Ahmed gave a nod to Laila then waved for the bartender. "Arak?"

The bartender nodded.

Ahmed leaned back against the bar and watched the girl lead Sidi away. He hadn't planned on Sidi meeting her there. He suspected Laila was a vampire, not just light skinned.

Ahmed found a dark place to sit and watch the room. The place was becoming more crowded, slowly; he doubted it would ever be very full. But then Sidi had that there was one act performing tonight that had a large following, some group with a trippy, American-sounding name. Ahmed took a swig of the sweet liquorice flavoured liquor then liked his lips. Sometime he hated his own ambition. Running for office put you right in the spotlight, all the vices you'd allowed yourself in secret threatened to come out. So Ahmed had to become even more secret.

They were pumping in old dance music, it was dimly lit and relatively quiet, and a few men were dancing. Not really with each other, it seemed, but looking as if they were already drunk, or had nothing better to do. Ahmed waved to the bartender and he was brought another drink.

A sort of Master of Ceremonies came on to the small stage and checked the mic by welcoming everyone to the club. He announced the first act: Cinnamon. That was English for Qirfae. And then the glitzy curtain was drawn aside and a spotlight fell on an Indian woman in a velvet minidress.

When he ordered his third drink, the bartender asked Ahmed if he was going to pay or give his name for the book of bar tabs. "My friend is paying," Ahmed said. It would do him no good to have charges show up on his very traceable accounts from a place like this.

"Oh yeah, who is that?"

Ahmed pointed. Sidi was dancing with Laila, some other people were dancing, mostly men. And other still sat at their dark little tables, just watching. "Sidi, he's with the algul." Ahmed sneered.

The bartender left him alone then, and Ahmed started to feel more relaxed. He gazed up at the young woman sliding her hands over her tight velvet bodice. It was too easy to imagine it was his hand, imagine the softness of the fabric and her body beneath it. But truly, it only started him thinking of Victoria.

Ahmed stood and ran his fingers back through his full black hair. He wandered toward the stage. From the audience came hoots and catcalls. Some were throwing bills or flowers onto the stage, but mostly they stood pressed to the footlights reaching to touch Cinnamon.

Ahmed's eyes followed one pale hand down from the singer's fishnet-shrouded thigh to a boyish face. There were two young men standing directly in front of the stage, holding their position against others who wanted to grab hold of the voluptuous dancer. One was obviously one of the Vampyres: he was very pale and had a bright shade of red hair. The other looked like he might be human, mixed.

Ahmed licked at his lips, sauntered out into the crowd. The liquor had gone to his head and he was felling good and dizzy. He made his way to the stage and when he found himself standing before the writhing woman he slid his hand up her slender leg. He drew his hand away, almost stunned, but aroused despite all the liquor. One of the young men fell against him, the dark one, and pushed him gently back into the crowd gently.  Ahmed realized that the two boys were working. They were guarding the stage.

Too pretty for their own good, both of them. Ahmed went and got another drink.

Cinnamon left the crowd sweating, and she was only the opening act. Ahmed wiped his brow with his sleeve and saw movement before the stage. Another woman, pale with artificially-red hair, was coming from the small door near the stage. She had a stack of cards in her hands and gave some of these to the two boys. She laid the remaining cards on the bar. The boys moved through the crowd passing out these cards, with slowly blinking eyes and pouts. They especially targeted the shadowed tables at the back, passing by just slowly enough that they might be made to linger if a hand should reach out to them, but fast enough that they didn't look long at the customers.

Ahmed understood, these were men as wealthy as himself, or more so, at least these were men who had a secret fascination with this group Sidi had talked about. Sidi had said this group was very famous, but they would only play small venues no matter what they were paid, and they would never play in Europe or America no matter how much they were offered. The darker boy passed close by Ahmed, held out a card so that Ahmed might snatch it from his hand.

