Thom was waiting for me at our pickup spot. I was beaming, despite how tired I was. He told me we were headed to my last run of the night. We drove west up Mission Street, the desperately colored tacos looming into view, flavored with street scams and the invincible young.

The feel of the city had shifted again. I sensed the pressure of people trying to impress, swindle or protect each other. The dance was so furious and intricate, my mind flashed through images of martial arts fights from the movies. The high from my last run seeped from my bones, draining my mood from happy-but-tired to simply tired.

I saw the telltale rainbow flags as we approached the Castro, the hub of free expression for the entire United States. People from all over the country came here; and not just gay men and lesbians either. Trans-gender, trans-sexual, non-affiliated, those Identifying As. The family members, friends and lovers who show their support. The streets were lined with hybrid boutique shops selling boy shorts and oven-fresh cookies. Here the clubs, the stores, and even the bumper stickers cater to the niche market of Tourist Gays.

I was nervous again; after all, the men weren’t interested in me, right? I fretted aloud to Thom, who gave me a pitying smile.

“Trust me; you’ll enjoy yourself more than you think." Another list appeared from his pocket, and we reviewed it briefly together.

I found myself reluctant to move. It was way past my usual bedtime, and I couldn't find a comfortable spot for the tray to sit on my shoulders, no matter how much I shifted about. My feet hurt, my legs were cold, and the longer I wore the costume the more binding it was, with its high collar and long sleeves. Even if I could’ve ripped it off right then, I still would’ve needed some help getting out of the zipper. It was like a sexy straightjacket.

I found myself wondering silently if this was the right job for me. Sure, I’d done well in sales, at least I thought so, and it’d been a bit adventurous, but now it was a real effort to keep my energy up. I wondered if it was often like this, getting cranky and tired and short-tempered as the night stretched on.

I took a few deep breaths, and exited the hideous parody of a motor vehicle.

My first stop, Rød, had a cozy exterior. The window sign was fire-engine-red neon, and it looked like a wine bar.

I stepped through the door and was immediately confronted by a sea of red velvet; it even covered the ceiling and walls. Black-light paintings decorated the walls, while dainty blood-colored crystal chandeliers hung from above and miniature fabric lamps threw their red-gold light on the tables closest to the walls. I was mesmerized by how audacious, classy, and masculine the whole thing felt.

I heard a pounding steady beat towards the back, and was drawn past the bar to a dance area. The darkened doorway created the illusion of a large space, but when I stepped into the room I discovered it was a small, pulsing dance floor. A raised platform was wedged tightly into a corner, and the DJ stared intently down at his work while bouncing to a silent rhythm in his headphones. He was shirtless, though that was hardly remarkable.

The dance floor was filled with half-naked men undulating together, a hypnotic movement of grace and power, swirling and crashing like waves on a stormy beach. Some of them, many of them, were in tune with each other. A few had fallen off-beat, and struggled to find the break in the flow, so they could fit themselves back into the group's intense energy.

I scanned the room, trying to figure out how to navigate the crowd when it was this cramped. I considered heading back to the front; it didn't seem like there was any use in trying to talk when the music was this loud, and when everyone’s focus was on the music. I heard a shout, and all of them turned to look at me, their attention like a floodlight. They broke into huge grins, jumping up and down excitedly. They beckoned me toward the dance floor like a puppy they were trying to entice to their side. I shook my head No, but kept smiling, hoping one of them would want something if I stayed toward the edge of the room. Four of them leapt toward me, pulling me into their cacophony of lust, laughter, joy and chaos.

They spun me around, playing with my hair, and caressing my face. I was jumping, giggling, clutching my cash box and the corner of the cigarettes, all while I tried to find a current of fresh air among the hardened, sweaty chests curving around me. It was so magnificent; they practically lifted me in the air with their enthusiasm. I lost track of time and purpose, torn between my job and the total surrender a crowd in a good mood can inspire.

Though it only lasted a few minutes, it felt longer. I gestured to my five-minute best friends that I was headed into the other room, and their shallow dismay that I was leaving lasted only a moment. As I turned back to the main bar, one of the dancers gently tugged at my sleeve.

“You are so beautiful, darling. Thanks for coming into the deep end with us. Most of you girls won’t even get back this far,” he shouted in my ear, over the music. The DJ really pulled out all of the stops, quickening the beat.

