*****

Xander sat on the edge of his rumpled bed and stared intently at the sweating brown bottle of beer held loosely in his hands as if it held all the answers to every question he'd ever asked. Sparkling condensation dripped down the smooth dark glass and over the label which was beginning to soak through and wrinkle. With a sigh, Xander tipped the bottle up to his lips and let a cold mouthful slide down his throat.

The beer might not actually hold the answers to his most pressing questions, but it sure as hell helped him to accept the answers. Answers whose truth was painful to admit to...and which he had no choice but to acknowledge.

The summer was almost over and according to the plans he'd made back in June, it was time for him to start heading home. He had originally wanted to make a tour of the country, see all that life had to offer, experience what joys he could. Find himself.

That lovely little plan hadn't quite worked out. Neither to how he had told it to his friends...nor as he had wished it secretly for himself. To his friends, the road trip was about non-demony adventure and excitement. For himself, he was hoping to find inspiration, some clue as to where his life was going. He had secretly desired that somehow he would be given some direction as to what to do with his life.

Now, the summer was almost over and he hadn't even made it out of the State of California. He hadn't seen all of the sights he had planned to visit, he hadn't driven the length and breath of the country. He had only made it as far as Oxnard before his car had finally given up the ghost, stranding him in an unfamiliar place with anyone who knew him or cared either way was too far to beg for help.

At first, he hadn't been too worried. His whole life seemed to be one obstacle after another and he was used to dealing with these little setbacks and disappointments. Then he found out how much money it would take to actually *fix* the stupid thing. It would have been cheaper to just buy a used car that actually ran. But the Bel Air was his uncle's and he wasn't ready to go that route. Just yet.

So, he used what little savings he'd brought with him to rent a motel room and went off to find some work. He had figured that a few days, a week at tops, and he'd have enough to pay for the repairs. Then, he could be on his merry way again.

After a week, he had completely new ideas of just what it meant to "work for a living". The pay wasn't anywhere near what he'd thought it would be, nor did what little he earned stretch as far as he'd hoped. Beyond that, he discovered something about himself that he'd never had reason to consider. He had *no* skills whatsoever.

As a member of the Scooby Gang, he had spent most of his highschool career learning how to research and then kill big ugly demons. Unfortunately, there was no real need for those particular skills on the job-market. The employer's here were looking for someone who could act as a short-order cook [Xander could barely recognize a kitchen, let alone run one], or someone who could frame a house [carpentry work *sounded* good, but when the guy asked Xander if he'd ever used powertools before, he'd laughed at Xander's answer of "no"] and the job of Mall Security Guard was a great opportunity...for someone who had a license to carry a loaded gun and had at least three years of experience.

That left the pizza delivery job [no car, so no hiring of Xander] or the busboy-dishwasher job at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club. The hours were not hard for Xander to adjust to, he was long since used to late nights, and he had no moral objection to male strippers and screaming horny women, so he applied for the job at the Club. It was really surprising and depressing to learn how very *little* money one could make clearing dirty glasses from dingy tables and then stacking them into a stainless steel industrial sized dishwasher.

Then, when Keith had called in sick, Xander's boss had been desperate enough to put Xander in as his replacement. It had been a bizarre night and Xander could still only recall dizzy panicked moments frozen in time. The quick scrub-down in the "changing room shower area" followed by him being shoved into one of Keith's outfits. Quick and jumbled advice from several of the guys as well as a few hurried dance steps that he was forced to try over and over again so that he could get them right. A strong burning shot of whiskey for his nerves and then *bam* he was out on stage, shaking with nerves even as he tried to shake his booty.

After that, things had gotten even more weird. Flashing lights, pounding music, screaming women. And money. Money shoved into his [or rather Keith's] tiny little thong underwear that was barely holding his manly bits in place. Suddenly, he found he was less nervous and more amused. Then his amusement slowly changed into confidence and enjoyment. And money kept being thrust at him the whole time.

Before he knew it, the song was over, he was back in the dancer's changing room and he was staring in awe at the big old pile of money he had earned in a few short minutes. A few short minutes of selling, not himself, not really...but of selling an idea, a fantasy...to a bunch of happy horny harmless women.

