The Headliner and the Housegirl

"I guess this means you don't hate me, huh?" asked Vicky when they came up for air.

"You could say that," smiled Dave as he resumed searching the inside of her mouth with his tongue.

The only sound in the back room was the liquid sound of two tongues intertwining ... and audio static as the preview tape rewound itself.

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Karen was pleased with her protege. Here it was, Vicky Syn's opening night at THE SHOWROOM in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania — and Susan was ready. She had Vicky Syn's teased bleached-blonde hair, Vicky Syn's deliberately overdone makeup, Vicky Syn's enormous breasts — and most importantly, Vicky Syn's lascivious and flirtatious style.

In fact, thought Karen, Susan was Vicky Syn! Now, anyway.

"I'd better start calling you Vicky! Out loud, I mean," said Karen to Susan as they arranged Vicky's costumes in the dressing room. "It'll help keep our deception from getting out!"

"Did you see the ad in the paper?" Susan asked. "I don't remember ... is that her or me in the photo?"

"It's her, but who cares?" laughed Karen. "No one will know. Even her most avid fans will swear you're Vicky Syn."

Karen's cell phone in her purse began ringing. She took it off the dressing room table and answered it.

"She's there, isn't she?" said a familiar ominous voice. Karen knew at once it was the man who'd been obsessing over Vicky Syn. She'd foolishly hoped that the few weeks off would have distracted him enough to make him go away. "I came to Boston ... no one was there," continued the voice. "I'm not pleased. And I'm not going to let some dyke manager stand in the way of Vicky and my happiness."

Karen put her hand over the receiver. "Ummm ... Vicky? Excuse me a moment," she said. "This is private."

"Okay!" said Susan, happily arranging her show wardrobe. Karen stepped into the hall and closed the dressing room door behind her.

"Now, listen, mister," snapped Karen to the caller.

"It's no use," he said. "I'm on my way."

"You're what?" panicked Karen. "Wait. Um..."

"It's destiny," he said before hanging up. "Vicky and me. Nothing will stand in our way..." The line went dead.

Before Karen could think what to do next, the phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Hey, listen — Grand Kenyon! What are you trying to pull?" said a laughing female voice on the other end of the line.

"Vicky!" Karen almost shouted in the solitude of the corridor. "You've got your nerve calling here! You know you've violated a legal and binding contract, don't you? Where are you?"

"Right here in Wilkes-Barre. I'm kinda hiding out," said Vicky. "I saw the ad in the paper. How is that I'm opening tonight?"

"You're not," Karen quickly explained. "I hired a new Vicky. Vicky, listen to me. We've got trouble..."

Vicky didn't even seem to hear. "A new Vicky? Well, why not? Good luck to you and the new girl, kid!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, Vicky. This is serious," said Karen. "Vicky ... he's calling. He's coming here. And I have an idea how you can help trap the fucker."

"Oh, no. The guy? Shit. He scared me. He really did," said Vicky. "He's probably just lovesick and ridiculous, but what if he's not? Wait ... did you say trap him? Me? What am I, Cagney and Lacey?" asked Vicky.

"Listen, missy ... I could sue you for walking out of your contract," said Karen forcefully, "or you could help me and we'll forget the whole unpleasant episode. You got us into this with all that Internet chatting shit. You can get us out."

There was a short silence. Then Vicky spoke. "What do you want me to do?"

"First, call the cops. Have them meet us at THE SHOWROOM. I'll tell security here at the club to hang back. You come here and slip back into the dressing room. Put on that tight leopard-skin number ... we've got two of those..." Karen outlined an elaborate plan. Vicky listened carefully, agreed, and hung up.

Dave wanted to know what was going on.

"Dave, Karen's hired a new Vicky, but the stalker, this guy who was following me? Remember the time I grabbed you in the hotel lobby? I was getting away from this guy, and now I'm going to go down there and help them catch him — I've got to hurry!"

Dave stopped her. "I can't believe it, but I followed most of that," he said to his sweetheart. "I'll call the police. But you are not going all by yourself! I'm coming with you. Let's go."

Dave and Vicky closed the store, jumped in a car, and raced to THE SHOWROOM.

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In the club, the lights began to dim. An announcer's voice was heard over the P.A.

