Alexis sipped club soda and thought that no one would dare call these women pretty.

On stage, two women writhed. A brunette squatted on the table in the middle of a horseshoe-shaped booth. Bundles of twenties spilled from the top of her fishnet stockings as she undulated her hips. Behind her, a platinum blonde hung from a chrome pole. Her body moved like a sine wave.

A trader held up a bill, and the brunette slid near, running a slow hand along her thigh in invitation. Theodore swallowed and edged a nervous hand along her thigh, careful not to touch, and shivering with desire. He slid the bill into the stocking and snapped his hand away. She touched his cheek, her eyes glittering, and said something the music drowned away. Theodore nodded and stared, entranced. Then, she winked and stood, resuming her sinuous tease.

Theodore had graduated from Columbia and had a Brahmin bloodline that went back to when Central Park was a suburb. His parents had a house in Montauk. He even played polo. And, a stripper had taken his breath away.

The rest of the table laughed and patted Theodore, congratulating him for tipping a stripper. He looked to the others and tried to gather himself, a shell of bravado returning, then, during a twirl, the brunette caught his eye again. He looked up and froze, as if she were a Medusa whose beauty turned men to stone. Aphrodite riding ashore on a clam shell wouldn’t have shocked him more.

Alexis cursed, but the thudding music buried it. Medusa? Aphrodite on a clam shell? Who even thinks like that?

Taking another sip, Alexis told herself that she did. She saw a stripper and thought of Medusa and Aphrodite. Her brain still thought in Fourier regressions while watching beautiful women writhe before a group of lust-tranced securities traders.

She’d tried to tell herself that the entire thing was cheap, obvious, sexist, etc., etc., etc. The senior partner had come to their section to hand out bonus checks. He’d singled out Alexis for the mathematical model that had made the trades work and told them to take the rest of the day off. Instead of going home, the others had decided to go to a strip club and, as they put it, break Theodore’s cherry. After an awkward huddle, they’d invited her to come.

Alexis had deferred. Happy to be part of the team. You all have a good time. Then, she’d seen the anticipation, the vibrating desire that hummed under their expensive suits.

They’d covered their eagerness in locker room boasts about tits and ass. Yet, every one of them wanted it. As the veneer of professionalism peeled away, Alexis had changed her mind. She wouldn’t do chess puzzles and watch a French movie. She was going to see it for herself. She could be cheap. She could be lusty. She could stop overthinking.

Then, they’d arrived, and nudity, cash, and noise shoved her into the corner of the private room. She’d stood aside and analyzed the patterns of the shifting lights and nursed a club soda and growing irritation.

She’d tried telling herself that these men had wives, girlfriends, and children, and that it was unseemly. She’d analyzed the strippers’ cheap shoes and haircuts with split ends. They lived in New Jersey, she thought. Or in four-hundred-square-foot dumps on the Lower West Side.

Her bonus check crinkled in the pocket of her Max Mara jacket. There was nothing to envy.

Then, the brunette had vanished behind a curtain, re-emerging in a latex swimsuit with a severe French cut that showed off the perfect curve of her hips. Before re-entering the fray, she’d paused, watching her partner dance and command the investors’ attention.

She’d watched the men, a quiet smile on her face. She was hustling their money, turning them on, and turning off the analytical minds that could squeeze an extra penny out of a bid-ask spread. She smiled because her body ended that and reduced them to something primal. They wanted her, and because of it, they became toys.

Theodore, with the ancient family, became a blushing kid. Jeff, with his PhD in finance, looked at her with animal need.

Alexis had stayed. No one ever, not even boyfriends, had been reduced to that helpless need, that reverent worship of her and her body.

It stung like waking up and discovering a sunburn; it hurt all over and reawakened every time she moved. Her hips curved. Her breasts swelled. Her legs tapered to delicate ankles and high-arched feet. She had the tools the strippers did and a brain that shoved itself in the way like an irritating, know-it-all little sister who had always shown up at the wrong time.

