Sybil first met Corey in the alley behind the Cheri Lounge, where she had been working for a couple of years. It was the same day the Phenomenon occurred; the entire state was in an uproar. There was speculation that the overnight appearance of a city on the mountain signaled the apocalypse, or an alien invasion, or a massive Soviet incursion along completely unexpected lines. There were rumors that Idaho Springs, the old mining town at the base of Mount Evans, was being sealed off and would likely be evacuated. She had heard on the news that Golden and Boulder (and possibly even Denver itself) might be evacuated.
No mention of Greenwood.
In such a state of uncertainty, many businesses failed to open that day. Some people were evacuating themselves ahead of any official government decision. Others were trying to make their way into the mountains to see what was happening. But Sybil doubted any of this would affect the operation of the Cheri Lounge. And if it did, it might actually be good for business. The Lounge’s clientele weren’t a particularly philosophical bunch. If the world ended, most of them would just go ahead and die without giving the matter too much thought. So the notion that the world might be ending probably wouldn’t alter their plans that much — except to the extent that a few of them might get the idea that they ought to go ahead and see a naked woman now rather than wait until later.
She would usually get to the joint about an hour before she had to go on, just enough time to do her hair and makeup and get into her first costume, and possibly catch up on a little gossip from the other girls. She had a repertoire of three different routines. She always opened with the one she called the Old Fashioned. She would start out wearing a blue checkered dress with a big blue bow in her hair. In this initial get-up, she thought she looked something like little Bo Peep. The dress would fall away after a while to reveal a white slip. After the slip came gold panties and matching tassels, which she could get to spinning pretty well. In the end, she would be down to just a G-string with the bow still in her hair. The bow was always the last to go. It was a traditional striptease. So traditional, in fact, that the other girls said it was corny and an embarrassment. The slip, the tassels — that sort of thing had gone out of style in the sixties. The age of the lap-dance was dawning.
But the Cheri’s clientele didn’t have any aesthetic qualms with Sybil’s act; quite the contrary, in fact. So she kept at it.
She parked her car in the tiny lot behind the bar and was on her way in when somebody called her name. She turned to see who it was without slowing down. In her line of work, being recognized out in public could be dangerous in a lot of different ways. And she hated the poorly-lighted parking lot, which the performers had to share with the patrons. She drew her handbag in a little closer and felt for the comforting outline of a metal cylinder within: her spray can of mace. She hadn’t had to use it to date, but was ready any time she needed to.
Sybil stopped when she saw who it was that had called her name. A kid. One of four.
What the hell?
