His eyes moved beyond me to where she stood. I took the opportunity to make some semblance of an attempt to gather my wits from where they lay scattered on the floor, on the bar, on the ceiling- like blood from a gunshot victim.

“Hi, I’m Quinn.” He gave her a closed lipped, socially acceptable for the situation, friendly enough smile and I tried to think of something to say as Quinn and Elizabeth shook hands over the bar.

Quinn. His name was Quinn. I must to remember to call him Quinn, not Sir Handsome McHotpants.

The best I could come up with was: “What are you doing here?” and tried not to cringe as it came out sounding somewhat accusatory.

His attention moved back to me, “I’m working.”

“Are you a bouncer?” My brain, like a skipping record, seemed to be stuck on stream-of-consciousness questions.

“My company-” he paused for a moment, as though considering something, then continued, “My company does the security for this place.”

“Oh. The same company that does the security for the Fairbanks building.” I stated rather than asked about the building where I used to work. I started to feel marginally more relaxed, his presence at the club making more sense. However, his presence at the bar, with us, was still a mystery. Before I could stop myself I asked, “Are we in trouble?”

His eyebrows lifted, “Are you in trouble?” he parroted.

I nodded, “What I mean is, did we do something wrong? Is that why you were sent over here?”

He shook his head, not answering right away, confusion and something akin to uncertainty flickered over his features. “No, no one sent me over here.”

“Oh.” I said; my mind was blank again.

He was watching me in that same measured way he employed in the elevator after my episode of verbal nonsense. A moment passed as we looked at each other. Then, he tipped his head toward our champagne glasses on the bar, “Are you two celebrating something?”

I looked to Elizabeth for help but she was pretending to read the drink menu.

“No.” I met his gaze again, found him watching me with unveiled interest. His attention was maddeningly distracting; my unresponsive brain felt covered in molasses. My body, however, felt rigid and aware. I felt every stitch of clothing I was wearing touching me: my backless, strapless bra felt too tight; the caressing silky softness of the dress caused goosebumps to rise over my neck and arms; the friction of my lace undergarments and stockings burned my inner thighs.

I swallowed with a great deal of effort and forced myself to speak, not really paying attention to my words; “No- one of Elizabeth’s patients gave her the tickets and she wanted to take me out because she thinks I need cheering up.”

“Because of your job?” He prompted, shifting closer to me, resting his hand on the bar between us.

His new proximity caused my heart to gallop, effectively kicking my brain into overdrive; words began to tumble forth unchecked; “Yeah, that and I just broke up with my boyfriend. Although, I don’t know if ‘broke-up’ is the right term for it. It’s hard to find words and phrases which really accurately reflect actions. I find verbs in the English language to be lacking. What I really like are collective nouns. The nice thing about them is that you can use any word in the English language as a collective noun which allows you to ascribe both features as well as character to the collection or group. Although, some collective nouns are well established. As an example, do you know what a group of rhinoceroses is called?”

He shook his head as he tilted it to the side, watching me.

I continued, “It’s called a ‘crash’. I like to make up my own collective nouns for things; like, take that group of women over there,” I indicated across his shoulder and he turned to see where I pointed, “See the plastic looking ones on the purple lily pad? I would call a group like that a ‘latex of ladies’ with the word ‘latex’ being the collective noun. And these cages, with the monkeys and the couples, I would call them, collectively, a ‘vulgar of cages’ with the word ‘vulgar’ being the collective noun.”

He lifted his hand to get the bartender’s attention as he spoke, “I would switch them. I would call the cages a ‘latex of cages’ and the women a ‘vulgar of women’.”

I considered his comment before responding, “Why is that?”

He leveled his gaze on me and gifted me with a small smile, “Because that group of women over there are more vulgar than what is happening in the cages and the couples in the cages are wearing latex.”

