Outside of the building, cars flew by, honking and screeching. There was quite a bit of commotion going on outside, but the inside was no less busy. People sat at tables, most already with two or three drinks in their systems. The bartender handled his orders without breaking a sweat, and the waitresses carried trays with twenty or more drinks at a single time without problem. Up on the stage, the showgirls danced around in 4-inch heels and beautiful outfits, singing along to pre-recorded music. All of them-the bartenders, waitresses, dancers-worked like this from 8 in the morning 'til 4 the next day without complaint. How could they? They lived and breathed this. The show biz was their calling and their cage. There was no escape. Annette sat at the bar in the back, wearing a tiny, strapless black dress that ended mid-thigh, chunky black heels on her feet. In her hand was a glass of some fruity drink someone had bought her, but the man had long since moved on to another woman. This place was trashy, she thought to herself. She brushed her blonde hair back and eyed the people in the room. Everywhere she looked, there were people selling themselves. Even the dancers on stage wouldn't hesitate to accept money for a kiss. But no matter how many times she tried to convince herself this place was a dump, she came every week without fail. She closed her blue eyes and listened to the music playing. She wanted to be one of the girls up on that stage, dancing her life away. But she could sing. She had a voice that made birds stop, a voice that commanded attention, a voice that could make money. But stuck in law school, that voice would be wasted.She finished her drink and stood, making her way to the stage as the girls stopped dancing. She would make herself known. Her voice would be heard.