Thrill Week
Home Up Clash of Titans

 

 

THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN:

THRILL WEEK

Written by Rick Archer 

 

 
 

MONDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1978

JOANNE DOES NOT LIKE VICTORIA
 

 

Starting in September, Joanne and I established a standing private lesson every Monday from 6-7 pm.  During that time, Joanne had been free to indulge her fantasies that she might have a shot at me someday.  Smiling and laughing, Joanne was a different person.  I had a hunch being alone with me on Monday from 6-7 was the highlight of her week. 

Due to my problems with Nancy towards the end September, I was very shaky emotionally.  On the final Monday of September, I gave Joanne more hope than I should have.  I held her in my arms too long after each acrobatic move as we practiced.  I am not going to lie about it, I enjoyed touching Joanne.  Joanne was a serious babe.  She was curved in ways that any red-blooded boy would admire.  That included me.  I liked having Joanne in my arms.  Although I behaved myself, the places where my hands were located were close enough to pay dirt to put impure thoughts in both our minds.  I did not act, but I wanted to.  No doubt Joanne could tell.  Women always know. 

Ordinarily I would have maintained my 'professional distance'.  But with that damn Nancy driving me crazy with jealousy, my guard was down.  Feeling insecure, I let my affection for Joanne show more than I should have.  We were 'Friends', but the door was left ajar in our minds to take this further.  Well aware that Joanne was always hoping, I wondered if my conscience could be persuaded to look the other way.  Joanne was not Fair Game, but that small detail was badly obscured whenever I touched her. 

Then came the first Monday in October.  That was the night Victoria barged in at 6:45 without knocking.  Having interrupted our acrobatics in the middle of our practice session, Victoria was not happy to see me alone with an unknown woman in my arms.  Victoria had snarled at me.  "Rick, what are you doing?"

As I set Joanne back on the floor, I said we were practicing for my class later on.  Now Victoria whirled on a white-faced Joanne.  Seeing the confusion written on Joanne's face, Victoria decided to treat her like a lowly menial.

Victoria barked, "You need to leave the room so I can talk to Rick in private." 

 

Victoria's tone and attitude were so discourteous, Joanne was stunned.  Wordlessly she left the room.  I assumed Joanne would return, but she went home instead.  Joanne had every reason to get her feelings hurt.  Victoria had been unnecessarily rude.  Moreover, out of deference to Victoria's increasing importance in my dance program, I had chosen not to stick up for Joanne.  Consequently, Joanne's nose got seriously bent out of shape.  The knowledge that a high-dominance woman like Victoria had bossed her around was painful enough.  However the realization that Victoria had a much greater hold on my attention is what hurt the most.  Like me, Joanne had a giant chip on her shoulder based on a lifetime of being the underdog.  Consequently Joanne despised Victoria from the moment she met her.   As for Victoria, she forgot about Joanne the moment the door closed.  Joanne was not remotely on her radar. 

I was upset when I realized Joanne had left the studio.  I probably should have called her at work the next day, but feared any sympathy might send the wrong message.  Instead I waited till the following Monday, October 9, to call her at work.  Indeed, Joanne did return that night, but she was in a foul mood.  This was the night Joanne put her foot down and said she would not dance with the students any longer in class.  Just me.  No one else.  Nor were there any smiles and laughter during our lesson.  Joanne was all business.  I got the message and regained my professional mask. 

 

That brings us to Monday, October 23.  I smiled when Joanne walked in promptly at 6 pm.

"Hi, Joanne, how are you?  Are you coming to the Pistachio Halloween Party this coming Friday?"

When Joanne shook her head no, I was disappointed. 

"Why not?"

Joanne picked up the Halloween flyer Victoria had created to promote the event, then stared at it with contempt.  Holding it high for me to see, Joanne said, "There is something about Victoria I do not like.  I have not forgotten how she ordered me out of the room back at the start of the month.  I cannot stand snobs like her."

Joanne's comment was no surprise.  Ever since Victoria issued her 'Get Out' order, Joanne's hurt feelings had continued to simmer throughout October.

"The last thing I want to do is watch that stupid Diva show off all night long and prance around with her snooty friends.  I have better things to do.  I would rather go to Ciao."

