Author's Entry: Candy is Bit

Fortunately, that was Candy's last dance. Unfortunately, it was also Candy's last dance.  At 1:30 A.M., the clubs doors would be shut and locked in a half hour.  She sat in front of her dresser and sighed.  "Why did I ever leave Ohio?"

Candy Cain's real name was Mary Schlager.  She wasn't  a singer, so she couldn't audition for all those talent shows on television.  She could act, however, according to all the locals: friends, teachers, local drama critics.  The former Mary Schlager never liked her name and dreamed of moving to Hollywood, changing her name and make it big.  Candy Cain was not the name she imagined she'd have for herself.

Candy lived only a couple of blocks from the club - in a partially rennovated neighborhood regarded as an arts district.  There was debate whether the neighborhood got passed over for other areas of downtown Los Angeles which revitalization exceeded hers, or if the neighborhood was still in the process of urban renewal.

The rain poured hard.  Candy opened her umbrella, and walked out.  Headlights shined the way ahead from her from behind.  She was being followed.

Author entry: Possible opening for the actual book

Aspiring dancers move to New York, aspiring actresses move to Los Angeles.  Candy Cain moved to the latter, yet worked as the former.  Many people would refer her type of dance as an illegitimate form of dance.  At this point, she didn't care if it was or wasn't an artsy respected form of dancing.  All she cared was that it paid the bills.

The lack of customers indicated the weather outside: cold and rainy.  Candy received a small wage, but most of her income came from tips customer's would give her.  Not the tips from dancing - that would only pay the rest of her rent - the rest of her bills and any savings would come from tips customers would give her by keeping them company - not the way most people stereotyped the dancers - but literally, to keep company with the customer with conversation.

It was hard to be motivated when the customer pool was slim; and the cold wet air roaring in from the outside.  She went through her motions.  She didn't notice a tall shadowy man come in and stand near the corner of the room - nor did anyone else.  Her mind was focused on a problem customer sitting in front of her.

"Shake it, baby! Come on! What am I paying you for," he said as he shook a lone dollar bill in front of his face.

Candy ignored him, but he was relentless.  No use being nice to this guy - he was an obnoxious drunk.  Probably cheap, too.

The man, a short, thin, middle-aged balding man in his fifties, continued to verbally harass Candy, until he jumped on stage and grabbed her.  She punched him in the groin, and ran off stage.  This amused the strange man standing in the corner. 

"Never changes - the relationship between dancers and their customers - whatever the culture, whatever the time," he thought.