Susan Andersen - Skintight

J ACKSON G ALLAGHER M C C ALL set his drink down on the tiny cocktail table in front of him as a group of showgirls, clearly ready to party, strolled into the Las Vegas casino bar where he sat. How about that? Ask and ye shall receive.

This must be his lucky night; his target was right in the midst of things. He watched her wild tangle of pale red curls gently shift against her collarbone and spill over her shoulders to float out behind her. It had been a bitch trying to pick her out in la Stravaganza, the lavish revue hed attended a short while ago in the hotel showroom. All the dancers on stage had killer bodies, seemed to be within an inch or two of each other in height, and wore heavy makeup and identical costumes. They either had matching wigs or the exact same lavish headdresses, give or take a plume or three.

He didnt doubt for a minute it was the same group, however, for while theyd replaced all that theatrical greasepaint with the regular kind of makeup women wore, a few of the dancers were still in the skimpy costumes hed last seen on stage in the final act.

Not her, though. He looked her over from head to foot, and decided it wouldnt be a hardship to seduce his way into this ones house. Not with that body, clad now in tall, barely-there sandals, peach-colored hip-hugging slacks, and a matching top, the entire back of which consisted of nothing more than a few skinny criss-cross straps. She had a bawdy laugh and a mouth that was now curved up on the left side in a slight, knowing, closed-lips smile. It was a look that said this woman had probably forgotten more tricks than most women ever learned.

And the same Im-gonna-give-you-the-hottest-night-of-your-life crook of the lips hed seen in the professional head shot his old man had sent him to show off the woman hed persuaded to marry him.

The woman who would become Big Jim McCalls widow practically before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.

H APPY BIRTHDAY , girlfriend! With glasses raised, a multitude of female voices echoed the toast. Someone added, So, which one is this, anyhowyour thirty-second?

Treena McCall looked at the group of women ringing the tables theyd shoved together to accommodate everyone and felt the corner of her mouth turn up. My thirtieth, she corrected smoothly, although it was actually her thirty-fifth. That was a fact shed just as soon forget, but the ache of muscle strain in her left calf due to a simple high kick in the final number made it tough to do.

Her friends hooted. Sure it is, someone agreed with friendly sarcasm. A dancer named Juney nodded and said, And this makes how many thirtieth birthdays youve celebrated?

Oh. Well. If youre going to be picky Her lip crooked up a little higher yet. The truth is, Ive decided to quit adding numbers and go straight to the alphabetical systemwhich I suppose makes me thirty-E. Tell you what, though, Juney. If you dont go there on mine, I promise to stay away from the subject on your next birthday.

Deal.

In any case Julie-Ann Spencer leaned forward from down the table to say I guess you wont be dancing the Crazy Horse Show for La Femme anytime soon.

There was an instant silence, since everyone knew Julie-Anns remarkalthough offered in a friendly enough tonewasnt made in the true spirit of comradery.

Bitch, Carly murmured in Treenas ear, then raised her voice. Is anyone at this table besides you still under twenty-five, Julie-Ann? Rude catcalls greeted her question, and Carly gave the young woman a pointed glance. Then I guess no one but your perky little self qualifies for the Crazy Horse.

And that is sure as hell La Femmes loss, Eve said.

Idiots dont know what theyre missing, Michelle agreed.

But if Julie-Anns intention had been to cast a pall over Treenas mood, shed accomplished her mission. For not only would she never dance in the Crazy Horse, shed be damn lucky if she passed the mandatory annual audition two weeks from now in order to keep the job she already had. Those eleven months off with Big Jim had cost her. His rapidly escalating illness had allowed her time only to take infrequent dance classes, and that sort of hit-and-miss practice simply wasnt sufficient for a Las Vegas showgirl to stay in shape. In little less than a year, shed gone from being dance captain of the troupe to barely keeping her spot. Thirty-five might be the prime of most womens lives, but for a dancer it was nearly over the hill. There was nothing to look forward to but the slippery slope on the other side.