I wanted to persuade Joanne to change her mind, but thought better of it.  Due to her intense dislike for Victoria, she remained too touchy to attempt any persuasion.  Hopefully once she cooled off, I would have a better chance.  Then I had another thought.  I was headed to a Halloween Party at élan on Wednesday.  Recalling how dancing with Nancy at élan back in August had turned us into stars of the night, it would be fun to repeat that experience with Joanne.  On the spur of the moment, I opened my mouth to invite Joanne to come with me, then froze. 

After a great night of dancing with Joanne, I did not trust myself to behave when I dropped her off at her apartment later on.  No doubt I would receive an invitation to come in.  Hmm.  Joanne was too tempting as it is without adding fuel to the fire.  Now that Patricia had entered my life, I could not take the chance of letting things get out of hand with Joanne.  So I decided not to say anything.  I am sure if I had given voice to my desire for Joanne, my life would have turned out much differently.  As they say, the Road Not Taken. 

 
 

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1978, Age 29

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
 

 

Tuesday, October 24, was my 29th birthday.  Patricia had offered to cook dinner at her apartment.  Over copious amounts of wine, I watched with pleasure as Patricia laughed for a change.  Maybe she had a light-hearted side after all.  As we ate, I reminded her of the upcoming Friday Halloween Party.  With a smile, Patricia said she looked forward to it. 

Afterwards, Patricia took my hand and led me to her bedroom.  When Patricia let her one-piece dress fall to the floor, there was nothing underneath.  Seeing me transfixed, Patricia quipped, "I'm sorry, Rick, but I didn't have time to get you a present.  This will have to do."

This important moment struck me as somewhat premature, but I wasn't going to object.  As she slept, I gazed at Patricia in awe.  Patricia was a serious knock-out.  At first I thought she would make an excellent 'Trophy Wife'.  But then I changed my mind.  The term is often used in a disparaging way.  It implies that the wife has looks but not much else.  Given her education and demanding job, Patricia merited far more respect.  On the other hand, I had an unconfirmed hunch that Patricia expected to marry a wealthy man.  So what was she doing with me?? 

I had never met a woman quite like Patricia before.  She was very intense, perhaps even cold at times.  Patricia could smile on occasion, but I would not describe her as outgoing.  'Formidable' would be a better word, approach at your own risk.  Patricia was the most ambitious woman I knew.  She was career-oriented with high standards for herself.  I would soon discover she had similar standards for me. 

 
 

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 1978

HALLOWEEN PARTY AT elan
 

 

Scorpios are said to be superstitious by nature.  Known for their curiosity about the Hidden Side of life, they dwell endlessly on subjects such as death, mysticism, sex, transformation and the afterlife.  Scorpios are intense, loyal, jealous, unforgiving, and obsessed with Halloween.   That description fits me very well, especially the part about Halloween.  One of favorite books as a kid was Dracula by Bram Stoker. 

On Wednesday, October 25, I decided to indulge some fantasies at a Halloween Party held at élan.  This ritzy private Disco was the spot where Nancy and I had dominated the dance floor all night long two months ago.  I looked forward to receiving the same sort of attention again.  However, there would be one major difference.  This time I would attend as a solo act. 

 

élan was a private membership club that catered to Houston's rich and famous.  Every year I paid a king's ransom for the right to rub elbows with Houston's elite.  The money was well spent.  I had taken Nancy here for the most exciting night of dancing in my life.  The memory of people staring at us all night long never failed to make me smile.

elan is the French word for taste, panache and sophistication.  I must say the club lived up to its billing.  Although the people who worked there weren't very nice, the club itself was a palace. 

elan was so beautiful that I felt special just walking through the place.  There was no plastic or metal at elan.  Polished wood enhanced by soft lighting made this club romantic and tasteful. 

elan had split levels. The design was unique.  I could look up a staircase and check out the action above or look down and observe the action below. 

 

It took an architect with quite an imagination to create this multi-layered effect.   Separate areas were designed for dining, drinking, and backgammon.  There was even a place for quiet conversation which was impressive considering elan had three dance floors. 

elan was my one and only guilty pleasure.  Working two jobs for an entire year had allowed me to pocket serious rainy day cash.  I decided to invest some of those hard-won earnings into a private membership at elan.  It was expensive, but worth it.  Sometimes I would take students to elan to impress them.  Other times I would go alone simply for the chance to admire the countless beautiful women.

