Wanda-Jean still hadn't been able to summon up the courage to confront Priest with her displeasure. Instead she fumed inside, and went on drinking the harsh red wine that he had insisted on ordering. The cabaret, if one could call it that, started. The trio vacated the tiny stage, and were replaced by a wild-haired poet who bellowed unintelligible, and frequently obscene, blank verse across the smoke-filled room.
After the poet, a skinny kid with a guitar sat on a stool and, accompanying himself, did an unsuccessful job of reviving the kind of protest music that was popular around the time of the Asian war, a period that even Wanda-Jean's mother was too young to remember.
When the kid finally was through, the trio came back accompanied by a young and not very attractive girl with stringy black hair and makeup like a corpse. She sang one almost inaudible song, then slipped out of her kimono-style robe and, stark naked, proceeded to go through a series of listless but supposedly symbolic gyrations.
Bobby Priest applauded loudly after each act. Wanda-Jean, by the time the dancer came, was slumped, elbows on the table, her chin resting on her fists. For the first time all evening, Priest deigned to notice.
"What's the matter? Don't you like it?"
Wanda-Jean scowled. "This half-assed amateur talent show, what's there to like?"
Priest shrugged. "I can't get enough of it."
The statement had been delivered as though it was an absolute truth. It was enough to make Wanda-Jean sit up straight in her chair.
"You're kidding?"
"Why should I kid?"
Wanda-Jean had looked around the room with almost slack-jawed amazement. "You like… this?"
"Sure."
"Jesus Christ, why?"
"I'll tell you…"
He hesitated as two women pushed past the table. One was young, in a not very fashionable, but timelessly clinging, red dress with slits up to her hips. She treated Priest to a long liquid stare and puffed sexually on a thin black cigar. The other was at the end of an emaciated, almost cadaverous middle age. Her dress was a vastly expensive couture house creation. A mink stole was thrown around her mottled shoulders. The older woman made a small impatient gesture and they both moved on. None of the regular bearded and work-clothed clientele paid them any attention. Bobby Priest was the single exception. He winked at Wanda-Jean.
"How about those two?"
"How about them?"
"Five gets you ten they're a couple of dykes into S and M. I figure the old one wants to get the young one home and whip her crazy."
Wanda-Jean couldn't help picturing the scene, but she was determined not to be impressed. "So? They looked pretty out of place here."
"You think so?"
"Didn't they?"
"Looked to me like they fitted perfectly."
Wanda-Jean had shaken her head at that point. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of this."
"I expect you figured I was going to take you to some classy downtown joint and we'd wind up in tomorrow's gossip columns, right?"
Wanda-Jean was a little taken aback. "Yes… something like that."
"Well, let me tell you something, sister. Let me explain something. You want to know why I come to a dump like this?"
Wanda-Jean nodded. "I'll tell you. This is one of the few places in this whole fucking city where I can go without having people point and stare and elbow each other to get close to me. I need that. I need somewhere where I can be me, where I don't have to be Bobby Priest."
For the very first time Wanda-Jean noticed that, close up, there was something a little mad about Bobby Priest's eyes. The eyes seemed to bore into her.
"You don't understand what I'm talking about, do you?"
Wanda-Jean did her best to look sympathetic. She had decided it was the best way to deal with him. "Sure I understand."
"Bullshit you do. You're just starting on this. I've been on it forever. I've seen a thousand of you come and go. You all run around, getting your kicks out of being somebody for the first time."
"What's wrong with that?"
"There's nothing wrong with it, except I've been somebody so goddamn long I've had it."
Wanda-Jean wasn't sure she could handle this. She wondered what Priest was on. "You don't mean that. You wouldn't go on doing the show if you didn't like it."
"So I don't even get a night off now and then?" He waved his arm around the room. "You see these weirdos here? They don't know from shit about me or you or game shows or feelies, and they care even less. That's what I call a night off."
"I'm sure you need it…"
"But not on your time. You wanted to go to some joint where everyone would recognize us. Right?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's true."
"I don't want to fight with you." Wanda-Jean was actually scared. It all seemed to be going wrong on her. She couldn't afford to get on the wrong side of Bobby Priest.
"Yeah, well…"
To her surprise Priest suddenly slumped. His shoulders sagged. He looked older and much less energetic than before. "I expect you want to go."
It was too fast for Wanda-Jean. "I…"
"We'll go back to your hotel."
The totally flat statement was much too fast. Wanda-Jean had expected to wind up in bed with Priest, but she had expected at least some sort of token persuasion. She let out a confused laugh. "Sure, yeah, okay, let's go."
Back at the hotel it had become even stranger. Priest had lapsed into silence again on the ride home. Wanda-Jean had half expected to be taken to the hotel bar for a drink. Instead she was steered straight into the lift and up to her, or rather the network's, suite. The silence continued as they rode up in the lift and went through the living room into the bedroom. The moment they were in the bedroom, Bobby Priest had started taking off his clothes. There hadn't been a word. Something rebelled inside her. There was a limit to everything, even for Bobby Priest. She planted her hands squarely on her hips.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Priest turned and looked at her. His face registered surprise. "I was taking my clothes off. What else?"
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"What I said, why? You going to take a bath or something?"
"I imagined we were going to fuck."
Wanda-Jean became really angry. "That's what you imagined, did you?"
"Well…"
"No sweet talk, no build up, nothing. Just strip off and get to it?"
"What do you want, champagne and flowers?"
"Why the hell not?"
"It all comes to the same thing in the end. Why bother with a whole lot of phony bullshit?"
"Phony or not, at least I get to keep some pride. I get to be more than just something for you to jerk off in. Even hookers get paid."
Priest sneered. "So how much do you want?"
"You bastard!"
"Yeah? Why so worked up, sweetie? Don't make me laugh with all this crap about pride. You lost all your pride when you went in for the show. All you got left is greed. You'd do anything to stay on the show, and as far as you're concerned, I am the show. You screwed everyone you thought might do you the slightest bit of good, so why waltz around?"
He had started to move toward her.
"You might as well just get down. I'm only one more."
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back on the bed. Wanda-Jean was way past resisting. She fell back limply. Priest started tearing at her clothes. A part of her wanted to fight him off, to kick and scratch and hurt him, but the rest of her just couldn't raise the energy.