Vivanka Katarina Teriancho was tired of exotic dancing. She was tired of the groping, leering men and the insinuations. She was sitting on the bench in the dressing room, rolling her red stockings up her long legs. The dressing room was not large – all thirteen girls that worked there could never fit in the room at once – but it looked much like a locker room. The rest of the club was lavishly decorated. Dandy Dave, the club owner and manager of The Night Cap, was in his early fifties with stringy gray hair that settled limply on his shoulders. He had a goatee that was mostly gray and fairly clean. His eyes were most odd…one green and one brown. Dave wasn’t grossly overweight, but he had a pudgy tummy that jiggled when he laughed, like Santa Claus. Sadly, he wasn’t jolly like Santa. He spared no expense in decorating the club for the customers’ comfort. Plush chairs in reds and purples, a separate cigar bar, private rooms with room for “extras” if the customers paid enough.
“I am not a prostitute like they all think,” she thought. “I am just a nice Russian girl who came to New York City in search of a good life.”