Besides the elegance, another reason I enjoyed elan was the ego boost.  I was always the best dancer in the club.  The overall dancing was so lame I decided rich people didn't need to bother becoming good dancers.  I made a joke about it.

When it comes to meeting beautiful women, some men have looks, some men have money, some men have a personality.  The rest learn to dance.

Actually, that was not a joke, that was the truth.  Without my dance ability, women like Jenny, Karen, Nancy, and Patricia would have never given me a second look. 

As Halloween approached, I noticed elan had a Wednesday Halloween Costume Party.  Recently I had visited a dance apparel store and noticed a skin-tight leotard with a leopard design.  They had an outfit suitable for a tall man my size. 

There was an optional hood that I could pull over my head.  If so, the leopard mask would completely disguise my face.  There were discrete openings for eyes and mouth only.  I tried it on and looked in the mirror.  It was like wearing a Superhero costume.  No one could possibly recognize me.

That gave me an idea... why not wear that mask and go incognito?  Indeed, this event afforded me an unusual opportunity.  I was modest by nature.  I never wore fancy clothes.  Nor did I leave my shirt open to expose my chest.  Why not be daring and wear that skin-tight outfit? 

Although I had just met Patricia, I decided to go alone.  This night was about me, not her.  The whole point of wearing Halloween costumes was to explore and take chances.  I wanted to wear that leopard costume because it looked good on me.  I was tall with big shoulders and thin waist.  I did not play as much basketball as I used to, but I stayed in shape by tossing pretty girls around through acrobatics.  Tough job, but someone had to do it. 

I was proud of my body, but there was no way I could find the nerve to wear that skin-tight leotard in public without the mask.  I would have died of embarrassment if someone knew it was me in that outfit.  The mask was the key.  If all they could see were my eyes, then my identity would stay hidden.  I thought about it for a long time.  I finally decided that if no one knew Leopard Man was me, then why not have some fun??  I went back to the store and purchased the leotard. 

I would not dare walk into elan wearing that outfit.  Why give some snooty door person a reason to say no to such a provocative costume?  Furthermore, they would surely demand to see my face.  How could I get around this problem?

A better idea would be to walk in the party wearing normal clothes.  Then I would don the leopard costume inside the club.  So that's what I did.  I entered elan in street clothes with the leotard on underneath.  I promptly went to the bar and knocked down two Bloody Marys.  I rarely had anything to drink in those days, but tonight I had to have some way to calm my nerves.  Wearing that outfit was way out of my comfort zone.

Since I rarely drank alcohol, it didn't take much to numb myself for courage.  After finishing my second drink, I went to the restroom to change.  I tipped the restroom attendant a couple bucks to store my jeans, car keys and shirt in a safe place.  My costume had no pockets, so I left my wallet behind in the car and stuffed cash inside my shoes.  I was ready to go.  I knew I had done the right thing when I saw the huge smile on the elderly attendant's face.  He got a big kick out of my outfit. 

"Young man, that is quite a costume.  If I were your age, that's what I would be doing too!  Go get 'em!" 

I smiled in gratitude.  At least someone who worked at this stuffy place had a sense of humor.  Once I donned the mask, Leopard Man was ready for his grand entrance.  With my heart racing, I ventured into the club. 

It did not take long.  Boy, did I get some stares!!

 

As I walked around, I recognized a half dozen of my students scattered throughout the club.  These particular students were considerably older than me and quite affluent.  No surprise there.  By definition, a person had to be wealthy to afford this place.  I was quite relieved to notice my students were not interested in dancing, at least not at the moment.  I definitely did not want them to see me, so I took a different path and headed for one of the floors where they would not notice me.  I knew if they spotted me, my dancing would draw their attention and make them suspicious.  My height and build would do the rest.  There goes my secret identity. 

What should I do if one of my students spoke to me?  On the spur of the moment I decided to add 'silence' to my costume persona.  One word from me and they would know.  Certain I would face a long night of teasing from my friends over my wild outfit, I refused to speak to anyone.  Why not?  Everyone knows leopards can't talk.

