Ishtar snaked her hand up her body as the tambourines kept a steady beat. Entwining it with the one already crooked above her head, she swayed her hips sinuously from side to side before suddenly lowering her body parallel to the floor and nearly touching it in a Turkish drop. Her feet were the only point of contact with the stage, yet she appeared to be almost lying on it. Slowly she rose from the pose, again moving her hands up her body, and this time one leg rose also, until it was stretched parallel to her body. It would have been indecent—actually it was indecent, but it would have been more indecent—if her costume had a skirt instead of filmy gauze pantaloons. Then she leaped out of the pose and into the closing position, kneeling on the floor as the music stopped. Immediately applause burst out, and Ishtar smiled. Tonight had gone well.

Moving to the front of the stage, she sank into a curious bow that somehow managed to convey that it was as womanly as a curtsey yet tremendously sensual at the same time. Then she removed herself to the back as the audience kept applauding, walking with a swagger that accentuated her form. Ishtar was, after all, nothing more than an object of men’s fancy, so best to pander to that fantasy. The dance, the sexuality of her character, even her name, were all creations of men—both her managers and the men who paid for the tickets to see her. When the applause was just starting to die down, she came back on stage. At once the clapping increased to its prior level. She smiled cynically—which, since she was not that close to the audience, would look like a genuine smile—as the gambit worked. It did every time, of course. Any performer that was not a novice knew that was the way to get the longest run of applause.

They clapped, you left, it started to die away, and you came out again to build it up, and in doing so looked much more graceful and like you were above grabbing for applause than if you ran out again as soon as you got off stage. Of course it wasn’t true—every single performer wanted the attention as badly as the next. Unless your name was already made, you needed it to get the reviews, the attention of your managers, &c. And if your name was already made, then you need it to keep your name made. As she sauntered off again, waited, and made a third entrance, Ishtar reminded herself to keep that in mind. Just because she was popular in this particular theatre did not mean she always would be and could slack off her effort. As she swept her gaze across the rows of boxes and the people in the main floor and even those in the peanut gallery, she paid attention to the audience.

Were they impressed? For the most part, they looked it. But were they enchanted? Would they pay good, hard-earned money to come back? Or tell their relatives and friends to go to see Ishtar? That was the thing that she needed to see, but could never tell. Who could? Ishtar herself could see something once and be happy, even if it was very impressive indeed. What was to say these people were any different? Her eyes shifted back across rows of eyes staring back at her, and that was when she saw him. He was in the fifth row of the main audience, and he stared back at her with knowing in his eyes. He was not clapping. She’d seen him before, but he’d always clapped then. What was it tonight that forestalled his approbation? She didn’t care two cents for his approval in particular, but she was used to receiving total admiration. He was watching her with a particular intensity, and Ishtar troubled to note that he was handsome.

She did not lose her presence of mind over him, of course. A quick glance to the right and back, no more than a half a second’s time all told, was all that she allowed before moving on; he would either understand, or not. This third bow would be her last; she didn’t think any more applause could be milked from the audience. Ishtar sauntered off stage, and then made her way around backstage right as the house lights came up and people began to wander away.

Mikhail was in the Lindebo Theatre, watching a woman named Ishtar dance. She was very graceful and she held herself well and she was certainly very well figured. He could not help but notice that, because the way she was moving made it impossible to not notice it. Not that he would have ignored it even if she hadn’t been dancing that way. The sort of semi see-thru pants outfit draped about her so that he could not quite see every curve.

But not quite seeing them didn’t make any difference when one had an imagination as good as Mikhail’s. It was very easy to imagine exactly what was under that exotic Arabic costume. The dance and the costume were designed to make it that way. The swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips stood out in his minds eye. Combined with her dark hair, mocha-cream skin, and exotic features she was quite beautiful. Very nice, and a fine woman to look at.

She danced well. Her body moved with grace and elegance, and she was suggestive but not flat out lewd. She was sex in a can, but watered down for people who couldn’t take the full monty. Now, Mikhail liked sex. He liked it a lot, and he liked it in cans. But he didn’t like it watered down. When he’d danced with Madeline, the tango at the Easter Ball, there had been no restrictions. He hadn’t watered himself down just because people were watching, and neither had Madeline.

But she was still sexy. Just not with enough courage to truly dance. And thus this was a little boring. Therefore when it ended he did not clap. She was good but not good enough to impress him. She noticed, and caught his eye with a little jerk of her head. Then his estimation of her willingness to be bold changed. A little. But she still wasn’t going to get any applause out of him. She wanted to talk to him fine, he didn’t need to explain himself to some spangled dancer that he’d wasted money to see.

It might be fun to hear what she said, though. And besides, she was beautiful. And he wasn’t taken right now, so it might be fun to toss her for a one-night stand. He eyed her appraisingly again, and then followed her tiny direction once she left the stage again. He went around to the backstage door that went to audience part of the auditorium, and then he walked through it confidently. He wasn’t supposed to go back there but no one stopped him because he was so confident that they assumed he must be supposed to be there.

But, once back there, he saw no one except a backup dancer in a skimpy outfit. He amused himself for a moment by looking at her, but when Ishtar didn’t show up he rapidly grew bored. It was easy to bore Mikhail, all you had to do was keep him waiting. The backup dancer eyed him, too, and started to move towards him, but was called back by a man in stagehand’s clothing. She said she would come, and the stagehand thanked her and then noticed Mikhail.

Mikhail thought that this was when he would get the night watchman set on him, yet again, but the stagehand didn’t seem jealous. Or even suspicious. He just gave a friendly wave and went back the way he came. The backup dancer followed him, and Mikhail decided he’d had enough. He turned back to the door.

(OOC: I can mod Broderick because he’s my char. :) Greg also said he didn’t mind if I made up stuff about the stagehand in his post)

The man came through the door as if he belonged backstage. Ishtar leaned herself against one of the tall wooden slats flanking the stage, in the shadows where he wouldn’t spot her, and watched him. Let him wait for a while. She’d see how long it took him to get impatient, how much he wanted her. That was, of course, why he was back here. The widely circulated reputation that dancers were loose was not a new conception, and Ishtar had purposefully given him reason to believe that she was no exception to the supposed norm. After all, what woman indicated to a strange man that she wanted to meet with him? And what man understood such a small invitation unless he was already familiar with that sort of thing?

So she waited, just watching, her sardonic grin never leaving her face. A backup dancer passed her and went out to the area where the man was waiting around. Emily Callahan, Ishtar remembered, and certainly one of the most shameless of the dancers. Not that Ishtar held it against the girl. She was like that herself. Ishtar watched Emily and the man examine each other, but her study was interrupted when a stagehand passed her also, heading after the backup dancer. When he went past he said, “Excuse me, Miss Poole.” Ishtar rolled her eyes. He always called her that, and was always excessively polite. She would have thought he was like the other stagehands, simply chasing after the dancer for a quick tumble in the props room, but she knew he wouldn’t be. He’d be on some legitimate errand, sent to fetch the girl back. That was just the way he was.

It was Alastair Broderick, a man who was really a dunce for all his fancy education. He wasn’t hard on the eyes, though, so she’d tried to get him in her bed once when she hadn’t wanted to be alone but had really loathed the idea of going to Mr Nettleby, her standby. That had been the occasion where she found out how thick he was. She’d cornered him alone while he was oiling the heavy backdrop chains after a show and asked him if he wouldn’t walk her home, because she was frightened to go alone at night. He’d cheerfully agreed, and she’d thought she was in for a good, or at least handsome, time. But when they got to her house, he’d said goodbye. She’d wondered what he was playing at, but invited him in. He’d said he really couldn’t because it wouldn’t be proper, and that was when she realised that he was so stupid that he really had thought she only wanted him to walk her home.

She’d let him go without pressing further. Someone that dumb wouldn’t possibly have known how to please her. The man who’d come back though, who hadn’t applauded for her she thought acidly, was not that way. He wasn’t so naïve, as demonstrated by the simple fact that he was back here. He would likely have no scruples against what most people would consider immorality. She certainly didn’t, and since the man was handsome and had not seemed to appreciate her performance very much, she would give him a different performance. But first, he’d have to be made to wait. Not applauding for her… she was one of the best in the Theatre. Certainly better than Jadiya and Fatima, who’d both been in this very show. Tch. She waited too long to go to him though, and he turned to leave. Ishtar considered for a moment, and then decided.

