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Into the club we went, it was so busy, full of Indians and some reason black men and women too. The bar was busy, we were lucky to have a table booked in advance and we got taken over and placed our drinks order.Our waiter was a young man, late 20’s tall guy and quite good looking. He was a mix of black and white. My wife went to the bathroom as i mentioned to her to wipe herself down and i would order the drinks.The waiter name was Ryan, he introduced himself and said he would be looking after us for the evening and whenever we needed anything, just wave our hands. I ordered large vodka for me, and for my wife, i ordered a bottle of champagne. She loves champagne; it makes her feel drunk very quickly. I knew that after a few glasses, she would be in full party mood. Anyway, he took my order and went off. A few minutes later, I was looking around for my wife.I looked in the distance, and she was chatting to someone near the bar, i could not make out whom, but i could see her moving. ‘Working girl’ was her nickname for fellow whores who relished sex with men in the face of cameras. My face tightened with worry as I stepped into the filming room. I noisily shut the door behind me. Fifteen heads quickly reversed, their seething faces scowling at me. “I am so sorry,” I apologized to the director, Kirby, who stroked the tip of his cigar on a glowing flame. “The traffic delayed me. I also had a long way to walk just to chance on a cab.” As the cigarette touched his lips, he sucked in a breath of dissipating smoke, and gracelessly bemoaned, “You give me the same lame excuse everyday. I no longer have faith in you, Alex. Try being an honest nun that you fake to be, even for just one single day.” I blazed red. When I was Alex Peters I loathed being reminded of the work I did in the hours of daylight. My heart tore apart with madness, my fingers tensing and my hands curling up into stony fists. In my vision, everything flared red. My teeth gnashed; through the gaps.
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