While the raucous spectators were still cheering and clapping with wild enthusiasm, Erik Mortensen slipped out the door and stood in the empty corridor with his head in his hands. He didn't hear his friend, Lars Jensen, coming up behind him, and jumped nervously when the grinning manager tapped him on the shoulder.
"Well, how did you like that!" Jensen gloated. He could tell by the expression on his friend's face that he'd learned his lesson, all right, from now on he'd know what women were made of! "Gotta thank you for giving me the sex-star of the century… they loved her in there, didn't they!"
Erik stared at the other man for a moment, then turned and without a word made his way down the stairs and out of the door. He didn't hate Lars; after all, even though the club manager had somehow tricked Jill into performing in his show, he hadn't had anything to do with her rampantly lust felt response. Nevertheless, he couldn't stand to see Lars' self-satisfied sadistic smile for another second… he had to be alone.
Leaving his car where he'd parked it an hour ago, the tall blond Dane started to walk back to his flat, taking an out-of-the-way route that led past the lakes. He hadn't come this way for a long time – not since he was a student – but somehow the calm water and peacefully sleeping ducks and swans eased the pain he felt inside. Strange new thoughts filled the normally carefree young mans disturbing thoughts that he suddenly didn't want to understand.
"Oh, what the hell," he muttered at last, turning away from the lakes to head down a brightly lit street. "Might as well get drunk…"
Behind him, in the club, the wildly excited audience was going out of its collective mind as, with a lewd smile of gratitude, the young American girl willingly sank to her knees in front of the Arab, and of her own accord opened her wetly parted lips to perform only the first of many encores to come…