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floor?”
    Rolf takes his turn, wiggling his lean hips from side to
side while flinging his long blond locks.
    “Oh. Oh. Oh.”
    My head turns to see who at my table is so sick or in pain.
Of all times. I don’t want to miss Carlos’ solo dance.
    “What is it?” I hiss.
    “I think Zena just had an orgasm,” Dorothy mutters.
    Our friend’s head is bent back and she’s taking big gulps of
air, but she looks healthy otherwise.
    My fingernails dig into the tablecloth until my cuticles
ache when it’s Carlos’ turn. Seeing him dance is a new thrill to add to the
others. If only I could share the stage with him now as I did at the photo
shoot.
    Pick me up, honey, and wrap my legs around that
loincloth.
    When Zena laughs and growls, I realize I said that aloud. I
put my hand over my mouth while every cell inside my body melts at the sight of
his performance. He’s so good. How can a mere man be so damn good? He’s going
to have to be pretty arrogant to turn me off now.
    All too soon, the performance is over. The stage darkens and
the men sashay out of sight. Then new lights come up and some party dance tunes
play.
    Zena grabs my arm along with Dorothy’s. “Let’s dance. I need
to air out my wet crotch.”
    So do I.
    “Where are the men?” Dorothy frowns. “I thought they were
going to dance with us.”
    “They will,” Zena promises. “They have to change first.”
    When a half hour passes, I’m ready to return to my room and
call it a night. Dancing with a bunch of women isn’t fun for long, but the men
do reappear and insert themselves into the dancing crowd. Instead of robes and
loincloths, they wear tight pinstriped black pants, red suspenders and white
collars with red bow ties.
    For a while, I just watch them while my body goes through
the motions.
    As Carlos dances with one woman after another, I wonder if
he’ll ever dance with me. Finally I realize he never will. Why is this so hard
for me? In school I accepted that some guys weren’t interested in me and never
would be. Plenty of other cute ones were.
    Now my life is filled with work and available men are few
and far between. Maybe that’s why I cling to some young stranger who’s just not
that into me as a kid clings to an old teddy bear she’s long outgrown.
    Zena shoves me in his direction. “Go dance with him.”
    I shake my head. Being aggressive might be her style but it
isn’t mine.
    “Fine,” I say when she makes chicken noises. “One dance.”
    What better way to prove he’s an arrogant jerk than get
myself rudely rejected by him? Even though a short, heavyset woman is in the
middle of doing the bump with him, I cut in on their space and make eye contact
with him. He gives the woman one last bump and turns toward me with another one
of those cryptic, hesitant smiles.
    He can’t smile for me or get hard for me. Why is he dancing
with me at all? And why am I putting myself through this? His touch on my arms
as I turn around is warm enough to make me want to throw myself into his
embrace. But something’s missing. The photographer might have captured magic in
our pictures but there’s none happening now.
    So much for fantasies.
    “Are you enjoying the conference?” he asks loud enough to be
heard over the music.
    “Yes. I enjoyed the photo shoot with you too.” I drooled
over the pictures in my room afterward. How about you?
    “Okay, ladies, grab your nearest partner. It’s time for the
lap dances.”
    Huh? When I glance toward the announcer, I notice
four chairs in a neat row across the front of the stage.
    “What’s going on?” I ask Carlos.
    Where’s Zena when I need her? She’s supposed to warn me
about this stuff.
    He looks at me with smoky, dark eyes and takes my hand.
“You’re going to do a sexy lap dance for me.”
    “I-I don’t know how.” Then I remember the dancing workshop
from this morning, a million years ago.
    The realest smile yet warms his face. “I’ll teach you.”
    He sits on one of the