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Somewhere in a smoke choked night club in New York City, a man descended the staircase leading to the ground floor of the club. He adjusted his three piece dark pinstripe suit as he reached the landing and surveyed the scene in the room. It was a place very much to his taste; classy with some charm and a place upstairs to get a little hooch, not like those sleazy clubs that sold paint varnish as booze and jazz was the only music to listen to. As much as he liked the place, he had things to do. 

As he maneuvered his way through the crowd, a soft hand touched his shoulder unexpectedly. From behind him, he heard a woman's voice, clear and pleasing, like a bell.

“Charles, we're only getting started! Don't say you're leaving already.” 

Charles turned around to see Ruth, a woman he'd met earlier. She was a real dish, and they'd been working each other over all night. She touched the shoulder of her dress, a silvery slinky thing that hit her curves in all the right places.

Charles smiled softly and said, “I certainly won't say it if you ask me not to.”

“Then you really are leaving?” The disappointment was clear on her features, though Charles suspected that she was exaggerating them to get him to stay. 

“I'm afraid so. It's business my dear, and I wouldn't subject you to that.” He said as he smoothly stepped out of the way of a group of people heading upstairs that had nearly ran into him.

“But you'll swing by some other time? You promised me a serenade.” Ruth said, turning on those puppy-dog eyes again. 

Charles took her hand, wanting nothing more than to stay and see where the night went, letter be damned. It was no use though, he had to get going. “Some other time it is, doll. I'll be here tomorrow night.” He let go of her hand and shot her a wink and a smile. She flashed some pearly whites of her own as he left her, heading out of the club doors and out into the city.

This part of the city was a lively one; Fords zipped by underneath the glittering lights, the bright signs advertising one thing or another, usually dancing or music shows. Smoke from the exhausts dulled the street lights, ensnaring the street in their fog. Without hesitation, Charles began walking in the direction of the nearest bus station, and it would take him where he needed to go. He thought earlier about hiring a taxi cab, but after considering the possibilities, a motor bus provided anonymity where a cab didn't. 

Charles continued on his way. He passed other people on the street, but his mind was elsewhere.

---

The motor bus came slowly to a halt letting only one passenger off. Charles stepped gratefully onto the pavement and nodded at the motor bus driver in thanks as it drove away. He pulled the ticket out of his pocket and started flipping it around in his fingers absently as he walked. It read:

[i]Mr. Jig's Speakeasy: A Reality Extravaganza [/i]

It was the only relic of the message he'd received. When he'd gotten the letter from this 'Mr. Jig' Charles had memorized it and burned it. The last thing he needed was a paper trail. 

The Little Lyceum was just a lonely walk away from the stop, and when Charles reached it, he was perplexed to say the least. He had expected this part of the city to be as lively as the rest of it but this place just felt dead. The theater that loomed in front of him was a run down boarded up rat hole of a place, not a likely scene for a ritzy show. Nonetheless, this was definitely the address he'd been given, so Charles approached the front door and knocked cautiously. 

The door opened to Charles' surprise, and to his even greater surprise, he was greeted by a gorgeous woman. Her outfit blew Ruth's completely out of the water, and didn't leave much for his imagination, and he certainly wasn't complaining. 

“Welcome to the Little Lyceum.” She said, batting her eyelashes a little. “Please, come in.” 

Not about to refuse such a pretty gal, Charles stepped into the foyer and checked the place out. It looked like it had been real hot spot once, but now it was a dusty shell of its former self. There were sections for reception and the box office, but what grabbed his attention the most was the bar. Not just because it was stocked, but because there was also another woman leaning on the bar. She acknowledged his entrance with a nod and returned to her drinking.

“May I offer you a glass of wine?” The pretty hostess asked, her tone a bit more seductive than he expected. He wasn't sure if she was just humoring him or not.

“You certainly may, miss.” Charles said, following her to the bar and taking a seat. As the hostess poured him a glass, he asked her, “Do you know when this...Mr. Jig will be showing up?”

“My, my...aren't we raring to go?” She smirked and finished pouring the glass of wine for him, pushing the drink within his reach. “He'll be here when all the other guests have arrived.”

Charles turned to look at the other woman he was with. She wasn't as much of a looker as their hostess, she was a little older, much more modestly dressed and was carrying a hook of a nose around on her face. Her hair was a nice shade of yellow, though. As Charles settled into his seat, he wondered if she was here for the same reason he was. The musty smell of the place surrounded him, making him forget about the rich colors and once-fine décor. He kept a sharp eye on the front door, wondering how many other 'guests' were invited to this occasion. 
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