The look on the men’s faces had devolved into the same look she’d seen in frat parties. In college, she’d left because men in that state seemed capable of anything. Here, two bouncers with arms like twisted steel kept watch. Moreover, the women teased and withheld, leashing the men’s desires like lion tamers. There was no danger. The men were the ones who should have worried.

They held no power, and Alexis’ body responded with a deep ache as she imagined someone being helpless with that need for her.

Alexis jumped when something bumped against her elbow. Her glass slipped, and she clutched at it with both hands.

A new bartender had come on duty. Lean and muscled, he wore a dark Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. They were sleeved with intricate tattoos that shifted with the lights.

A highball glass of amber liquor rested against her elbow.

Nodding towards the glass, his dark eyes glittered.

“Get your money’s worth at least,” he said.

Alexis looked at the glass, then back at the bartender. His skin was swarthy, and his black hair had been tied in a ponytail. His neck bore tattoos like his arms. Was his entire body covered in them? She imagined him naked, his swimmer’s body a geometry of fascinating lines and hard planes. Her ache doubled.

“Single malt,” he said, and mixed in a little water before swirling the glass. “Sip it slow.”

Not touching it, Alexis sipped the flat club soda.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, his face darkening. “You’re the smart one. You made this happen. You’re not enjoying the girls. Get your money’s worth.”

“How am I the smart one?”

He raised an eyebrow and looked from the swirl and cash and bodies to her.

“I know.”

He nodded to the glass and began mixing  a row of cocktails.

Turning back to the show, Alexis left the glass alone. The brunette and the blonde had swapped. The blonde now worked the table. Thinner but more flexible, she paused her dance to bend from the waist with stylized slowness. She lifted a twenty and straightened in a languid, controlled arc, then slid the bill into lace boy shorts, her hand disappearing perilously close to her crotch. The men held their breath.

The scotch remained at Alexis’ elbow. She tasted smoke and leather, wondering if it was any good. The bartender was right; she should get something.

Alexis turned and set her drink down, lifting the scotch. The bartender continued to mix and didn’t look at her. She turned back to the show and sipped, letting the liquor pool on her tongue while she held her nose to the glass.

Smoke, dried fruit, and peat. She calculated. Twelve years at least. Too complex to be a blend.

She cursed. Stop analyzing everything. In a flash of irritation, she tipped the glass and swallowed half the liquor in a gulp. Enough analysis, she thought.

It burned. It made her feel warm. It was good.

The bartender returned, tipping more of the scotch into the glass. Setting the bottle aside, he leaned on his elbows and folded his forearms over each other. A necklace lay on the bar.

“Good for you,” he said, nodding to the glass.

Insulting or complimentary? It might be both, or neither. Her eyes caught the necklace, and she forgot the scotch.

Somewhere between onyx and ruby, the gem swirled. She tried to correlate the shifting colors with the shifting lights illuminating the stage.

The song changed, slower and harder, and the club’s lights shifted with it. The necklace's shifting colors held their own rhythm.

Uneven facets reflected like mirrors, bending the light from within. Impossibly smooth, Alexis reached to feel them and stopped.

“May I?” she asked the bartender.

“If you want,” he said and looked past her to the stage, seeming not to care.

Her hand drifted towards it. The facets were smooth, and the gem held a warmth. She scooped it up, letting the dark metal chain drape over her hand.

Inviting her deeper, she chased the source of the glow. As she looked, the light coalesced, the center solidifying while the edges swirled.

A version of her appeared. Voluptuous and buxom, her waist had shrunk to something delicate and made the swell of her hips and breasts seem impossible. Her clothes shifted. One moment, they were a flowing gown with deep cleavage, the next, they became a body suit that glistened like oil. The bodysuit covered her from throat to ankle and revealed everything.

But the eyes. Confident and arrogant, her gaze had the power to elevate and destroy, and her ache turned into a hot need as her blazing self-assuredness looked down on her. She needed to exist in this woman’s world and would do anything to feel her tentative, perpetually conditional approval. A superior smile sent shivers up Alexis’ spine.