She left her spot and slipped up on silent dancer’s feet behind him, the soft suede sole of her slippers cushioning her footfalls and rendering them noiseless. Slipping both her arms around his waist—it was too bold, but then, she doubted either of them had any illusions about what this was a prelude to—she pressed herself to his back. “Are you leaving without a kiss then, love?” she asked.

Mikhail felt the dancer behind him a moment before she put her arms about him and hugged herself to him. He didn’t hear her, but it was the shift in the air that let him know she was there. But still, he let her do it, because he liked the feel of a woman’s arms around him. Then she asked in a sultry voice that made him think of heat wavering off sand dunes, “Are you leaving without a kiss then, love?”

Mikhail smiled, turning in her arms so that she faced him. He put his arms around her too, around her waist, but low so that his hands were almost touching her indecently. Of course, anyone who saw them at all would think they were indecent, but what did that matter to him? He knew what he was and what he wanted, and since they weren’t decent desires he had to be indecent. And she was a dancer so she wasn’t decent by definition. He smiled at her and said as if there were really a question about it, “I don’t know, am I?”

Bu of course he wasn’t really going to leave without a kiss. He would have to be a moron to not at least take up the Ishtar woman on that part of her obvious offer even. So he smiled and bent his head to hers and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss like he had kissed Madeline, however, because Madeline had started that kiss. Madeline had pressed herself into his arms and kissed him first. He had been kissing her back.

Ishtar he was kissing first, and so the kiss started the way Mikhail usually started kisses, which was to very gently stroke her lips with his. It wasn’t a firey passionate kiss like the Madeline kiss. It was more of a practiced kiss. Here he intended to kiss Ishtar, and neither of them hardly knew each other. Infact they had only met right now, and so this kiss wasn’t a kiss that happened after he’d had a time to appreciate Ishtar for anything besides her beauty. Not like Madeline, when Mikhail had already had time to be taken with her spirit as well.

As Mikhail kissed the dancer, he thought of other dancers he had kissed at other times and places. There had been that one girl in the chorus of the Russian ballet, he couldn’t remember her name, but she had been a lovely little dancer. That had been her only talent, though. She was milk and water to kiss, and even worse to bed. He wondered for a moment if Ishtar would be like that, but decided no, probably not. Ishtar was a different style of dancer, and she took what she wanted from the kiss as well. No doubt she could give it as well. He broke his lips off from hers though, after a moment.

“I guess not.” He smiled devilishly. Then he turned to go once again. He was going to make her chase him if she wanted tonight to happen. He was going to have to chase after Madeline, it seemed, something that he really didn’t want to do, since he was quite certain that she was expecting it of him, and yet would probably end up doing anyway since it would be stupid not to when the rewards were likely to be great if he won the race. But he didn’t have to chase this dancer, since both of them knew who was the greater of them.

“See you, then.” He said offhanded over his shoulder, with a smirk.

Ishtar kept her head tilted up at the same angle it had been, watching him walk away through lowered lashes. He was annoyingly self-confident. Disgustingly so; he dared to walk away from her when she was without doubt the most beautiful woman in the entire place? One thing that could not be said of Ishtar was that she had a low opinion of herself—and it irritated her that this man would be able to hold a low enough opinion of her to walk away from what she offered. Did he honestly think that he was going to find a better lay? For a moment disgruntlement superseded every other thought, and Ishtar wished him gone from her sight. A fool who couldn’t see a golden opportunity when it had literally been dancing in front of him was a fool she had no interest in.

He did kiss well, though. He knew what he was doing—his was a practiced kiss, one that was not a timid fools’-kiss, yet neither was it a mouth-mashing, bruising kiss. That said something about him. Obviously he had been with women before, but he had actually learned what women liked from them—he hadn’t been one of those brutish types that thought they were the Alpha and Omega when it came to sex play and did everything their same coarse way from day one. It would be fun to spend time with him. Especially since she had no other prospects tonight unless she hunted up someone else from the audience, or she went to her standby. But Mr Nettleby, despite the fact that he was much better since she had dispensed some discreet pointers, was not in this man’s class. He was a grade B substitute.