Now for my next problem.  Being speechless made it tricky to get dance partners.  How do I ask a woman to dance without asking?  Sign language.  I noticed a woman smiling at my costume, so I went up to her, touched her arm and pointed to the dance floor.  She was a little shocked at first, but then she was amused.  After looking me up and down, she gave me her hand and followed me to the floor.  

This woman was in for a surprise.  I put on quite a show.  After that, my silence didn't matter.  I had no further need to ask women to dance.  For the rest of the night the women did the asking.  I would leave the floor only to have a pretty girl walk up and smile.  The bolder ones simply hooked their arm into mine and led me back out.  There were quite a few women who thought my costume stunt was hysterical.  Nor did it hurt that I was the best male dancer in the building.  I was very impressed with the caliber of some of the women who asked me to dance.  Had I not just met Patricia, I would have been sorely tempted to ditch my secret identity and see where those smiles might lead.  However, I decided to stick to dancing.  Gosh did I have fun!

 

Back when I was first learning to dance Freestyle, a friend of mine from the Welfare Department invited me to go dancing in a gay bar.  I was not gay, but saw no reason to say no.  Besides, I was curious.  The gay style of dancing is pretty wild... gyrating hips, arms pumping in the air, spinning like a dervish.  I always made sure to carefully keep that style under wraps at the Pistachio Club, but for old times sake I turned it loose at the elan Halloween party.  Since no one knew it was me, I threw caution to the winds and gave free rein to my Gypsy spirit.  The vodka helped considerably.  Through the magic of straws, I consumed my fair share that night.

This was way too much guilty pleasure.  As the Masked Leopard, I could move my body any darn way I pleased short of lewdness.  It was good for my spirits to indulge in hedonism.  Did I ever get attention!  For one thing, I had no competition.  Those stiff rich guys couldn't dance a lick.  Once they saw how good I was, they either went to another floor or moved far enough away that no one could compare them to me.  Holding court at the front of the dance floor, I always danced with the prettiest girls.  Considering I wore the boldest costume and danced well, I drew quite a crowd.  All night long women came up to ask Leopard Man to dance.  Catching a girl's appreciative smile, I would wave.  She would wave right back.  Frequently she would be the next girl to ask me to dance.  Or if necessary I would walk over to her.  As the ladies watched me move, their eyes went from head to toe.  Watching them lick their lips and laugh with excitement, I got the same narcissistic rush that male strippers must feel.  I was pleased the ladies liked the show. 

Perhaps the Reader is curious to know how the Dance Teacher who could not Dance suddenly became the star of the night.  Over the past ten months I had danced five nights a week in class and at least once on the weekend.  While it was true that I was mediocre at the start of the year, the constant practice had made quite a difference.  Just because someone is a slow learner does not prevent them from reaching their destination.  It just takes them longer.  I might add that it did not take much to be the best dancer in a club where dancing was an afterthought to mos of the patrons.

 

One thing I did not anticipate was the number of people who insisted on talking to me.  When I took an occasional break, I never lacked for company.  As a celebrity of sorts, I suppose it made sense.  Despite all the people who came up to talk to me, I refused to speak.  I would simply place a finger over my lips to indicate my role included silence.  The funny thing is, my silence didn't stop people from talking to me, especially the women.  You've heard the expression 'Curiosity killed the Cat'.  To my great amusement, the ladies were dying with curiosity about my secret identity. 

"What's with the mask?  You dance pretty cute, but are you secretly ugly?"
"Are you married?"
"Who's the better dancer, you or Tarzan?"
"Are you a real animal or have you been tamed?"
"I'll give you $10 to take off that mask."
"Did elan hire you to do this?"
"Were you raised by leopards?"
"Do you look as good under that mask as you do on the outside?"
"Do you have super powers?"
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"Who are you, Phantom of the Disco?"
"What strip club do you work at?  I think I've seen you perform."
"If I buy you a drink, will you take off that mask?"
"Do you have an underground lair here at elan?"
"Are you for rent?  I need an escort for a dance party this weekend."
"Why won't you speak to me?  Are you shy?"
"Did you learn to dance like that in the jungle?"
"When I took your picture a moment ago, did you remember to smile?"

