Stripped

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She slipped the robe off her shoulders, and the white silk gathered in a pool of accordion folds at her feet.

Her naked body became a riot of color, bathed by the neon sign that towered over the rooftop patio. Giant letters spelled out the name SHEHEREZADE above her in flashes of green and red. The light spilled across her skin and painted psychedelic graffiti over the urns, fountains, and date trees that decorated the terrace like a Moroccan palace.

The city lived on light. Garish signs illuminated the valley, but their names told the truth of where they were. The Sands. The Dunes. The Frontier. Outposts in the middle of nowhere. Sanctuaries from the dust and sun.

Where the neon glow didn’t reach, the roof of the She herezade was dark, like the black desert lurking on the fringe of the Strip. She didn’t study the shadows. She didn’t see the man waiting for her there.

The luminous blue water of the swimming pool invited her. She had showered after her performance, but the heat of the dance lingered, and she yearned for the cool shock of the water. With nothing on but her high heels, she glided along the marble skirting to the end of the pool. Hot, gritty wind blew across her body. She kicked off her stilettos and stepped onto the diving board. She sliced the water as gracefully as a mermaid, then sidestroked leisurely to the shallow end. When she stood up, water dripped from her breasts. She ran her fingers through her wet black hair.

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