Red Light District...

I could feel the bass of the song vibrating up my heels into my calves from where I stood in the entrance. When the others suggested clubbing, I had expected to be toted over to some no name techno club housing a slew of pill popping ravers and teens trying to sneak in with a fake ID to catch their favorite underground DJ. Instead, I found myself in a strip club; the Red Light District, they called it. We had walked in just in time to see the beginning of a dual pole dance performed by two lingerie clad entertainers. Those who weren’t taking in the show were at the bar or in a far corner receiving personal lap dances.

I gazed around in irritation. Nina had sworn this was the best that Windenburg’s night scene had to offer, and if that were true, I might be trying to book a Red Eye back to the Valley tonight. I had to remind myself I wasn’t on my own time; I was on the agency’s. And if I wanted to show them that I had learned the “error of my ways” and turned around from my most recent media scandal, I would have to swallow my pride and play nice with these girls. I didn’t understand what they got out of pretending we would all be best friends after we parted ways here. Even Nina, who had been hanging over me all afternoon just because we both live in Del Sol, was kidding herself if she thought we wouldn’t be so tied up with shoots, training, or media spotlights that we’d probably only speak in passing at industry parties. Why not face the truth of our occupation: we were destined to always be rivals.

At least I could see the VIP area across the room. I made waste of no more time and headed for its velvet roped door.