Sunny Sunday

Zombie Jack is due out Tuesday!

“Ladies and gentlemen and creatures of the night, welcome to my Halloween show!” Applause. Dee waited until it died down. “Tonight we have a special show for you. Without further ado -- Jack the Stripper!”

The music started, the curtains parted, and Dee stepped off the stage, moving to the side of the dance floor to watch the show. Brianna saw him sandwiched between a wood sprite wearing a leafy, green minidress and a crown of ivy, and a woman wearing what looked like an antique wedding dress of ivory silk and a top hat.

All of Brianna’s attention suddenly became fixed on Jack as he appeared onstage. He wore a pumpkin mask, and his tattered monster outfit drew a collective gasp from the audience. He started to dance. Whipping off the mask, he stood for a minute, gazing out over the audience. His eyes were supernaturally bright, his hair tousled, his skin glowing. He looked like a movie star, and the women went wild.

Brianna could hardly breathe. Jack was more than hot. He was scorching. The women were crazy about him; they screamed his name and applauded madly. Jack strutted to the center of the stage in time to the music and bared his chest. The scar drew shrill screams and more applause. When Jack danced, Brianna could swear she heard women swooning all around him. A woman dressed as a vampire stood next to her table. She sank down into the chair by Brianna and gave a low moan.

“He is sooooo amazing,” she breathed. “I want him.”

Brianna was torn between pride, jealousy, and worry. Would his arm stay put? Had he taken the aspirin? Would he be all right? “Careful, Jack,” she muttered.

Jack’s shirt came off, and his arm stayed on. Brianna sagged in relief. More screams and swoons. He danced, and even the men stopped playing billiards and came to watch, cue sticks in hands. Jack’s pants slithered down his hips. He lowered his chin and stared at the audience. They stared back, mouths open, eyes wide, pupils dilated. He stepped out of his pants, and the music stopped. The lights were killed, and the curtain fell.

The crowd went crazy. The applause nearly cracked the plaster on the ceiling. Brianna could feel the floor shaking beneath her feet. Whoa. She turned to the vampire lady sitting next to her. “How’d you like that?”

She looked at Brianna. “Please tell me he’s coming back,” vampire lady whimpered.

“If not, I’ll go drag him back myself,” said another spectator standing nearby, her hands on her throat.

The music started again, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight appeared as the curtain lifted again. Jack stood in the middle of the spotlight, dressed in his second outfit.

The music, “Superstition,” pounded through the speakers. Jack opened his vampire cape and swirled it around. Grinning at the audience, he bared fake fangs. More screams and applause from the women. He tossed the cloak to the ground and took off his shirt.

“Slower, Jack, slow down,” murmured Brianna.

Jack looked like he was enjoying himself immensely. He danced, he peeled off his clothes, and strutted about in his G-string as the women shrieked and squealed and tossed money onto the stage.

Teasingly, Jack slowly took off his G-string. Brianna groaned and tried not to stare. A flood of heat dampened her panties. She hated that everyone else was staring at Jack. The women uttered a collective gasp of appreciation, ending in a thunder of applause, whistles, and more screams. The music stopped, but Marty was on the ball and put on another song. “Black Velvet” started, and Jack began to dance slowly. A flurry of applause and high-pitched sighs and cries sounded from the audience.

Jack seemed to have no qualms at all about exhibiting his body -- and why should he? From his well-shaped head down to his perfect Greek-statue feet, he was gorgeous. Brianna felt a pang of jealousy. She watched Jack’s show with growing dismay and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming, “He’s mine!” It was ridiculous, but that’s what she wanted to do. He was incredible. Every woman in the place was mesmerized. Jack’s muscles looked sculpted beneath his smooth, white skin. Except for the scar, he was flawless. And his eyes. No one should have such electric blue eyes. But there was something odd about those eyes.

Brianna froze. Something very odd.

Jack came to the front of the stage and winked at a woman sitting in the front row. She gazed up at him, entranced.

Jack leaned over and said in a husky voice, “Can I dangle my dingle in your daiquiri?”

“What?” the woman squawked.

“I said, can I dangle my dingle in your daiquiri, darling?” Jack swayed his hips forward suggestively.

Brianna cringed. This could not be in the script. She turned to look at Mémé Hoya. She had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “What is he doing?” Brianna hissed.

“He took an aspirin.” Mémé Hoya shook her head, her expression tragic.