Chapter 1

He wasn't looking forward to this luncheon. He would be forty years old tomorrow and some of his fellow salesmen had decided that he would be entering the twilight of his sexual life, and on this, his last day of potency, they would regenerate his sex drive with a visit to a notorious strip club. Perhaps it was supposed to be a comment on his modest lifestyle. Whichever, he had never been one to frequent those places. He found the atmosphere to be smoky and uncomfortable, the music unreasonably loud, and the women generally unattractive. All-in-all, it wasn't his particular "cup of tea." It left nothing to the imagination and the audience wasn't likely to be found at the opera the next night.

It wasn't that the women weren't blessed with beautiful bodies. It was just the predictable form that the so-called entertainment took. He lived in a city where the dancers were permitted to be completely nude as long as none of the patrons touched them. Naturally, the rules were stretched to the limit in order to maximize the audience, and of course, the tips. Lap dances were permitted as long as the dancers wore at least a bikini bottom and top and still, no touching. Again, the definitions of bikini and touching were broadened to the maximum, or perhaps more accurately, the minimum.

It was in that frame of mind that Brent Gordon pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the Wagon Wheel Club at noon on a Wednesday, reluctantly joining eight of his fellow employees at the noon show. His best friend, Adam Richards, had been made responsible for insuring that he would show up. Brent had a customer meeting at eleven that morning, and promised Adam that, although he wasn't delighted, he would arrive at noon or close to it. As he looked around for the guys, he saw that they were front and center, and he walked over to the three tables that had been pulled together, finding a seat had been saved for him that faced directly toward the main stage.

He sat down and was immediately presented with a glass of beer. He looked around the table and took note of who was in attendance. He was surprised, and a bit unhappy that Ron Dixon was sitting in the group. They had history and it wasn't pleasant. He knew that almost everyone at the table was aware of that, but somehow someone thought it appropriate to invite him. He was sure Dixon hadn't just shown up on his own, but he decided to let it slide. He was supposed to enjoy himself.

The dancers had already started their predictable routines, and after a while, he found them boring and quit watching. He looked around and could see that the place was almost full. It was obviously a good business. The customers were pretty subdued so far. None of the girls had stirred their interest, but if he remembered correctly, the headliners would be coming along shortly before one o'clock, and the noise level would undoubtedly rise then.

Adam, Johnny Martin and Brent were taking turns swapping stories about aging and what it felt like. At that point, they were able to hold a conversation without having to yell at each other. He had managed to nurse his first beer for almost 45 minutes before another appeared before him. He was determined not to overdo it this afternoon. He would have a hard time explaining to Jeanette why he stunk of beer and cigarettes in the middle of a work week.

They had been served some bad sandwiches at what were undoubtedly inflated prices, but since he was the "guest of honor," he wouldn't see the bill. The sound level was increasing as the first of the headliners appeared. He managed to finish his sandwich and sat back in the chair to watch what the so-called premier performers had to offer. It was a case of more of the same with bigger boobs and smaller g-strings. The crowd seemed to be more inclined to approve however, as the catcalls and whistles were building quite nicely for her second set.