Class Act

The projector was always the last thing Skelly switched off before locking the doors to the Shangri-La, home of the most famous stripper in history, his eyes lingering on her graceful flickering image up there on the wall behind the stage where his girls did their thing on poles these days—she was a real class act.

She’d liked the idea of the show when he told her, just until her ankle healed of course, and then she herself would be back filling the place and mesmerizing the men.

But she only had eyes for him, and he for her.

He smiled and headed up the stairs to where she sat waiting for him, her long dead body propped up in her favorite chair.

Moments later, he’d retrieved the roll of bandages and sitting on the floor beside her chair, told her about his evening while he changed her dressing.

2 thoughts on “Class Act

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *