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Renee examined their refuge for the first time since they'd come in. It was a huge room almost completely without lights, one side lined with a bar. Opposite the door, where she sat with Fran, a galvanized iron pipe railing outlined a tiny, floor-level stage. The room was noisy with voices. Prostitutes, perhaps thirty or forty of them, moved from table to table. The men sat, talked, laughed, using their hands in a ritual of sex that seemed to be without pleasure.

While Renee watched uniform sex thumbs, one of the women pulled a sailor away from his beer by the hand and led him toward the door.

They were attracting their own share of attention Renee realized. The men, most of whom appeared to be Americans, were constantly glancing their way. Sizing them up, Renee supposed.

Harsh, strident music suddenly flooded the room from behind a dingy, red curtain at one end of tile stage. It was paced by a throbbing drum, the blood-tingling blare of a trumpet.

The curtain flicked back for a second to reveal the musicians pounding their music into the microphone, and then the entertainers undulated onto the stage.

There were two of them. Young girls who bumped and ground their way in a two-step the length of the stage, then turned and filed back around just out of reach of the customers' grasping hands.

One of the girls unsnapped her bra, exposing her pendulous breasts. She began swaying along the pipe, batting groping hands away as they pawed at her out of the darkness. In the center of the stage the other girl was doing a bump and grind, flipping her panties down over her hips in cadence to the music while the Mexican doorman blinked his flashlight on and off, trying to catch her hairy vagina in the circle of light while her panties were down.

The girl moving along the rail was coming closer to their table, Renee realized. She also finally understood what the rail was for.

Holding the man's hands away, the girl had stopped in front of a table and thrust her breasts out while one of the spectators leaned over the rail and sucked her tit rape.

She continued bumping and grinding while he clung tenaciously to her breast. His friends were laughing and yelling "Ole, ole!"

Finally, the girl pulled away with a provocative twitch of her hip, leaving her---Renee searched for a word and finally pounced on one in desperation---admirer---sucking wind. His friends laughed and, when he tried to scramble into the little fenced-off stage, pulled him back.

She bobbed and swayed her way down the rail, her suckled tit higher, tauter than the other, the nipple glistening in the dim light. For a long moment the girl stood in front of their table-- -staring into Renee's eyes with an expression she wasn't sure she could read. Hate? Envy? Pity? It seemed all of these. Yet, the girl said nothing. Wordlessly, she turned away, gliding down the rail to the next tablefull of gaping men.