was she who he’d come to see, after all. With her golden brown complexion and lithe, athletic build, she was supple skin and flowing auburn hair, hazel eyes and sparkling white teeth. She was exotic and sensual, sexy and accessible. She was real, and she was right there in front of him.