Free Love Bites by Adrienne Barbeau Page B

through, cut in panels so it opened when she danced. Her legs were long and muscled. I remembered the exotic dancers from my parents’ village; they didn’t look anything like SuzieQ. They were short, dark-skinned women with plenty of belly fat to roll around. And mustaches. Plenty of mustaches. Armenians thought they were sexy.
    SuzieQ didn’t have a lot of belly fat, but she could really roll what she had. The women at the tables laughed and poked their husbands in their sides. The husbands laughed and tucked one-dollar bills into the waistband of SuzieQ’s skirt. The single men smirked and tucked five-dollar bills on top of the ones. By the time she finished her number, I couldn’t see her navel for all the cash. She took a bow and came to sit with us.
    The host turned out to be the owner of the restaurant. He arrived at the table with a bottle in his hand. SuzieQ introduced him as Kerop Shamshoian.
    “ Ahman asdvatz. You’re the movie star, aren’t you? In my restaurant! Parev! Welcome, welcome. Have some raki. It’s good! We make it ourselves.” He pulled three shot glasses out of his pocket and set them on the table.
    Raki is Armenian moonshine. If Kerop made it himself, it was probably two-hundred-proof alcohol. I shot Peter a look that said, “Help me out here,” and hoped he remembered that drinking anything but blood wasn’t high on my list of favorite things to do. Kerop uncorked the bottle and filled the glasses. Peter distracted him with a question about the menu, and while he was raving about his shish kebab, I emptied my shot glass under the table. Then we all said, “Kenats’t,” and Peter and SuzieQ downed the raki while I pretended to do the same. Even SuzieQ didn’t notice my sleight of hand. It helps, being an actress.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

    The raki was having an effect on me. Or else it was Ovsanna. She actually got up and danced with Suzie in the middle of the room, doing one of those chain dances where everyone holds hands and snakes through the tables, stomping and kicking their feet. I scanned the restaurant, worried about photographers or somebody from the job recognizing one of us, but I didn’t see anyone I knew. A birthday celebration was taking up one side of the room, and all the attendees were speaking Chinese. I don’t think anyone there recognized Ovsanna at all. I could tell from the head nods and whispers at a couple of the other tables that some of the patrons knew who she was. Two teenage boys, twins, came over to ask for her autograph. One of them gave her his baseball cap to sign and the other his skateboard.
    She was gracious with both of them. Not like some of the jerks I have to ride herd on when I’m working. It seems to me these celebrities are where they are because of their fans; it doesn’t take much for them to be courteous, at least. Of course, I haven’t been on the receiving end of the obnoxious asshole fans who think it’s their right to demand the stars’ attention, either. Maybe hanging out with Ovsanna would change my mind.
    God knows I’d changed it more than once already, where she was concerned. Seeing her again, after the way she’d KFC’ed me on Sunday night, didn’t seem like the smartest choice I could have made. But I couldn’t stop myself. Even there in public, all I wanted to do was grab a handful of her black, curly hair, and pull her across the table and kiss her. I didn’t care who was watching, I just wanted to feel her under my lips, explore her mouth with my tongue. Hope I didn’t cut myself on any hidden canines.
    Instead, when she reached out to pull me on the dance floor, I flinched.
    She laughed and dropped SuzieQ’s hand. Suzie grabbed the next person, and the line danced on past us. “Ah-ha, afraid you’re going to get burned again, huh?”
    “Well,” I said, “can you blame me? You’ve never been on the receiving end of whatever that thing is that you do, have you?”
    “No, I haven’t. But I promise you, Peter,