I must have showed surprise, as he started laughing. He handed me a $20, pulled out some gum and a candy bar, and said, “Come back and see us sometime." He winked, and then plunged back in.

I made my way slowly back into the red room, trying to straighten my disheveled look and checked my cash box, just in case. The saucy boudoir feel of the main bar was a relief after the intensity of the dance floor; it invited you to just sit down and have a brandy. The front was peppered with couples, mostly older men with other older men, but a few with younger companions.

Two older gentlemen were drinking from snifters, and looked at me in a bemused manner. The couple gestured to me like you would for peanuts at a ball game, though they both had elaborate hand waves, their fingers drifting through the air like they were brushing against a soft kitten.

“So, she survived the pit, eh?” one said out of the side of his mouth to the other.

“Yes, though it looks like she barely made it out,” replied his partner.

“They must have pulled her in quite deep; she’s practically panting.”

“Who can blame her darling? Their chests are built like the David.”

I found it hilarious they were talking about me like I wasn’t standing in front of them. It would’ve been easy to think they were trying to make me look like a fool, but I could tell from the way they started the conversation that what they really wanted was an audience. I was to watch, not perform. They bantered back and forth for a while, and I gave my best enigmatic smile, feigning a mystery I didn’t think I actually possessed.

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Finally, the first gentleman leaned closer and said, “Thank you for not being rude. We do enjoy fresh meat like you when going out on nights like these, which are so rare, my plum. My partner is quite sick, you know, and just the sight of you brings such joy and happy memories to the surface. We started talking about you the moment you came in. There was a time when we were quite the riot about town, and you girls were one of the highlights of our nights.”

“I’m sorry about your partner,” I said, knowing that it was inadequate.

“Aren’t you a dear?” he replied, his eyes sliding sideways to his boyfriend.

“I have all kinds of…” I started to say, but his eyes snapped back to me, and he waved his hand in the air again to interrupt.

“Is there a juicy memory from your childhood you could share with us, strumpet?” he inquired, giving me a smile of encouragement. The boyfriend’s eyes sharpened as he turned to me, leaned forward and gave me an interested look.

“I think I know what you would like,” I answered, pulling a thought from the past, one of the sweeter moments with my dad from long ago. It felt like the wrong time and place to share such a memory, but I figured why the hell not.

“I'll share a story my father likes to tell. When I was little, maybe four or five years old, my dad would take me to the park. It was just the two of us; my mom left us when I was a baby. He’s a quiet man, but he was a good father, and he often took me outside to play.

“One windy day, I had tired of the playground and digging in the dirt, so I took shelter under a nearby willow tree. When my dad came to find me, I was gently holding the branches of the willow tree; as they swayed in the wind, I swayed along with them. My dad says he asked me what I was doing, and I told him I was dancing with the trees.”

I could see the gentlemen were moved by my story, as they were holding hands very tightly. The first one pulled a ten out of his wallet and reached for a small pack of gum.

“Thank you for that lovely piece of you, dear. Good luck out there, and be safe," he waved me away this time, again with an airy flourish.

As I left the bar, my mind turned over something the gentleman said, about giving him a piece of me. It was an interesting turn of phrase. I started to wonder if that was the real trick of this job, giving away pieces of me for the sake of entertainment. I’d have to consider this further if I decided to come back out another night.

¤ ¤ ¤

Thom met me at quarter to two at our designated spot, and I was a bit frazzled by the time he pulled up. The rest of my run — Blush Wine Bar, Q, and Badlands — went relatively smoothly. Everyone I met was polite and sweet, even though they declined to buy anything nearly every time. Each bar was different in its own way, but I found myself too tired and confused about how to work these crowds to notice much detail. I got a bit lazy and cut myself some slack for surviving my first night. I had no idea how well I did, but it could hardly make a difference now.

For the first time, I realized begrudgingly, I was happy to see the yellow road stain of his car, if only to get away from the pounding music. It was very quiet in the car. Loud quiet. I waited for my ears to adjust.

Thom glanced at me, and then took off without a word.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing. Just seeing if you are cut out for this. Not many people can do this, you know. If you don’t enjoy it, cut your losses.”

I was irritated that Thom was back to his Eeyore impression. “I’m just tired. I had fun. It was kind of hectic tonight though, right?”

“Suuu-ure, but it’s often like this. Hey, I’m not trying to say you can’t. Just that maybe you want to find something better, you know?” he finished. I could tell he was mostly talking to himself, but I was too thin on sympathy after walking around all night to comfort him about his future. I said nothing.

