Prologue:
"Dirty Martini." He could barely see the sign in the rain. The words were written in a flashing red light that would blink off and on through the pouring haze. The dark gray sky and the thickness of the rain shower had caused a blur of gray all around and yet the bright red light flashed in defiance against the grim colorlessness of the storm.
"Dirty Martini." The flashing words were inside the outline of a bottle of Martini, with the silhouette of a naked woman riding it like a broomstick. You did not need to say much after that, for anyone looking for a strip bar in the area would know that this was it. Christopher Harrington got out of his Mercedes SLR, and shielded his head with a leather binder. With this make-shift umbrella, he made his way to the entrance walking as fast as he could without turning it into a run.
The interior was a balance between a more polished atmosphere and the rougher edges of a low-end establishment. The wall paint had started to show cracks, and the dim lighting did a great job in concealing the imperfections of the place. The square stage with a chain railing was not very generous in size but glamorous. If there was one area that seemed out of this place, it was the stage. The woman on the stage was all out wild. Her head movements threw her blonde hair all around, and her body moved like each fiber was electronically connected to the beat. The crowd cheered as her top came off, but his eyes wandered elsewhere.
Ava had noticed him the moment he walked in. A man in his mid to late twenties, dressed in high end clothes. He seemed out of place because most men who occupied the chairs were rough looking regulars. They were all friendly but loud with a vibe that was casual and laid back, but not so with this one. He was lean and tall, no less than 6.2, with hair neatly combed sideways. The glasses made him look intellectual but attractive at the same time.
She eyed him from head to toe and there was definitely an upper class vibe about him. She wondered what he was doing there. He started scanning all the dancers, going from one to another. Just when his eyes focused on her, Ava looked away. She wanted to give the man his privacy to check her out.
Chris looked at the dancer who leaned against the bar, holding a can of Diet Pepsi. She was a redhead, with long and wavy reddish brown hair, and a figure that would make a man feel uncomfortable. The light pink kimono robe she wore was see-through allowing a voyeuristic inspection of her body. He allowed his eyes to feast on her curves. The perfect hourglass silhouette that she teasingly displayed through the thin fabric of her see-through kimono was a sight to behold. He was studying her statuesque perfection when their eyes met.
She had allowed him his long glance, and his eyes had stayed long enough for her to know that she had him. It was now the time to open up the moment to conversations, and the smile that she had was a green light for it. It said without words "I am approachable. You can come and talk to me." It seemed like there was an invisible force that pulled him towards her and he just followed it until they were standing across from each other.
"Hi. Is your performance over or are you waiting to get on stage?" he asked.
"You are a bit late," she said. "There are so many girls in the line so I won't be going up there for the next few songs."
"That is too bad. I am Chris Harrington. May I borrow you for dinner?"
"Dinner?" Ava asked. Normally, people come to ask her for a lap dance or something even more explicit but no one had ever asked her to join them for a meal.
"I hate to eat alone. I will compensate for your time lost on stage," he said as he ran a few bills down her chest and slipped them into her cleavage. She pulled them out and examined them. Four hundred dollars! In a place like this, she would have to do many dances to generate that amount from this crowd. She was a professional after all and this was a business decision. Or was it?
A few minutes into the evening, they were sitting down at the table eating shrimp pasta. There was something about this man. She would never have dinner with a customer until he was a regular and had tipped her considerably over a long period of time. Christopher Harrington was different. The man was a conqueror. He could walk into a strip bar for the very first time, select the single most enticing woman, and have dinner with her.
Men looked at him with envy and resentment. He showed himself to be upper class and then took out the best body from the dancers' line up. She, on the other hand, found him intriguing and definitely enticing, but could not pinpoint why? Was it the fact that he had money? She never imagined herself to be a gold digger but this moment was making her question that. Or was it his confidence? Or perhaps the fact that he was breaking norms of the place to treat her as a human being instead of a body.
It was at that moment that Harvey Jenner caught sight of them at the table. The owner of the place had hired the girls to dance and not socialize with customers. Had it been any other girl, he would not bother but this was Ava St. Claire, the crowd puller. He walked up to the table and greeted Chris. "Good evening sir. How is the food?"
"Excellent!" Chris replied.
"May I bring you anything?" he asked politely.
"Nothing at the moment."
"I am glad you are having a good time. I will have them send more soda for you. Is that Pepsi?" he asked.
"No need. I am about done here." Chris replied.
