I. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Stephanie Thrush stood facing the mirror in the dressing room at Tarantula Lil’s, using Kleenex to dab blood from the small cut over her mouth. Her nose had stopped bleeding moments before.

Allowing the sounds of AC/DC’s "Hell’s Bells" to wash through her, she knew she was ready begin her career as a stripper. Fires burned furiously in her dark soul. She knew she had the right stuff to dance nude at Tarantula Lil’s of Las Vegas.

Briefly, she thought of her parents, likely sitting at home in their Seattle suburb and watching TV. At this turning point of her life, she remembered her involvement in high school sports, recalled scoring the winning goal for her high school girl’s soccer team during the Zone quarter-finals, briefly saw herself graduating with honors and accepting an academic scholarship to a distinguished college of her choice, thought of her two years in graduate school, of Milton, Shakespeare, and Donne. None of this meant anything now. Breathing deeply, Stephanie studied herself in the mirror. She was beautiful: her outfit consisted of purple strings which thinly criss-crossed her body in a net. Make-up hid the cut. She knew she was perfect.

II. What had brought Stephanie Thrush to this point? What brings any former high school home-coming queen and college honors student to a sleazy strip-tease joint where she’s likely to spend the next ten years of her life? It’s hard to say. Family, maybe? I think not. Stephanie’s parents had been the most loving, supportive parents in the world. She had grieved for months over the death of her grandfather, once a Lutheran pastor, and at times sorely missed her mother and father. Lack of values, then? Again, I doubt it. Stephanie had been raised in church. She had loved the fellowship as much as her parents had. She remembered summers at church camp with fondness. Then perhaps society or culture was to blame. Raised in a small upper-class community just outside of Seattle, Stephanie had grown up with the same influences as everyone else. She had eaten the same fast-food, watched the same TV shows, gone to the same movies, partied in high school like everyone else, used drugs several times with her friends, and become (along with most of her class) sexually active by the time she was seventeen. The only odd feature had been a slight predisposition towards violence, manifested in occasional fights, but that tendency had seemingly disappeared as soon as she graduated high school.

But tonight, in front of God and everyone, Stephanie Thrush had lost it, violence surging into her from nowhere, and now here she was, a dream of a girl, beautiful beyond words, looking forward to stripping in one of the truly dark places of the planet. Perhaps if we pieced the evening together....

III. The evening had begun innocently enough. Stephanie’s fiancee of seven months had taken her to Tarantula Lil’s for what he had promised would be a "wonderful dinner." Ray had called Stephanie around nine that morning and asked if she would like to celebrate the evening.

"Celebrate what?" Steph had sleepily asked, swilling stale black coffee, munching Winchell’s donuts, and watching an old horror film with her sister Rhonda, a former nun, who had moved in with her three months earlier. As she waited for Ray’s reply, she watched the movie and recalled that this was the scene in which the main character journeyed through Hell in order to defeat the powers of darkness.

"Hey, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, " Ray had responded, his voice raspy like iron over the phone, "no special occasion, really. I just wanna be with my special peach."

Stephanie had cringed at these words. "Please don’t call me that," she had muttered as she watched the heroine of the movie cautiously approach the Devil’s Crypt.

She had met Ray in a local coffee house a year ago. Ray had claimed to be a poet and, since she was studying for her master’s degree in English, Stephanie had been smitten. At first, he had called her by her real name. But since their engagement, Ray had used labels that reduced Stephanie to the level of edibles.

"Don’t call you what? Peaches? Whattsa matter with that, sugar pie? I just wanna eat my peaches is all." Ray smacked his lips and laughed crudely.

Stephanie was tired and didn’t feel like pursuing the matter of names, so she had capitulated and agreed to go with Ray to Las Vegas’ seediest nude dance club, Tarantula Lil’s, whose specialty was prime rib steak.

IV.  That evening, waiting for Ray, Stephanie dressed in one her sexiest outfits, a sheer tiny black evening dress with a plunging neck line and a short hem that left little to the imagination. Aware of her perfect figure, her gorgeous tanned breasts and beautiful, shapely legs, Stephanie knew the dress was right for the evening.

At seven thirty, Ray arrived but, inspite of her invitation, would not enter Stephanie’s apartment. Ever since Rhonda had moved down from Seattle, Ray had refused to cross the threshold.

"Hey, you a vampire or something?" Stephanie had jokingly asked several weeks before.

Ray’s response had been sullen, hostile. "No fuckin’ way, baby plums," he had hissed, "I just don’t like Bible thumpers."