"And now, gentlemen, THE SHOWROOM would like to welcome an exciting performer — an enticing performer — an enormous performer, up front where it counts — let's have a really big welcome for Vicky Syn!"

The crowd erupted in applause, as Susan took the stage, throwing her big, bought-and-paid-for boobs around so violently they jumped out of the tight low-cut animal print body stocking she was wearing. The crowd hooted and hollered.

Karen would have been proud. But Karen wasn't in the house, watching. She was out front, waiting for Vicky.

Vicky and Dave clambored out of their car. Karen waved them down.

"Is he here?" she asked Karen.

"I think so," Karen said. "Front row, average height, thinning hair. Skinny."

"Got it," said Vicky. "I'm suiting up now." Vicky slipped in the back entrance and ran to the dressing room.

"I'm Dave," he said, by way of introduction.

"Hi, Dave," said Karen, shaking his hand. "That's a brave girl you've got there."

"I know," he agreed.

"All we can do is go sit in the back of the house and watch," said Karen. "Come on in."

On the stage, Susan was displaying her skill at bouncing each big breast in turn. A weaselly-looking man with thinning hair began to stand up.

"Hey, down in front!" shouted a customer. The man ignored him. He leaned forward to try to speak to the dancer.

"I'm finally here," he said. Susan tried to dance to another part of the stage. The man reached forward and directed her back in front of him. "It's time. You and I will go home now," said the man. Susan looked terrified. "It was meant to be," he said in his soft but threatening manner.

"Yoo-hoo!" came a girlish squeal from the back of the barroom.

The follow spot settled on an identical big breasted blonde with teased hair, exposed chest, and tight animal print body stocking. "Over here!" she called in a sexy singsong voice.

The balding man's head snapped around. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Vicky!" he cried. Then her turned his head toward the stage. "Vicky?" he asked. As he kept looking from one girl to the other, police calmly walked up to him and slapped on handcuffs.

The lights in THE SHOWROOM were abruptly turned up full. The officers led the man away. Nearly all of the customers left then, too. Perhaps they wouldn't want their wives to know where they'd been. Susan ran off the stage and ran to Vicky, hugging her gratefully.

"Thank you! Thank you," she kept saying. "I was so scared! Weren't you?"

"Sure I was," said Vicky. "But I thought it would work. I'd listened to this guy on the phone for awhile now. Threatening, yes. Smart, no."

Karen smiled broadly at her friend. "Thanks, Vicky. You saved us. Damn! This is weird. It's like ... Cathy and Patty Lane, you know? Or Samantha and Serena!"

The two Vickys started to laugh. "Maybe we should do a double act, huh?" said Susan.

"Nah, they wouldn't pay double!" said Karen, ever the pragmatist when it came to money.

Dave emerged from the back row. He handed Vicky a napkin he'd been writing something on. It showed a crude map of the U.S., divided into six areas. On the side were columns of figures, adding up to big money.

"Sweetie, what is this?" Vicky asked.

"What do you know..." said Dave, "...about franchising?"

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Dave took a look at the calendar in his office. Right now, Susan should be arriving in Massachusetts where she was booked for the next three weeks as Vicky Syn. Karen was in Daytona, Florida, looking for a dancer to be Vicky Syn for the Southeastern United States. Vicky had suggested one of her ex-coworkers in Illinois get the augmentation surgery and start working as Vicky Syn Midwest. And a friend of Dave's was going from strip joint to strip joint in the Northwest, looking for a Vicky Syn to work out of Seattle. He'd be calling in from Tacoma any minute.

Dave chuckled to himself. He had something in common with Colonel Sanders. Both of them started a huge franchise business involving breasts!

Actually, it was more like what they'd done years ago with Bozo the Clown. The original Bozo had other clowns play the part of "Bozo" all over the country. Almost every city had its very own "Bozo".

The more Dave thought about it, the more he realized that their "Vicky Syn" arrangement was just like Bozo! Think of how much Bozo and Vicky had in common: the red lips, the teased hair, the makeup, and two oversize body parts. Of course, with Bozo — it was his feet.

Suddenly, Dave felt those two oversize body parts covering his eyes. "Guess who?" said Vicky.

Dave reached up for a couple of handfuls of tit. That phone call from Tacoma would have to wait.