Ahmed looked down at the card. It was a picture postcard, glossy on both sides, having printed on each side the same scene from a different angle: the two members of the group opposite each other and yet standing far enough to the side so that they had to turn their pretty faces in profile to kiss. Ahmed found himself looking at the nude back of a pale blond man with some sort of flowers tattooed one side of his spine. The other young man had blue hair, and a nose ring chained to his ear. Ahmed flipped the card over and saw that the blonde had a similar chain in gold and that the other young man also had a tattoo, this one a single dark purple flower at the small of his back. It was a rather erotic image, the way just their hands grasped at each other.

Ahmed glanced up at the boy who had handed him this card. He was gazing back, his lips miming a kiss. Ahmed closed his eyes a moment, imagined kissing those moist dusky lips. He studied the card more closely. There was writing printed on one side. They advertised:

Vivid Sadness

Rakis and Katir bring you throbbing chaotic mucical performances.

Ask for private bookings

They gave a number of course. Ahmed wasn't surprised. Sidi had said this group had a sort of reputation: very wealthy fans could call them up and they would come to the place named and put on a show, and they never gave references away. Ahmed thought this fit in well with another rumour he heard while in Cairo recently: an old friend of his from the University had told him about a party at the house of some tycoon where there was this one room hidden away from the main party where two boys in masks were singing and playing music while others in the room were participating in some play.

The MC came onto the stage and announced the group. "You've been waiting for them, Katir and Rakis: Vivid Sadness!" And then he ran from the stage as loud grinding guitar music filled the room. Ahmed glanced down at his card again. He had heard it right, Rakis and Katir, stage names obviously as in Arabic they translated roughly to mean Cheap and Dangerous. The curtain parted to reveal these two figures fully dressed in brightly coloured clothing.

The blond, Katir, wore purple satin boots that ended in pointed-toed wooden platform soles. Right away Ahmed decided they wallowed in their own irreverent glamour. They were decked out in so much gold and silver jewellery. The blue haired man, Rakis, wore a cat's-eye mask, while Katir seemed blinded by a black silk scarf tied about his head. They stumbled about as if truly blind.

Katir was all in purple: tight leggings under bell bottomed sheer pants, a cropped shirt that was stretched too tightly across his chest, and though he sometimes played a white guitar, he was more often touching himself as he sang into a hand-held mic. Rakis wore sandals laced up to his thighs and a long red velvet skirt slit up one side to his hip, with a shirt made of red net, and gyrated as he played a flashy black guitar. They both sang seductive lyrics and groped at each other on stage.

Ahmed folded the card up and put it in a pocket. They were gorgeous, and the more he looked at the masked men the more intriguing they became. This strange secrecy between performer and audience. Everyone just another anonymous body.

He wandered into the crowd again; already it was wilder than it had been during the first act. The tall blond singer, Katir, would come to the very edge of the stage, and so many hands would shoot up to touch him.

They went on and on, the songs gradually becoming more aggressive. Sometimes, between songs, they spoke to each other or the audience in their smooth American voices. Katir might say, "Rakis tastes so sweet tonight." Once, Katir bent down and pulled the pretty red-haired young man to him for a kiss. "Is it me or is it really hot in here?" he asked and the crowd hollered and Katir took off his shirt.

And then, through the next song, they stripped until Rakis wore only his sandals and a snug pair of red shorts, and Katir was wearing only his leggings. Finally, Katir sat down at the front of the stage, blindfolded, anonymous hands moving all over his body, lips kissing his feet. Even Ahmed tried to get close, but the two boys gently pushed anyone out of the way before they could get more than a touch.

Ahmed was aroused by the two performers. He wanted to pull that pale muscular body against him. But he was jostled by bodies on the crowded dancefloor. He fell forward against the pretty bouncer. The young man turned his dark eyes over his shoulder and glanced at Ahmed, and then he turned them back. His hand reached out to push others from the stage.

Ahmed looked down at the boy's neck. This was just like the old days, in Cairo, with Sidi. Going to University and all those clubs, before he was rich, or married. And then the young man took Ahmed's left hand and pulled it toward him.

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Secret: 'Cheap and Dangerous' describes most of this work.