The Meridian on a weeknight had its own particular rhythm, lower in volume than the weekend, more consistent in temperature. The regulars came on weeknights. Men with established patterns, familiar faces, who knew the rules and followed them and came because this was part of the structure of their lives rather than an occasion. She understood this. Structure was something she had built for herself from nothing and she did not judge the forms other people's took.
She was early enough to have the dressing room mostly to herself. She changed into the red set, checked the garter straps, hung her bag in the locker with the practiced efficiency of someone for whom this sequence was as automatic as breathing, and sat down at her mirror.
Priya came in while she was starting her eyes, dropping in
