Rage – (reyj)
Emotional expression that manifests in bouts of uncontrollable anger or hatred
There were two strip clubs in White River City. One, The Queen of Hearts, was on the west side of town near the old manufacturing district. During its heyday, the city’s factory workers would take their hard-earned money and tuck wrinkled singles into the g-strings of countless erotic dancers. At the time it was the only gentlemen’s club in town and quite a few Princemoore University students worked the pole when they weren’t working on their studies. In those days, a few hours of dancing a week could pay for rent, groceries, and even tuition. Today the place was lucky to keep the lights on, and most of its patrons were spending their unemployment checks instead of their monthly bonuses.
A second club opened on the north side in the early 1980’s to accommodate the growing population in Santa Mesa. While Santa Mesa didn’t allow the club to be built within town limits, the owners found a location just across the border. That gave suburban husbands the chance to sneak off in the middle of the night and still return home safely before their wives even knew they were gone. Today, Caligula’s Parlor was the gentlemen’s club of choice for both the well to do of Santa Mesa and the makers and shakers of White River City.
Peter Princemoore pulled into Caligula’s parking lot with the windows down and the heavy metal blaring. The lot was full, as usual for a Friday night. So he made his own space by pulling his black G70 Illuminato up onto the sidewalk, scratching the bottom frame of the low riding sports car. Peter had just made the short drive from Deerwood Hills Country Club where the bar’s last call had forced the remaining members and their guests to take leave for the evening.
