The suited gentleman pulled the stunning Latino over his thigh and kissed him right on the sternum. “This is for you,” he said, folding the bill expertly with one hand as he stuffed it in place, “Now when you go back up on that stage, I want you to look right at me when you dance.”
Javier shuddered at the cool hands on his flushed skin. This man was beyond out of his league – at least ten years his senior, New England stock, old money. The low purr of his words alone sent frisson down his spine. Javier gyrated against the man’s chest a couple times to thank him for the tip before giving him a coy smile and returning to the stage and blaring dance music.

Later that evening, when his shift was over, Javier plopped down in a chair in the dressing room to count his spoils. He eagerly opened and flattened the tightly folded bill that High Class Man had given him….what? The hell? It was a $1 bill! Javier screeched, “La madre que te parió!” He flipped it over, seeing if it was stacked with anything but no! That bastard! Then, something caught his eye. On the back, under the “ONE”, in neat block print the man had written a phone number and the words: “Call me if you want the rest.”