"Rhonda’s no Bible thumper, Ray," Stephanie had said, defensively.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ray had countered, "but anyone sits around reading the damn bible like she does gives me the creeps-- y’know what I mean, sweet meat?"

No, Stephanie did not know what Ray meant. However, Ray had made his dislike of Rhonda evident time and again, so when he came to the door this time, Stephanie said goodbye to Rhonda, who had been sitting in the living room and meditating on the book of Jonah, and followed Ray to his Hummer, parked in the lot three stories down.

As she stood in the parking lot, waiting for Ray to unlock the doors and let her in, she looked back up at her living room window and saw her sister Rhonda praying. At that moment, curiously, Stephanie felt like one of the damned.

Ray flipped on the radio to his favorite hard rock station as soon he and Stephanie were seated. Stephanie recognized the sounds of Metallica. Riding with Ray in complete silence, she recalled Rhonda had warned her that Metallica was Satanic. She tried to block her sister from her mind.

The couple headed towards Tarantula Lil’s, Ray pounding on the steering wheel and dash, frantically keeping time with the beat as he drove. Stephanie wondered if her boyfriend were wired. Whether Ray was high or not, Stephanie was determined to enjoy herself this night. Cool desert wind blowing through the open windows and tossing her long blonde hair, music from the music by Metallica filled her mind and soul with a sense of power. Stephanie felt eternally young and indomitable as she wondered what awaited them at Tarantula Lil’s.

Everyone in Vegas knew about Tarantula Lil’s. Stephanie had heard that the place was located in the industrial area just off the strip. In fact, the club was in the center of the worst area of town: gangs ruled the streets, drug deals were regularly made in broad daylight, and shootings were a nightly occurrence. Recently, a national magazine had labeled the area "a dark pool of death."

But, according to rumor, Tarantula Lil’s was a dark step beyond; in Stephanie’s mind, it was the Pit of Hell and as she and Ray drove she thought of descriptions of the fiery pit by Dante, John Bunyon, and Jonathan Edwards. Over the past year the club had been the setting for at least fifteen shootings and four fatal stabbings. One account Steph remembered involved a tall-red-headed dancer/UNLV student named Ginger, who, walking to her car at around three in the morning, was beaten, raped, and then stabbed to death and beheaded in front of fifty or so bloodthirsty onlookers.

Still, Stephanie reasoned as they moved into the downtown area, everyone can use a little excitement. In fact, Stephanie had now reached a point in life of craving stimulation. A Denny’s waitress by day (She’d given up on grad school shortly after meeting Ray), Stephanie knew that she could use a little adrenaline-pumping to break a routine that was ordinary as toast. Besides, she loved prime rib steak, raw, rare almost, and very bloody.

V. Yet, when Stephanie stepped from Ray’s automobile in the parking lot of Tarantula Lil’s and glanced at the huge tower looming over the club, the black neon spider clinging to its orange neon web and dripping neon droplets of blood onto the roof one hundred feet below, her heart began to race, her palms became sweaty and her legs numb, and she knew intuitively that trouble awaited her. It was an unmistakable gut-feeling, like something had just injected into her, and Stephanie felt eerily nearly borne out of herself.

Yet, Stephanie welcomed this dark rush, a sensation she hadn’t felt since her sophomore year in college when, against the advice of her sister, she had joined a vampire cult "just for kicks," as she put it. Now taking Ray’s hand, she allowed herself to be led into this den of darkness, whose black glass doors loomed before her like a wall of black mist emanating from the portals of the underworld. She could feel the club’s music coming through the walls as she and Ray walked to the door. She recognized a piece by Rush.

When Ray opened one of the heavy black glass doors for her, Stephanie walked into a thudding darkness so thick that she had felt that she was drowning. Panic surged within her; the darkness had felt like a leather cloak wrapping itself around her.

"Ray," she whispered, frightened yet fascinated, as the image of her sister praying for her had come to mind. "Ray! Raymond? Where are you??"

"Here, baby sweet," came the raspy iron voice from the darkness. As she stood in the black void, the hard and driving rock music filling her bones, her blood and her soul, Ray finally took her by the hand and, squeezing hard as if he were afraid he was going to loose her, briskly led her forward.

And as Stephanie followed, wondering how Ray could see so well in the darkness, she noticed the room growing gradually lighter, and soon made out the darkly illuminated stages, young naked women performing on each one, and hundreds of people, some sitting and drinking, others standing next to one of the nude dancers not performing, and yet others surrounding the three stages, shouting, feeding dollar bills to the girls who allowed these men to put the money anywhere they wanted on the girls’ bodies.