And it was a hit-or-miss venture to try and catch someone else from the audience. She was certain she could actually obtain someone, it was just that there was no guarantee of quality. The last one she had hooked from that pool had chewed, actually chewed, on her lips. The night had just gotten worse from that point on—because it turned out he chewed on everything. That had been his idea of what pleased a woman: his rather crooked teeth gnawing all over her body. She had paid him back for it ten times over, since he had given her marks that took some doing to cover, but unfortunately he had seemed to enjoy it instead of screaming in agony. There was no understanding some people, she guessed. And at least his biting had come from a projection of his own desires instead of a wish to mark her up.

Although to be fair to that unskilled fellow, he hadn’t been quite as actively disgusting (although he had been more painful) as her manager at the theatre she had been at before the Lindeman. That man had been such a disappointment. She could have handled it—once. But because he had been her manager, she had to be diplomatic, which meant she couldn’t pass on him too many times. Ishtar shivered in remembered revulsion: the manager had thought it was the height of talent to kiss her, draw her tongue into his mouth, and then suck on it. Like he was a piglet on a sow’s teat! What could possibly possess someone to make them think that anyone would like that? Ishtar had barely been able to breath every time she had to go through that ordeal.

These memories flashing through her head persuaded Ishtar that it was better to quell her annoyance and chase after this fellow to persuade him to go with her than it was to try and find an alternate. She let him get nearly to the door back to the main theatre before she stepped forward with the comment, “That’s all you have in you, love? I’d expected something at least a little more… bold.” She had to insult him, because he had made her come to him, and she couldn’t let him get off for that scot free.

At first Mikhail was confident that she would come after him. Because, of course, who wouldn’t? He was handsome, he had a way about him, and you could tell from the way he dressed and walked that he had money. So he was really much a better man than any that this dancer Ishtar would meet in the course of her normal day. She’d be lucky to get two out of three. So he really thought he had nothing to worry about. He would be able to make her come to him, no problem.

And then Mikhail got nearly almost all the way to the door and nothing happened. She didn’t call him back or anything. What was it with him and women lately? Was he losing his touch? That couldn’t be, since he wasn’t doing anything different. But it would be bad if he had to get home without someone with him. It would be a failure. He didn’t usually fail.

But then it turned out he hadn’t failed after all. He heard Ishtar coming up behind him again, and he knew he’d won. As usual. He kept going to the door however, pretending he hadn’t heard and waited until she called after him, “That’s all you have in you, love? I’d expected something at least a little more… bold.”

Mikhail got angry. How dare she criticise him? He was the superior one here and he had been bothered to kiss her. He knew, for sure, that he was a very good kisser. Many women had told him this before, and many of them had been experienced enough to know the difference. And this dancer, which was not all that much better than being a whore, dared to tell him that he wasn’t bold enough? Bold enough?

He turned and was going to show her bold, except that he saw then that she was just saying it because she knew she had lost the battle between their wills. Mmmm, that was all right then. As long as she knew she was defeated and didn’t say something like that he was a bad lover later, he could tolerate it. He liked spirited women, after all, that was why he was rather cheesed that he hadn’t got Madeline yet, she was spirited and fun and hadn’t seemed to be to affected by him.

So he let her know that he knew she was just pretending, with his eyes and that look that he had that was knowing and confident. And then he pretended that he took her comment like it was, for reals, and he said, “Bold? I can do bold…” He walked the remaining distance to her proudly, confident of himself, and took her in his arms.

He kissed her again. And this time it was a deeper kiss, one that could not be said to be shy at all. Beat this was what he said with that kiss, but he didn’t hurt her at all. He simply possessed her with the kiss, let her know that she was his and his alone, just for tonight. His mouth moved over hers and in hers, and she demonstrated that she was not new at this game either. It was only after some time that he let go of her.

After giving her a moment to catch her breath, he winked and asked, “How’s that for bold?” He knew there could only be one answer.