I watched him for a moment, my brow wrinkling, then moved my eyes to one of the cages to watch the couple. I chewed on my lip, studying them, “The women look completely na**d and the men are in monkey suits. Where is the... the-” I sucked in a breath, my wide eyes moving back to his, “Are you saying... they’re, are they...?”

He laughed and shook his head; a bright full smile lighting his eyes with amusement, “No, no. I guarantee they’re not engaging in any monkey business.” He laughed again as he watched me, “I know for a fact it’s all choreographed. It’s a show.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “It’s a show?”

His laugh was deep and open, it was doing strange things to my insides, especially since I suspected he was laughing at me. My stomach fluttered with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to ignore my body’s continuing hysterics; “It’s still disconcerting. I mean, would you want one of those cages in your house?”

He continued to grin at my incredulousness and answered, “Not with the monkey in it.”

“The man or the primate?” I countered.

“Neither.” his gaze narrowed, mimicking mine, and he leaned still closer.

I swallowed unevenly and half croaked, “But, you would want the woman?”

“Not that woman.” his voice was so low and I almost didn’t hear his response, his eyes moved from mine and traveled over my hair, forehead, nose, cheeks, then remained on my lips for longer than I felt was necessary... or appropriate... or whatever word adequately conveyed my discomfort at that moment.

“What do you need?” The bartender’s polite query sounded from my left which, to my dual relief and disappointment, caused Quinn to move his attention from my lips.

“Hey David, please put whatever these two are having tonight on my account.” Quinn said.

David shook his head slowly, his eyes flickering upward then back to Quinn, “I can’t do that, Mr. Sullivan.”

Quinn frowned, “Why not?”

“Someone else already volunteered to cover their tab.” the bartender grimaced, his shoulders stiffening.

“Who?” Quinn asked.

David’s voice was tinged with uncertainty as he responded, “I can’t tell you that.”

The bartender’s response surprised Quinn, I could tell by the narrowing of his eyes. I saw the muscle tick at his jaw before he pressed in a low voice, “Yes you can.”

I turned to Elizabeth but she was distracted by her pager which, I didn’t notice until that moment, must have been going off. I gave her a questioning glance as I listened to Quinn and David the bartender’s discussion.

I heard David sigh, “Alright, listen, I’ll tell you but don’t look at them, ok? They’ve been really great with the tips.”

“Who is it?” Quinn didn’t raise his voice but his tone clearly betrayed impatience.

“It’s the guys on the second floor, don’t look up there, the ones in the Canopy room.” David sighed again.

I sensed, rather than saw, Quinn step closer to me as I suppressed my urge to look up to the previously unnoticed second floor; I wondered where the ‘Canopy room’ was. Before I could give this much thought, I felt a shock as Quinn placed his hand on my arm above the elbow and turned me to face him.

His gaze was no longer warm and friendly; in fact it almost looked hostile as he addressed me, “You need to leave.”

His touch, his closeness, the intensity of his stare all made my insides feel like lava. I couldn’t understand my erratic and completely unintentional reactions to him; it was like I was someone else, some daft dimwit.

I resolved to pull myself together and opened my mouth to respond but, before I could, Elizabeth chimed in from behind me,

“Yeah, actually, we do need to go.” She lifted her pager up, stepping to my side, and gave me an apologetic frown, “I just got paged. They need me to go in. I’m sorry, Janie.”

I looked between Elizabeth and Quinn, a confused frown securely in place, “Wait- why do I need to go?”

Quinn’s hand moved down my bare arm, causing me to immediately shiver, and engulfed my hand, his fingers linking through mine; he tugged impatiently and began leading me toward the entrance as he spoke,

“Because your friend is leaving and it’s not safe to be in a club like this, looking like you look, by yourself.”

“But-” I sputtered, trying to understand what was happening and the meaning of his words, but my body was still achingly sentient, focusing on where his hand held mine, and my mind was decidedly distracted. Again I looked to Elizabeth for help but she was already some distance behind us and I wasn’t certain she could hear our conversation. He wasn’t moving particularly fast so we walked side-by-side holding hands.