Desdemona Jones, the faded newspaper clipping tucked into the edge of the dressing table mirror read, was the only bright light as the lead dancer in the short-lived stage presentation of Beat Street. The article went on to praise her talent and trash the production. Parker leaned closer and read the date next to the headline... six years ago.

When he hired on as the pre show entertainment, Parker had watched the women perform and quickly found his mouth drying and heart thudding as Des snaked and slithered through her routine on the brass pole at centre stage. Afterwards he made it a point to introduce himself and Des was the only one to give him the time of day... literally.

"It's midnight, sport, and we are all dog tired."

He'd told her that he enjoyed her performance and that he thought she was by far the better of the three.

"I saw yours too."

He had perked up, hopeful of a reciprocal review.

"I'd fire your writer."

"I'm my writer." He had responded.

"Like I said."

Parker chuckled to himself at the memory. That was only four months ago and since then she had never mentioned his routine again until tonight, and that wasn't a rave either.

^^^^^^^

Desdemona Jones was a tall, impossibly well-proportioned honey blonde with almost aquamarine blue eyes and a quirky smile. It wasn't until she reached the age of twenty-eight that a break had come as a back-up dancer in a small off Broadway production, and from there to her role in Beat Street.

Unfortunately, the failure of that production left the investors beyond jaded, and the entire company was dissolved, leaving the cast and crew adrift. Now, at thirty-seven, she was still more than a match for her current partners, both barely into their twenties, spending most of her evenings when not working at Gut Busters, nose down into books on stage acting and opportunities.

From the earliest days, Desdemona had been enthralled by the convenient and affordable lessons she learned from a teacher at a local dancing camp. The woman, while skilled in her own right, never achieved her dream but dedicated herself to helping others find theirs. She returned home brimming with the excitement of a new determination in her life. Her mother scoffed and her father never even listened.

Shortly after the parents had split leaving Desdemona with foster parents until she ran away at fifteen and found a home with another runaway. The girl had managed to amass enough money working the street to afford a small room in a boarding house run by an indifferent woman happy enough to collect rent.

To do her share of providing that rent, Desdemona tried her new friend's business but quickly turned to any other available work she could find, vowing she would never let herself sink into that world. The usual waiting tables and hustling bar drinks gradually led to reluctantly accepting performing at smokers and lodge functions, where she learned that, despite as tawdry the business was, it paid very well.

The big drawback was the expected behaviour for that pay. It was at one of those functions that Desdemona's luck changed. The grey haired, despotic looking organizer, who she thought was going to present her with the same old propositions she'd received a hundred times before, actually gave her a business card for a talent agent and suggested she give him a call.

Nothing was suggested or expected. The man simply said she was better than the venue she was working and should do herself a favour. One month later Desdemona was in the chorus line of a small off Broadway play, and less than a year later she was the lead in the entertaining but underfunded and short-lived, Beat Street. Out of work again and now entering her thirty-fifth year, another approach, met with the same suspicions of lecherous men with smarmy grins and glittering eyes.

This time it another business deal, not one she really welcomed, but a living had to be made and so her contract with Earl Barkluster saw Desdemona working at his club as a pole dancer, guaranteeing she could perform without harassment, accept a moderate pay but keep all the tips she made; an incentive to go that extra mile. The best part was he had no personal interest beyond business; Earl was as bent as a paper clip.

**********

The forty minutes passed faster than he expected, and the door flew open as the three women blew in, one yelling angrily and the other two snapping back with little pity.

"Should I step out?" He asked Des as she tossed her top onto the rail beside her table.

"YES! Get the hell out!" The angry woman screamed.

"Might be better." Des said. "I'll be about fifteen minutes we can meet at the exit." Parker nodded and backed out of the room as the yelling began again in earnest. Pole dancers also had great lungs.

To the minute, Des rambled past the back of the stage toward the exit, the pale blue skirt swishing her bare legs and a long strapped purse pinning the sleeveless t-shirt to her tanned shoulder. She waved goodnight to Jiggs Weaver, the Gut Buster security guard and hopped down the three steps to the door, taking Parker's arm on the way out.

"Punctual, a nice characteristic."

"Only if there's someone there to appreciate it." She steered him down the street away from the main drag.

"Was that a shot?"

She squeezed his arm slightly and smiled. "Parker, don't be paranoid, okay?" Her steps quickened as they approached the intersection, and she made a sharp right turn then another, through the double doors of a sports bar. Parker winced at the noise of several TVs featuring as many different events, along with the chatter and cheering of the scattered customers. The room was large, L-shaped and dark. Des walked straight through into the toe of the L and slipped into a large high-backed booth. Amazingly, the noise became pleasantly muted, and he found the cushioned leather seats more than comfortable.

"Are we in the same place?"

"It's a trick of the design. We always raise a small toast to the architect when we come here."

"We?"

"Anyone I happen to be with, Parker." Longish, suffering reply.

"Right. Sorry." He picked up a small drink menu. "Can we order something?"

"I'm having coffee."

"Oh, okay. That'll work. Do I go up or...?"

"It's coming now."

Parker started to turn as a young apron clad waiter slid up to the table with a pair of tall thin mugs and a tray with a coffee pot, cream and sugar.

"Anything to snack on, Des?"

She looked at Parker and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, uh..."

"Just some nuts, Gordie, thanks." Des poured the coffee and dropped a small amount of sugar in one, stirred and sipped. "For a stand-up comic you sure are slow on the uptake."

"Well, they say he who hesitates is boss."

"Drink your coffee, Parker." Gordie appeared with a bowl of nuts, but he stood staring at Des as if he was frightened.

"What's wrong?" She put her mug down and looked up.

"The TV. The news..."

"What Gordie? What about the news?"

"Your boss... Earl... they found him dead..."

"What?" Parker nearly leaped out of the booth.

"Turn on that TV beside you." Des pointed.

A grainy picture appeared of a woman with plastic hair looking determinedly into the camera. Her voice filled with drama as she reported the breaking news story of the possible murder of Earl Barkluster, the owner of the famous Gut Busters nightclub.

"Holy shit! Murder!" Parker looked wildly at Desdemona. "I told you that guy was pushing Earl around!"

"Shhh! Listen."

The newscaster went on to say that the police were seeking information about two of the club's employees seen leaving earlier together, a Parker Nevens, the club comedian and one of the dancers, Miss Desdemona Jones. Anyone having information on these people should contact the police at once.

"Oh man, the cops are after us now." Parker sagged down in the booth.

"Don't be an ass; they just want to question us because we weren't there. They've obviously spoken to the others already. Let's go."

"Go! Go where?"

"Back to the club and talk to the police. We didn't do anything, Parker. We just tell them what we know."

"But I saw that guy choking Earl with his tie."

"So, tell them." She stood up, dropped some money on the table and waited for him to follow