In a flash, instead of the eyes watching, she was looking through the eyes. The trading team knelt before her. Naked, kneeling, eyes furtive, as if looking at her was staring at the sun. Theo trembled, hands held behind his back as his arousal twitched. The rest of the men throbbed in a vulgar tableau, all dignity gone as their need stripped them bare.

Her chuckle vibrated in her throat as lacquered nails flashed at the end of her fingers. Relaxed and luxuriating, she sat with legs crossed, delicate, high-arched feet playing and distracting in stiletto heels.

Alexis dropped the necklace, and the heavy gem thudded against the bar. She put a hand to her mouth and swallowed. The erotic charge evaporated from her body, and she quaked in its absence as though she’d touched an electric wire.

The bartender’s expression was casual, and he continued to lean on his elbows.

“Maybe you should try it on,” he suggested.

Alexis shook her head. She couldn’t work if she felt that way. There were spreadsheets and models waiting the following morning. The image wasn’t her. It was dangerous, knowing, and cruel.

And beautiful.

The bartender observed the scene with the dancers and the investors playing as though he’d seen it repeated hundreds, even thousands of times.

“Probably right,” he said. “You’re pretty as you are.”

Pretty. The consolation prize. The euphemism for plain. It was one step short of having a great personality. She saw herself in one of the mirrors, clutching a glass of club soda: composed, intelligent, and steady. Nothing desirable, nothing worth risking, nothing that made the heart tremble and confidence fracture. Pretty.

The strippers continued to dance. The brunette had unbuckled her bra and held her hands over her breasts. Theo couldn’t decide whether to look at her breasts or her face. Her wicked smile taunted as she thrust her chest forward.

“Are they pretty?” Alexis asked.

“No,” the bartender said.

The necklace lay between them. Alexis’ hand held the warmth of where it had touched her. The bartender’s hand moved, and for an instant, she thought he reached. Hand flashing, she snatched and gripped it again.

The image of herself returned, inviting, and she wanted to just accept it. It felt like the sudden thought of stepping off a curb during rush hour, without caring what happened.

But, she did care and pushed back while the warmth of desire invaded her body, the way the scotch had. She felt heavy and grounded, the flying thoughts of her mind silenced. She wasn’t thinking of abstract numbers and complex relationships. She was a woman and a body that had needs.

“What is this?”

“It’s a gift.”

Alexis shook her head and laid the necklace down.

“How much?”

“It’s a gift.”

Alexis shook her head. Nothing was free. “How much?”

“You keep it. See me in a week, and you tell me what it’s worth,” the bartender said.

“I don’t know your name. How will I find you?”

“Evan Rook,” the bartender said. “I’ll be here. We’ll talk.”

He glanced once at the necklace, his face indifferent, then departed. He left the necklace behind.

Alexis returned to the scene. The stripper had laid a forearm over her breasts. She’d lain her bra in Theo’s cupped hands. The rest of the table shook with laughter as Theo’s stricken face shone with adoration, the bra becoming a ritual object, the discarded relic of a goddess.

The brunette turned away and let her hands fall. She looked over her shoulder at Theo, her hips grinding as she let the table see the breasts Theo could not.

Alexis slipped the necklace around her throat. The black metal, despite being thin, had mass, like iron, and pressed into her skin like a gentle brand.

Theo’s helpless desire fixated on the stripper, and she gyrated towards him until she towered above him, her lush breasts swaying as a counterpoint to her hips. Theo reached, touched the edge of her high heel, and brushed the bra against his cheek.

Alexis imagined the others would tease him forever, or as the warmth of the necklace spread, she imagined they might not. Instead, Alexis wondered if they might instead say nothing and envy him as she envied the brunette.

The song ended, and the dancer smiled, breaking the spell. She extended her hand. Theo offered up the bra and seemed embarrassed as she slipped it around herself and buckled the catches. She held out her hand. He took it and helped as she stepped down from the table. She kissed his cheek and waved a casual goodbye as the blonde followed.