Mesmerized, Stephanie stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, looked around, and realized she had never been in a nude bar before. Temporarily, she became one with the sound of Blue Oyster Cult’s "Reaper," a piece that she liked very much. She felt energized by the frenetic, pounding activity around her, sensed herself dissolving into the loud hypnotic beat of the music, and wished, immediately, to become a part of this scene.

Stephanie breathed deeply and again had the sensation of being transported out of her self. She enjoyed the sensation. Coming to Tarantula Lil’s was like walking through a doorway into another dimension. For an instant, as she watched a gorgeous and large-breasted blonde twirl around the pole on one of the stages, she wished that she could be a dancer. Dancing nude, night after night, to a roomful of excited males would not be such a bad way to spend one’s life--at least for several years until she married and started raising a family. Life would become a series of dark rushes.

"Hey, Peaches, Peaches, Peaches, what’s up?" Ray bellowed into her ear over the music, tugging at Stephanie’s hand and trying to lead her through the crowd. "C’mon, Peaches," Ray coaxed, "you can watch all this shit from where we sit." Her mind reeling but the spell broken, Stephanie followed.

Ray took her to a fancy engraved wooden table that sat in the back of the place but that afforded a good view of the entire room. As soon as they seated themselves in the soft plush chairs, a cocktail waitress, wearing skin-tight shorts that covered little of her buttocks and a flimsy top that revealed ample breasts (one bearing a striking rose tattoo, Stephanie had noted) came over to take their order.

"Hey, Ray, old boy," the waitress said, "what’s goin’ on? It’s been a while, huh? This your girl?" The waitress studied Stephanie intensely.

Stephanie realized that this was not Ray’s first time at Tarantula Lil’s. "Yeah," Ray said, "this is, uh, well, I call her Peaches. So this is Peaches. Say hi to Monica, Peaches."

For an instant, Stephanie glared at Ray, an image of grabbing her fiancee by the throat flying through her mind like a rapid black bat. But just as suddenly she relaxed, recalling that this was supposed to be an evening of celebration.

"Hello, Monica," Stephanie said in what she hoped was a cold monotone. "My real name is Stephanie. Why don’t you call me that?"

"Hello, Peaches," Monica returned, smiling coyly and winking at Ray. Ray grinned hugely, chuckled, and winked back. If an empty wine bottle had been available, Stephanie would used it on Monica.

"Please don’t call me that name. Please. Please. I’m Stephanie," Steph coldly asserted, her arms and legs suddenly surging with adrenaline. "I’m not a peach that you eat," Stephanie added, trying to add humor to an increasingly tense situation. "I’m a woman."

"Y’know, I think I like Peaches," spouted Monica, turning to face Stephanie. "Yeah, you’re a peach, babe."

Fury building like a tempest, Stephanie locked eyes with Monica and, fists clenched, slowly rose from her chair....

"Hey, hey, hey!!" Ray broke in. "C’mon Peaches, honey, you sweet tasty thing. This is my friend Monica. Monica, say hello to Peaches. Let’s all be friends. Huh? Whaddya say??"

Stephanie looked at Ray and stopped the movement toward violence. She sighed, wishing she had not come to this place. "Hello, Peaches," Monica said cattily, her blazing red eyes locking with Stephanie’s.

This is not happening, Stephanie assured herself, gritting her teeth. This is not happening. I won’t let it happen. I won’t let it happen. I’m not getting into this.

Stephanie inhaled deeply several times, settling her nerves and pushing her rage back into her subconscious mind. "Hello, Monica. It is so glad to meet you." Stephanie smiled and slowly sat down, never taking her eyes from Monica’s.

Monica grinned and laughed as if to say, "That’s better." Then Monica asked, sweetly, "Now, what can I get you two love birds to eat?"

Once Stephanie and Ray ordered, Stephanie felt herself relax. She was going to enjoy the evening and had turned her concentration upon the table next to theirs, where a stripper was writhing like a snake in the lap of an obese middle-aged, expressionless man. I could do better, Stephanie thought to herself.

Their prime rib steaks was just set before them when a loud voice penetrated the thudding semi-darkness around them. "Hey, Raymond, old sack o’ shit. How you be?"