 

What an ego trip!  I satisfied countless fantasies that night.  Recalling those days when I felt like the ugliest kid in high school, it felt good to be center of attention.  I especially enjoyed being the star while surrounded by rich men and beautiful women.  In a sense, they were an extension of my St. John's classmates... rich, beautiful, smug.  Considering I was the boy who never danced in high school, I had come a long way since then.  It was satisfying to dominate the dance floor with my audacity.  Tonight I explored a side to my personality that ordinarily I would never dream of revealing in public.  It was fun to be an exhibitionist, but I would have died of embarrassment without that mask.

Lots of people asked to take pictures.  To my delight, a man brought a voluptuous Cat Woman onto the dance floor.  Her entrance was accompanied by great applause, so I turned to look and immediately stopped breathing.  When my curvy counterpart smiled in greeting, I gulped.  Wow!  This woman is stunning!  As it turned out, Cat Woman's date had arranged this meeting because he wanted to take pictures of us together.  I was more than happy to oblige.  Thanks to his inspiration, we attracted quite a crowd.  As we danced, we were subjected to countless camera flashes.  We also posed for several pictures together.  Cat Woman looked so good in her outfit that I could not take my eyes off her.  I have never wanted to undress a woman so badly in my life.  My heart sank when her boyfriend had the sense to reclaim her.  Catwoman was the highlight of my night.  My only regret was not getting a picture for memory's sake. 

 

As the evening wore on, a new game emerged.  People were determined to identify me.  Various women called me by different names to catch me off guard, but I ignored them.  My biggest fear remained being spotted by one of my students.  Since no one at my studio had ever seen me dance quite like this before, I wanted to protect my reputation at all costs.  As I danced, I heard someone say my name.  I shook my head no, but wondered who had guessed right.  I looked over at the people watching me dance and saw Skeptical Jane.  Oh no.  What is she doing here?   Jane was the attractive woman who thought my tales about the Jet Set were sheer nonsense.  She was shocked to visit the club one night and discover my stories were true. 

One week later, Jane had surprised me by asking me to take her dancing some night.  I said sure and we set a date.  However, over the weekend Jane got cold feet.  She stood me up, but at least Jane had the courtesy to leave a message on my answering machine.  The message said she had decided to return to her husband.  I had not seen her since.  I often wondered if that was the truth or just a convenient excuse.

There was a woman with Jane, but I did not recognize her.  They both stood on the outskirts of the dance floor and watched.  After the song ended, Jane came on the floor and cornered me.  She was certain it was me, but I shook my head no.  Watching Jane get frustrated amused me no end.  It was fun to irritate her because she was so certain it was me.  This Clark Kent-Lois Lane guessing game was fun. 

 

After a while I started feeling guilty about fibbing to her.  Besides, I owed Jane a favor.  One night at the Jet Set Club Jane and I had put on quite a show.  One of spectators, a woman named Karen, was impressed.  Later that night Karen asked me if we could go dancing sometime.  With a sigh, I recalled my brief, but tempestuous love affair with Karen.  That gave me an idea.  It was after midnight now and the crowd on the dance floor had thinned.  It was a weeknight and people had jobs in the morning.  I was bored with Freestyle and wanted to partner dance.  It might be fun to repeat the show Jane and I had put on at the Jet Set.  With that thought, I gave in and whispered to Jane that yes, it was me.  Frowning mightily, Jane wagged her finger like a third grade teacher chastising a naughty boy. 

"Oh, Rick, you are such a terrible person!!  You are in serious trouble for lying to me!  I knew it was you!!  I knew it, I knew it, I said so over and over, but you deliberately aggravated me." 

For a second I thought she was serious, but then she grinned.  Jane said, "C'mon, you bad boy, you owe me a dance for being so rotten!"

We immediately began to partner dance which of course drew quite a crowd, especially when I flipped Jane upside down to big oohs and aahs.  Like I said, I stayed in shape by tossing women around.  Not only that, Jane had long been one of my favorite dance partners.  However, Jane proved to be my undoing.  While I was out there with Jane, a couple from the studio named Pat and Bill recognized my style and waved to me.  I didn't mind... I was having too much fun partner dancing to care about my secret identity any more.  However, I did keep the mask on.  After the song, I swore them all to secrecy.  "Don't you dare tell anyone at the studio!"

"So, Jane," I asked, "what's the story on your husband?"

Jane blushed.  "That is actually on the level.  We are still together."

"So where is he?  What are you doing here?"