The show was over.

Everyone let out a breath and began to gather suit jackets and phones while searching their pockets for the loose cash they’d hung onto. Turning to the bar, they noticed Alexis.

“You still here, Winters?” Allen, the boss, asked. “Thought we lost you a while ago.”

Alexis touched the necklace that lurked beneath her blouse. “Had to get my money’s worth.”

He smiled and slid an arm into his suit jacket. “I think Theo’s in love.”

They laughed.

Absent naked bodies and pulsing music, the room became a space that smelled of cigarettes and stale beer, punctuated by velvet upholstery. Alexis wandered out with the rest, her ears ringing from the music.

Theo lingered with her, staring at the ground. The hint of women’s perfume had clung to him, and he sniffed at the back of his hand.

Re-entering the main bar, the thud of music returned, and they snaked through the crowd towards the exit. A bouncer nodded and held the door as they stepped into the humid summer air.

Valets in red vests appeared, collected tickets, then charged into the darkness. Returning with cars moments later, the group split away one by one until Theo and Alexis stood under the awning before the entrance by themselves.

Theo scraped his shoe against the concrete, a small smile on his face.

The image of him naked and throbbing, hands behind his back, pushed itself into Alexis’ mind. Guilt swirled with pleasure. She wanted to reduce him, see him as he had been. But she wanted him there because she’d done it to him.

She’d been holding her purse under her arm, and at the impulse, she let it slip. It fell and thumped against the ground.

Theo stopped moving. He looked from the purse to Alexis, and an instant later, he was on one knee, one hand on the purse.

His young face looked up like a puppy's, and he seemed unable to move, caught between lifting the purse and remaining exactly where he was. She looked down at him, and the world around her shifted. Everything had become right.

Lower. Down. On your belly. As she thought it, he sank.

Yes, she told herself, but slower. Struggle. Push back and lose by inches, by millimeters, by infinitesimal increments. But lose. Sink and feel yourself give in, she thought.

The battle between his dignity and his desire raged, shoving and circling each other. Pleasure inched forward, and he had gone to both knees, his back bent.

He looked up, his face pleading. She held the choice. He wanted her to push him further, rescue him, relieve the knot of arousal.

The image in her mind had him naked, just like before, but Alexis heard the thumping beat from the club and decided. Not here.

He wanted it, she decided. She wanted to draw it from him in agonizing drips.

She slid her foot forward. This would have to be enough.

He saw it and leaned forward.

“Slow,” Alexis said, just above a whisper.

His movement became agonized, as though he were falling through oil. Each millimeter added torsion to the battle inside him. His head lowered, his body trembling. An inch above her shoe, he stopped, and she held him there as her breathing became shallow. He wanted to rebel, declare his strength, but his mouth continued moving.

Finally, he laid a gentle kiss on the toe.

A black Mercedes slid to a stop. Theo scrambled to his feet. He held out the purse without meeting Alexis’ eyes.

She took it, and he tore away, shoving cash into the valet’s hand. A moment later, the car’s tires barked, and he was gone.

Alexis’ knees trembled, and she needed her car to arrive. If it didn’t, she was going to find a dark corner and finish the orgasm that demanded to be set free. Or, the valet who stared after the Mercedes would kneel as Theo had.

Her car arrived. She tipped the valet and tore out of the parking lot.

Finding the first dark alley, she pulled into it and shut the car down, her fingers moving for her waistband.

Her orgasm uncoiled an instant later, and white flashes erupted behind her clenched eyelids, blasting the image that had formed. Her back arched, thighs clenching together, as she saw an army of helpless devotees kneeling before her, desire flowing inwards in visible tendrils. She toyed with it, curling it around dagger-like fingernails, twisting it into darker pleasures and growing need.

Aftershocks continued for moments after, and her unsteady fingers missed the starter button when she tried to start the car.

She took several breaths and tried to grip the wheel. The gem pulsed at her throat; she laid a hand over it.

No more spreadsheets. No more overthinking. No one would dare call her pretty.