Stephanie nearly choked on a huge piece of steak she was chewing, gently placed her fork onto her plate and looked up to see a gorgeous young black women hovering over their table like a gigantic dark moth. The woman, Steph noticed, was topless and enormous gorgeous breasts. With silent though begrudging admiration, Steph also observed that each of the girl’s nipples was pierced by a beautiful gold ring that caught the light the table’s candle. Steph looked over at Ray, who had stopped eating as well. Ray looked mesmerized, staring intensely at the girl. It was a look Ray gave Stephanie in moments of intense desire.

Steph looked back at the black women, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to bristle. Her breathing was becoming short and rapid, and if she weren’t careful she’d be panting like a beast in a minute. Not now, thought, Stephanie, not now, not now, not now. Oh sweet Jesus, don’t let this happen, she had prayed silently.

But Stephanie could not contain the animal rage that sprung out of the black box of her subconscious mind like a striking cobra. Suddenly, inexplicably, Steph had felt her mind and body preparing for action.

"How you doin’, Ray?" the black woman asked, putting her hands on the edge of the table and leaning over so that her breasts dangled just above the bread dish. Speechless, Ray stared at the breasts and then at the woman.

"Hiya, Toni," Ray responded in a guttural tone. "God, you look beautiful tonight, Tony," Ray said, unable to take his eyes off the intruder, "absolutely beautiful. Heh, heh, heh," he added unctuously; "you look good enough to eat." Ray obscenely smacked his lips.

"So do you, honey," Toni had responded, sticking out and waggling her tongue and then reaching out with one hand and brushing through Ray’s long dark hair. "Y’look good enough to eat, too, you wanna know the truth."

In a primordial rush, Steph rose, her chair falling backwards, and faced Toni. Enough was enough. "Scram," Stephanie said, firmly, her voice low and ashen. Toni froze for an instant, looking up at the beautiful white girl. Stephanie saw that Toni’s eyes were glazed.

"Scram, bitch," Stephanie had added, "this is my man.

Before Steph could think, Toni turned to face her, glowering and snarling, and, quickly, sprang for Stephanie, both hands grabbing and then completely ripping the top away of Stephanie’s small black dress

Before Stephanie could react, Toni lashed out, her right fist crashing into Stephanie’s mouth. Toni was much stronger than Stephanie had imagined, and as she flew backwards from the blow and landed on the floor, Steph tasted the sweet metallic flavor of blood. She realized everyone could see her breasts now.

Before Stephanie could push herself up off the floor, Toni was on her, grabbing her hair, scratching , clawing, biting, hammering Steph’s face, breasts, and stomach. Stephanie had been in fights before, knew that her strength surpassed Toni’s, and knew that if she could just grab Tony the fight would be over.

But Toni was insanely unrelenting and her flurry of blows kept Stephanie down. Soon, Toni was sitting on Stephanie’s chest, beating away at Stephanie’s face, Stephanie working frantically, vainly to defend herself. A crowd gathered around the two females, wildly cheering. Suddenly, Toni’s fist came crashing into Stephanie’s nose, and Stephanie had felt her head bounce against the carpeted floor, her nose bloodied. In a delirious swirl of dark images, Stephanie wondered what had happened to Ray and called out, in a silent voice, for Rhonda. Rhonda would help her.

Suddenly, a calm in the middle of the storm, Toni stopped and sat erect, looking down at Steph, admiring her handiwork and planning her final assault. This was a nearly fatal mistake. Quickly, like a thief in the night, Stephanie’s head cleared and she swung both powerful legs back, wrapping her muscled legs around Toni’s neck.

Steph saw the panic on the black woman’s face and was reminded of a cornered animal. Thrusting violently back with her legs, which held Toni, Stephanie brought her adversary’s head crashing onto the floor. Toni shrieked like a wild beast as Stephanie raised her legs, still wrapped around Toni’s neck, and then brought Toni’s head crashing to the carpet again and again. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill this black bitch, Stephanie thought to herself, bloodied, as she released her legs and climbed on top of the nearly unconscious black stripper.

Toni emitted a deep animal moan, her eyes blinking furiously. But Stephan felt no compassion for the woman who had tried to humiliate her in front of her fiancee and, with the intention of beating the woman to death, began striking Toni in the face with her closed fists. Stephanie knew her strength was incredible.

By the time the heavily muscled bouncer pulled Stephanie off , Toni’s face was barely recognizable. Toni’s career as a stripper had been temporarily put on hold.

"It’s over, sweet heart, it’s over," yelled the bouncer whose huge and tattooed arms restrained Stephanie. "It’s over, babe, over, over, over."

It was over, Stephanie told herself. It’s over. It’s over. And suddenly Stephanie felt drained, dark energy slowly running out of her like dirty oil. Stephanie allowed the big man to hold her for a moment and then said, quietly, "Yes, it’s over. I know that. Let me go."