"Sure thing," he replied with a smile and then leaned over to whisper into Ava's ear. "You are next on stage."
Ava waited for a moment for Harvey to leave and then stood up. "Time for me to get on the stage. My song is up next."
Chris stood up and signaled the waitress for a check. "As much as I would love to watch, I need to get going."
"That was it? You wont stay to watch me up there?" she asked.
"Not this time," he replied.
Ava looked at him and then said, "Thank you so much for the food. I owe you a lap dance."
Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Next time when we meet, I will remind you of it."
Ava laughed. "You won't have to. I will remember it." She then walked up on the stage and when she turned around, he was gone.
Chapter 1: Ten Years Later
"James T. Carter for Congress." The red and white signs were all over the place. The crowd that had gathered was loud and predominantly white. The chants of "USA! USA!" would echo all over the stadium and then die down for a moment, only to echo again. The stage was blue, red and white, with a large portrait of JT Carter in his younger days, wearing his Marines uniform.
But it was not JT Carter that was the center of attention but the tanned woman in a charcoal colored business suit. Her dark hair was kept in a shoulder length bob and the glasses added to her stern and intellectual look. Somewhere behind the glasses was an attractive woman, but her no-nonsense demeanor and the determined voice with which she spoke, would only allow the dirtiest minds to go there.
J.T Carter appeared on the stage only briefly and said "I would love to speak to you with my own voice but my time in Iraq (eye-rack) has taken my voice." His words were broken and his voice was a struggle. "The IED may have taken my voice, but they have not silenced me," he said and the crowd went wild with applause and the chants of "USA! USA! USA!" Carter waved and said, "I will now request Ms. Greta Hoffman to be my voice. Greta?"
Then amidst the thunder of applause she came, her bob cut hair bouncing with each stride. The well kept hair had done a great job framing a face that was distant and proud. Her business suit was conservative and elegant concealing it all except for those lower legs. Greta had very well developed and shapely calves that swelled out nicely and then narrowed down in their way to her ankles. Heels of her shoes were not exceptionally high but high enough to cause her weight to rest on her toes. This not only allowed the muscular calves to remain flexed, but also added a nice arch to her feminine feet.
"On behalf of James T. Carter and his team, I welcome you all," she said and the crowd went silent. "It's an honor to be here with all of you tonight. I stand before you today with a deep respect for this great nation and the principles that have made America the greatest nation in the world." A roar of "USA! USA..." rose only to be silenced by the collective "Shhhh" of the thousands. "We're seeing our borders overrun, our economy struggling and an influx of people coming in from countries that do not like us very much. I think it is time that we take back America for Americans!"
James Carter sat back studying the crowd. They had come from all walks of life, wearing their "Take America Back" shirts and holding their pro-life banners. Greta Hoffman, a perfect Avatar she was. How many people would look at a middle aged man with receding hairline? He was not a bad looking man but in order to win the seat in congress, he had to package himself as the wounded soldier that was unable to speak. He then replaced him with a female extension of himself, carefully selected after over a hundred interviews, or auditions if we could use that word.
Greta Hoffman was a perfect digital extension of his own self. She was viral on all social media platforms and popular with the Christian far right. When anti-abortion views came from the mouth of a woman, they lost their ability to offend, and when the woman was as charismatic as Hoffman, then they pulled a certain following that Carter knew he could not get. Lighting a cigar, he watched as Greta Hoffman conquered the field for him. Her every word was chosen to resonate with the crowd like she was giving a proud female voice to their own thoughts.
Three hours later, the place was empty, except for a few reporters who had stayed behind to interview Carter. Or Greta. Carter looked at her and said, "You did a great job today. I think it is time for you to go home and rest. You have earned it."
"Thanks JT. The press is still here," she said.
"Oh I will manage them," he replied.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"These are local networks not CNN. I can be quick with them," he said.
Greta then picked up her bag and headed out of the building. She was making her way to the parking lot when a voice startled her.
"You owe me a lap dance!"
The words struck her like lightning and she turned around with an expression of shock. He was six feet two inches in height, with a polite and confident smile. She studied him closely, trying to place him as he kept coming closer and closer with each relaxed, self-assured stride. "Dinner?" he asked. "I hate to eat alone!"
"I think you have me mistaken for someone else!" she said and turned around. She knew exactly who this was and she also knew that the authority she held over the crowd did not extend to this man. He was a ghost from her past life.
