Dark Metropolis

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“I’m glad you girls are all here; by the looks of the crowd outside we’ll be busy, even for a Saturday.” Mr. Kortig raked his hand through his hair. “Lottie—I’d like you in the front. Nan, the private rooms. Thea, the balcony.”

Who would Thea serve tonight? Any night at the Telephone Club held the prospect of a glamorous customer or an unexpectedly generous tip, and the balconies were among the most exclusive real estate in the room.

The hostesses had ushered in the first wave of customers, filling chairs with every sort of notable the city had to offer, from jewelry-bedecked socialites to political radicals. Thea always hoped to see the actresses. She rarely had time to go to the cinema, but she read about their parties and love affairs in the papers. Today a slim, younger man looked down from the left balcony above the Telephone Club’s bright stage, where women dressed as planets swung from ropes. His hair glinted in the dim light. The color was odd, almost silver.

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