Reluctantly, the bouncer released Stephanie and then stood back and handed Stephanie a towel. Stephanie took the towel and realized that blood covered her face and body.

"You’re the strongest and meanest little girl I ever seen," said the bouncer, a huge man who shaved his head, wore and black mustache, and sported a ring in each ear. "Jesus K. Rist, girl, you are fuckin’ savage."

Stephanie smiled at the bouncer, who grinned in return, exposing a gold tooth that bore a neat "666" engraving. She now wondered where Ray was. Glancing around, she finally saw Ray’s face in the back of the crowd. Her rage re-surfacing, Stephanie yelled, pointing angrily at her fiancee, "Ray, you son of a bitch, get the fuck outa here before I come for you. I ever get ahold of you Ray I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ brains out with a crowbar ‘til you’re dead, you hear me?"

She saw Ray blanch, then move away from the crowd and head for the door, walking while looking back at first but then running to the club’s entrance. In an instant, Ray was gone, and Stephanie knew she would never see him again.

Her nose aching and the cut over her lip stinging, Steph looked back at the bouncer, who was gazing upon Stephanie with admiration. Steph smiled at the man, said, "Hi, I’m Stephanie," and held out her hand to shake.

The big man responded. "Hi, Stephanie," he said in the gentlest, sexiest voice Stephanie had ever heard, "I’m Luke. I’m one of the owners of this place."

As the crowed dispersed, Luke continued to hold Stephanie’s hand, and Stephanie continued to stare at Luke. Luke was smiling. Giving way, Stephanie smiled back. "Hey, Luke," she said.

"Babe, you gotta get cleaned up," said Luke. Luke had difficulty taking his eyes off Stephanie but took the towel from her hand and began cleaning the blood off her face, arms and breasts.

"Wanna work for us?" Luke then asked, right out of the blue. Stephanie didn’t have to give the question much thought. The whole evening--fight included--had been one gigantic dark rush. She still felt drugged.

For an instant, Stephanie looked over at Toni, still on the floor but sitting upright, held up by friends gathering around her. At that moment, Steph felt sorry for Toni.

As Stephanie turned to head to the restroom, Luke walked by her side and then asked again, "Wanna work for us?"

Stephanie looked at Luke, who was still smiling, his gold tooth shining in the club’s semi-darkness.

"Work?" Stephanie asked, her mind already made up. "Whaddya mean? Like fighting?"

"Well, no," Luke muttered, bashfully, looking at the floor, "what I had in mind was dancing. You got a terrific body. Nice tits. Everything."

The answer was easy. From the moment she had entered the place, Stephanie had known that she wanted to be part of this dark paradise. Life in here would rarely be dull.

"Sure," Stephanie said, stopping just before the entrance to the women’s restroom. "When do I start? What do I wear?"

Luke grinned. "You start now if you want. And we got plenty of outfits in the back. I’ll get one of the girls to show you."

"Sounds good to me," Stephanie replied. Stephanie couldn’t resist the temptation to join this darkness.

"Monica," Luke yelled at the cocktail waitress who just happened to be passing, "get this girl set up. Needs a outfit for dancing. She’s workin’ for us now."

"No problem, big boy," Monica cooed. Then, looking at Stephanie and giving her a friendly smile, Monica said, "C‘mon, Steph. Let’s go to the back room. We got some outfits you’ll look beautiful in."

VI. So there you have it: Stephanie Thrush’s evening in gory detail. And here we are, back where we started, our heroine starting a new career Stephanie felt ecstatic, as if she had finally discovered herself, as if she had finally tapped into something that made life worth living.

Life is good, thought beautiful Stephanie. Stripping would be something that she could do well and enjoy. What more, she wondered, could she or anyone else ask for?

Her bleeding had stopped. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized she bore no marks, no bruises. And she knew too that if Luke liked the way she fought, he’d have to like her as a dancer. She couldn’t wait to dance naked. She’d know exactly what to do. She’d be good.

She was eager to take on a stage name, so she decided on Rush. Rush sounded exciting and sexy and dark. With a name like Rush, Stephanie knew she was going to make her name under the darkened lights of Las Vegas’ underworld.

As she prepared to leave the dressing room, Monica waiting just outside, Stephanie thought of calling Rhonda. But Rhonda would not understand this. Rhonda could pray for her, as Rhonda prayed for everyone, later on, next week maybe, when Stephanie summoned the courage to tell her older sister how she was spending her nights.