I don’t remember what it was about Cabaret Internationale, but I immediately met at least two or three girls that I liked. Maybe it is because it was within walking distance of my house, so I drank more and the girls looked prettier and I just had more fun. Club Madonna didn't have liquor. And the other clubs I drove a long way to in Miami were all about business for me, and I couldn't drink too much. Maybe I was relatively richer in Orlando than I was in Miami. Maybe it was a higher percentage of American girls. I have never gotten along as well with any foreign girls. American girls have the most hustle and are the least pathetic, and that is attractive to me. I like girls who are good at the talking, and the nicer sides of being good at stripping. There must have been something that made Cabaret Internationale special. Because I was a strip-club addict, and I don’t think I would have stayed in Orlando unless Cabaret Intemationale was better than all the clubs I went to in Miami combined. I wasn’t going to Cabaret Intenationale just to check if there were any girls, like I used to check every week at Club Madonna. I knew there were girls there. So I would just go there on Friday night and hang out. Weekends weren’t as big in Orlando as in Miami. Orlando was more Thursday and Friday night, than Friday and Saturday night. I didn't need to find any more girls, I already had more than I could work with at Cabaret Internationale. But I kept hearing there was another club Rachel’s. And if there was a pretttier girl over there, I didn't want to miss her. One day I had a virus, and I was afraid to work for fear my brain would associate working with being sick. So I figured it was a good time to go try the lunch buffet at Rachel's. This would have been maybe April of 2011. Rachel's was not the same. Cabaret Intemationale had all kinds of girls. Rachel's was all 8 out of 10 cookie-cutter white girls, who seemed like they were screened before being hired. Rachel's was on a remote area of South Orange Avenue, and did not get the same turnover of random girls, and girls passing through, as Cabaret Internationale on Orange Blossom Trail. It seemed like all the Rachel's girls were regular girls, they had all been there forever. Years, even. Rachel's was kind of empty on day shift that day. But I sat at the bar and ate some sausage and potatoes from the buffet, and it gave me time to see every girl go up on stage and see which one was the prettiest. I remember eating my last potato, and I must have tipped the prettiest girl on stage once I figured out who it was. Because next thing we were sitting in the back row against the back wall, and I was getting a private dance. I remember looking at her blue eyes. The first thing I thought is this girl is not as pretty as any of the girls I know at Cabaret Internationale. But we sat at the bar and made jokes, and I liked her. She was good at it. I couldn't tell if she was a hooker, or if she was looking for a boyfriend, or what. She was a pro stripper, with a streak of sadness and depression. She had been at Rachel's forever and age 30 was coming up. She just had a pro look about her, like Heidi Fleiss, like she should be working at an airport car-rental counter. She suggested we could meet for drinks outside the club after the end of her shift. That sounds like a hooker. But for real she was still thinking I might be a potential boyfriend. She told me to be really careful and not look at her when she left. Just go to another part of the club. And then wait at least five minutes before leaving, and then meet her at the gas station up the street. We had to be very careful or her "manager" might catch her. I met strippers at a dozen clubs at that point. Hookers, girls on vacation, free spirits, whatever. The fear in this girl’s voice was unique. I never before had to meet a girl up the street at a gas station. At Club Madonna. the girls would make me wait for them inside the front of the club. And then they would stand around with me, to show off to all the other girls how they were leaving with me. At Tootsie, girls would ask me to send them a text, and they would hold up their phones to show all the other girls they got my number. So I followed Rachel's girl on 528 east to a bar near the airport, and she drove so fast I missed the toll. I guess that is where she normally operates. And after a while she told me I could come back to her house. The whole thing was weird. She even called some other stripper, her best friend, and told her to meet us there. So I could tell I was being set up for something. Whether she was a hooker, or she was going to have me fuck her friend in a bait-and-switch II-l7