We drove back to South of Market through streets that were now empty, aside from the occasional taxicab.

Thom dropped me off in front of the office. I punched in the code, and headed inside. The place was once again bustling, as girls shimmied out of outfits, counted out their merchandise, and packed their bags. In one corner a few girls who were loud and a bit drunk were comparing notes from the night. The rest of the girls were quiet, and several seemed to have had a bad night; they looked like they were nursing minor heartbreaks.

I wondered what I should be feeling. I couldn’t even tell. Did I do well? Did I tank? I sat at an empty table in the middle, and the chair tipped me partially forward, which was why it was vacant in the first place. I decided to get it over with quickly.

Selene was nowhere to be found, so I went up to the dark-haired man who sat behind the managers’ desk, punching the keys of a computer. His clothes, eyes and hair were all black, completely black. He wore silver jewelry of skulls, turquoise beads, and various animals, but there seemed to be a theme of horses. He turned to me, and just stared. It was not a reassuring feeling.

“Hi, I guess I need to count my tray, and am not sure where…” I started to say.

Suddenly he came out of his reverie, and turned to the desk.

“What’s your name?” he asked briskly.

“Pale.”

He handed me the original inventory sheet I had filled out earlier. “Have one of the girls show you what to do,” he said, turning back to the computer. He was already lost in thought again.

I just stood there, but he didn’t spare me another glance.

I walked away, feeling brushed off. I was at a loss, but went back to my reality-tilting chair. One of the quiet girls came over and walked me through my checkout process: how to note the amount left over of each item, what to write if I'd sold out of something. It wasn’t rocket science, and soon I had an accounting that matched what was left in my tray. I looked around and noticed a bunch of other girls counting and sorting their cash, so I did the same.

I joined the queue of girls at the front desk, where the black clad manager was calculating and checking girls out. The other girls chatted to each other, comparing stories of success or failure. I ended up standing behind Meredith.

“Hey there!” she said, still friendly but more subdued than earlier. I was definitely feeling the same, so I gave her a tired smile.

“How did you do tonight?” I asked her.

“I think I did pretty well, but it dragged tonight. My rhythm felt off…" she trailed off as she stepped up to the desk. I listened closely as she and the night manager joked back and forth a bit. I heard her say his name, and wondered if I heard it right; it sounded weird.

When she was done, Meredith was smiling, and she had a wad of cash. It turned out she had a talent for plucking greenbacks from those slippery pockets.

Happy for her, I stepped up, grinning.

“So, your name is…Ransom?” I asked.

“What?" He stared at me.

“Your name. Is it really Ransom?” I repeated, not sure if I should even be asking.

“Yeah. What’s your name?” he asked me, looking down and taking the sheet from my hand.

I passed the tray over the counter. "I’m Pale, we just met a second ago? It’s my first night."

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said absent-mindedly. He was busy punching in my numbers from my inventory.

I waited quietly, letting him concentrate. And truthfully, I was too tired for chitchat.

“You did pretty well, actually.” He handed me about $80 in cash. “We deduct the cost of the items, take the company cut, plus a rental equipment fee, and anything left over is yours, so you always leave here with cash in hand. Assuming you made a profit. You want to be careful out there, it’s late and it’s dangerous. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, but sometimes girls get robbed, so don’t be one of them," he said in a flat tone. I got the impression he wouldn’t bother telling me this if I had done poorly in my sales.

A bit overwhelmed, I just stood there. “Is there anything else I need to do?” I asked.

“Your costume." He looked me over.

“What about it?” I said, stupidly.

“Turn it in to me, at the window to my left, once you’ve changed,” he said, staring at me again, like I was an idiot.

“Right! Right. Sorry. Just…tired.”

He smiled in a sarcastic and indulgent way, and took the paperwork from the next girl. I used the training room to change into my street clothes, and then passed my costume to Mr. Black-and-Moody.

All my tasks completed, I was ready to leave. There didn't seem to be anything to say, or anyone to say it to. It was rather anti-climactic: we came together as a team so early in the night, but we left as strangers. I walked outside, acutely aware that I was on my own, with all this cash.

I hailed a cab, and the driver tried to strike up a conversation, but I was not having it. I gave him my address, and we bumped along the streets like abandoned trash carried along by a cold breeze, the remnants of the night stories we didn’t tell each other.