Dance for Mama, honey

Jennifer Hira pulled the red VW bug into the driveway of the Makiki Palms condo and waved to the security guard she knew only as Bully. Big Hawaiian guy who, she'd heard, used to play football at UH until he blew out a knee. Never got a degree. Carrying a clipboard, he checked her license plate against a list of approved visitors. For passers-by on the street, it appeared to be a typical if rather fortress-like condominium with good security.

Bully walked around to Jennifer's side. "Who's the new girl?" he said, leaning down to look inside.

"Tiffany couldn't make it -- she just had a miscarriage."

"I didn't even know she was pregnant." Damn, another pregnant stripper. "And you are?"

"This is Fatima, she's filling in."

"I'll let Mama Hanna know."

What a beauty, Bully was thinking as they pulled inside the garage and parked. Exotic kine. The patrons going like her. Which was entirely the point of having strippers in a gambling house. The house would be profitable without the girls, but they added glitz, and served as enough of a distraction that they paid for themselves. Besides, stripping was what Mama Hanna knew. In her younger days, she was the original Hanna Ho -- which is what guys always shouted when her breathtaking performances ended.

With the backing of a couple of old friends -- a Bishop Street attorney and a retired dentist -- she established her dream club. They built the five-story structure never intending to rent or sell units. On the ground floor there was a tasteful lobby that could be entered only through the parking garage. Inside, people were again checked against a list of pre-approved patrons, and then took the elevator -- complete with a burly elevator operator name Tufi -- up to the Club Le Boing Boing casino on the top floor.

The second floor was where some staff members lived. Rooms on the third were for patrons -- so people left the building in the morning as at other condos. The fourth housed Mama Hanna's apartment and office, the kitchen, the laundry and a changing room for the girls.

Mama Hanna was waiting when the elevator opened on the fourth floor.

"You know, Jennifer," she said, blocking their exit, holding the door open with one hand, "how much I hate surprises." A dragon queen in full.

"I know, Mama Hanna, I know, but Tiffany called, she had a miscarriage..." Jen saw the not-again look in Mama Hanna's eyes. "...and Fatima just came in from the Philippines, and she's a dancer, so..."

"Oh really. Well, go ahead, dance for Mama, honey."

Fatima started slow, right there in the elevator, arms and hips and legs and head moving with grace and rhythm, and as she moved faster and faster it was like she had WD-40 in her joints.

"Kind of skinny for a belly dancer. But you're hired."