“Are you serious?” She was awestruck, as he led her quickly toward the stage, and showed his pass to one of the guards keeping the riffraff out. They instantly let him through. The girl knew he was completely serious by then. She hadn't had a stroke of luck like that in years. Her friend had told her she was crazy to head for the front row, but it had paid off big-time for her that night, as Adam helped her up the steps in her short skirt and high-heeled boots. He got a fabulous view of her bottom while she did, and had no qualms about checking it out. He figured that if she wore a skirt like that, she probably expected him to.
“What's your name, by the way?” he asked for no particular reason, as he led her to a row of folding chairs tucked in at the back of the stage. They had to step over wires, and sound equipment, but she was going to get a fabulous view of the show, and she looked up at him as though she'd had a religious vision, and he was it.
“Maggie O'Malley.”
“Where are you from?” He looked down at her with a smile, as she took her seat and crossed her legs. From where he stood, he had a totally unobstructed view down her shirt. He wondered if she was as racy as she looked, or had just dressed the part for the concert. Being more experienced than Charlie with women who looked like that, he pegged her at about twenty-two.
“I was born in Queens, but I live in the city now. On the West Side. I work at Pier 92.” It was a bar that catered to a rough crowd sometimes. It was essentially a restaurant and pickup bar, and the waitresses all looked like her. The prettier ones danced on the bar at hourly intervals and set the tone for sex and booze. Adam guessed correctly that she made a lot in tips. Sometimes the girls who worked there were young actresses out of work, and desperate for money.
“Are you an actress?” he asked with interest.
“No, I'm a waitress. But I dance a little. I used to tap-dance and take ballet as a kid, more or less.” She didn't tell him that what she'd learned, she'd picked up from TV. There'd been no formal dance lessons in her neighborhood. She had been born in the poorest, toughest part of Queens, and got out as soon as she could. Where she lived now on the Upper West Side, in a building that was barely more than a tenement, was a palace compared to where she'd grown up. And then she looked at Adam breathlessly with tears in her eyes. “Thank you for my seat. If I can ever do anything for you, look me up at Pier 92. I'll buy you a drink.” It was all she had to offer him, although there were other things he would have preferred to get from her. But she looked so innocent, despite the outrageous outfit, that he felt guilty for his thoughts. She seemed like a sweet girl, despite her sexy clothes.
“Don't worry about it. Happy to do it. Maggie, was it?”
“Mary Margaret actually,” she said, looking wide-eyed, and he could easily imagine her in a parochial school uniform. Mary Margaret O'Malley. He couldn't help wondering how she had come to dress the way she did. She had the face of an angel, and the body of a stripper, and her outfit needed to be burned. She would have looked incredible with the right hairdo and decent clothes, but life dealt the hands it did. And she had done all right for tonight, for a poor girl from Queens who worked at Pier 92. She was sitting on the stage at Vana's show, in a special seat.
“I'll come find you after the show,” he promised her, and meant it for a minute, and then suddenly she bounced up from the seat and gave him a hug like a little kid. There were tears in her eyes.
“Thank you for what you did for me. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done.” The look in her eyes made him feel guilty for his earlier lascivious thoughts. Putting her on the stage had been easy for him.
“Don't worry about it,” he said as he turned to leave, and then she grabbed his arm.
“What's your name?” She wanted to know who her benefactor was, and he looked startled. They weren't likely to meet again.
“Adam Weiss,” he said, and then ran back to his own seat. The lights were being dimmed. Two minutes later, as he sat next to Charlie, the show began. Charlie leaned toward him briefly just before Vana came out.
“Did you find her a seat?” He had been mesmerized by her. Charlie had never seen anyone quite like her up close. Girls who looked like that were definitely not his thing.
“I did,” Adam whispered. “She said she wants to go out with you,” he said with a mock-serious look, and Charlie laughed.
“Not likely. Did you get her phone number, blood type, and address?”
“No, just her bra size. It's a lot bigger than her IQ,” Adam said with a wicked grin.
“Don't be mean,” Charlie scolded him. “She was sweet.”
“Yeah, I know. Maybe we'll take her to the party with us, after the show.” Charlie gave him a grim look. He thought the concert would be enough for him. This was not his scene, although he had always liked Vana's music. And he did that night too.