"Kenneth does not like to dance and does not want to learn, but right now he is out of town.  He knows I am here tonight with my girlfriend Elaine.  No doubt I am facing another one of our arguments when he returns home.  But let's not talk about that.  Right now I just want to dance."

I spent the rest of the evening dancing with Jane and once with her friend Elaine.  At a certain point late in the night, somewhere around 1 am, the floor was empty.  The few remaining people cleared the dance floor and encouraged us to give it our best shot.  Seeing a big grin on Jane's face, I was happy to oblige.  Now that I had room to execute some of the riskier acrobatics, I took my hood off for safety purposes.  With the floor clear, we performed every acrobatic move Jane knew and got all kinds of applause.  After that, Jane was flush with excitement.  For a moment there, she gave me a look.  I knew exactly what that look meant.  But then I thought of Patricia and thought otherwise. 

"Jane, it has been really good to dance with you again.  You are quite the dancer.  Well, I better go now and leave on a high note.  I enjoyed seeing you again."

We both knew it was the right thing to do, but that did not stop either of us from knowing what had passed between us.  Jane gave me a hug and a wistful look, then took off with Elaine.   Now that Jane was gone, I saw no reason to stick around.  This had been quite a night.  I had come to elan to dance without inhibition.  With my costume freeing me from my acute self-consciousness, I had been rewarded with one of my favorite adventure.  It was fun to be the star.  I loved Disco so much.  I never wanted it to end. 

 
 

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1978

A PROMISE FROM PATRICIA
 

 

It was Thursday, October 26, one night after my visit to elan.  Patricia was in a good mood as she walked into her dance class.  It was hard to believe our new romance was only a week old.  After giving me a kiss, Patricia said she was looking forward to tomorrow night's Halloween Party at the Pistachio Club. 

I had the Jet Set to teach, but decided it could wait.  I invited Patricia to stay behind for some extra practice.  Patricia had the same problems learning to dance as me back when I started. 

Patricia was not a natural dancer.  For one thing, she was analytical and her brain got in the way.  She was a control freak who had zero instincts for following.  Consequently she was stiff and tense when we partner danced. 

I think I knew what her problem was.  If forced to guess, the problem was her pride.  During our conversation at Vargo's, Patricia had told me she preferred not participate much in the dancing back in high school.  More than likely, Patricia did not like to Freestyle because she could not bear to look bad at anything she did.  She was so used to being perfect that the thought of messing up while trying to get the hang of it was abhorrent to her.  I was reminded of the rich guys at elan last night who did not bother to dance.  Why should they?  Their looks, money and well-practiced pickup lines guaranteed attention.  Patricia was their female counterpart.  I imagine her beauty alleviated any need to participate in the dancing.  No doubt Patricia held court surrounded by young men eager for a hint of her smile. 

Well aware her pride was responsible for her difficulty, that is why I suggested we practice a little after class.  The nice thing about partner dancing is that it disguises a lack of natural dance ability.  I realize this is an odd thing to say, so let me explain.  Freestyle requires a willingness to shake your booty and move your body in suggestive, uninhibited ways.  Considering Patricia was very formal and proper, that was out of the question.  But partner dancing does not require hip motion or body contortions.  That is why all those doctors and researchers in Victoria's group were enjoying themselves.  They did not feel silly when they partner danced.

Thanks to my patience, Patricia began to discover the same thing.  Once she got over her fear of looking ridiculous, she relaxed a little.  That helped considerably.  Once Patricia discovered if she waited for me to lead, she didn't stumble all the time.  This in turn meant that her mistakes would not be so obvious and no one would laugh at her.  This cheered her up immeasurably. 

Patricia thanked me for the help.  "Now I am not so worried about looking like a fool tomorrow night."

Pleased by her attitude improvement, I asked what her costume would be.

With a big grin, Patricia replied, "As a way to acknowledge our first conversation, I have decided to come as a Patrician."

Seeing the twinkle in her eye, I did an immediate double-take.  If I didn't know better, Patricia was making an attempt at humor.  Imagine that.  Playing along, I commented, "Gosh, Patricia, being Patrician is your natural state of being.  How will I recognize you?"

"Don't worry, you'll recognize me."

 
 

 

THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY

Chapter TWENTY eight: 

clash of the titans

 

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