The light bulb over his head flared, flickered and then burst into light.

Two days later, word came back that Keith would not be returning. The doctors had determined the cause of his illness and treatment was to begin immediately. The dancer would have no time...or energy left over to work. His position was officially vacant now.

That was the last night Xander bused down a table at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club. He was no longer just a "replacement" dancer, but a full time dancer.

That first week he had been asked to come in every day to work with one or another of the dancers so that he could be taught the various dance steps and moves that they used. Afterwards, he began putting his own routine together. It had been fun. The guys were all professional flirts and they flirted with him outrageously. At first he had not been sure how to handle it, but after a while he had realized that they were like that with each other too. It wasn't *just* him...as so, he loosened up and flirted back.

And that was that. He suddenly had a lot more money coming in and as he became more confident and better at dancing, his tips also got larger and larger. He'd found that the few gay men who frequented the club generally tipped best, but the women usually screamed the loudest and made the most fuss over him. He managed to update his wardrobe, fix his uncle's car, join a gym to help get his figure into the best possible shape and made friends with all of the other dancers.

Life was great. Better than it had been in a long long time.

But now the summer was ending and Xander found himself faced with a choice. And not an easy one at that.

He could do one of three things. Go home to Sunnydale like he had originally planned. He could stay here. Or, he could continue on with his interrupted road trip.

If he went home to Sunnydale, things would be...different. He knew that. He and his friends were out of highschool, but out of all of them, he was the only one who hadn't chosen to go on to college. Well, there was Cordy, but she left to go to LA, so it was the same thing...sort of. He would automatically be the odd man out. No classes, no teachers, no homework. That left getting a job, and his experience from the beginning of the summer had proved to him that he didn't have any skills employers looked for. Except for stripping...but he couldn't see himself doing that in *Sunnydale* where everyone had known him forever.

So...go home and be non-college guy with a shitty minimum wage job which he already *knew* would never give him enough money to support himself with, or...

He could continue his road-trip. The car was running better than before he'd left home at the beginning of the summer and he had enough money in savings to make a much better go of it. He now had a better understanding of just how far money would go...or not go as the case may be, so he actually had a better chance of not waking up totally broke some morning.

Then again, he could always stay here, in Oxnard. Stripping at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club for cash. Lots of cash. Where he had a good paying job, friends who didn't look down at him for being less smart or not as strong, a membership to a gym and his own place with no drunken fighting and neglectful parents. Oh, and no demons. Can't forget the distinct lack of demons living [or unliving] in Oxnard California. Always a big plus.

Xander tipped up his beer bottle, swallowing the last of the bitter brew and grimaced. When he laid the facts out in front of him, looking at his all logically, it was obvious that the best thing to do, for *himself*, was to simply stay in Oxnard. He had friends, a job and a half decent place to live. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that he would be abandoning his old friends to the Hellmouth, but in truth...did they *really* need him? Maybe if he called them...or something, just to find out if they were okay?

Suddenly, the phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. Dropping the empty bottle in the trash bin on the way to the phone, Xander pushed his heavy thoughts out of his head.

"Xander's House of Empty Beer Bottles and Horny Men. Give me a cold one and I'll give you my boxers. This is Xander, how shall I screw you?"

A bark of harsh laughter was the only reply Xander got, but he knew immediately who it was. His boss at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club.

"Jack? So...what can I do for you?"

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

"I wasn't supposed to come in to the club early was I?"

"No, nothing like that. I just got a call from a client. Apparently her sister is getting married and she's throwing her a Bachelorette Party. She wants a male stripper to show up, dance a bit and show her sister a good time. She requested you by name, so... I know you've never done anything like this before, so if you're interested I'll have Darien walk you through it a time or two. The job pays $300."

Xander's one eyebrow went up and he whistled through his teeth. $300 was a lot of money for one night...and it *did* sound like fun. True, he'd never worked a private party before, but it didn't seem like it would be too hard to pull off.

"When is the party scheduled for?"

"Next Friday. That'll give you plenty of time to work out all the details of how to do it...and do it right. It's up to you. The only advice I can give you is that if you take it, don't fuck the bride. Grooms tend to not appreciate that and they *will* come looking for you. However, if any of her friends want to make it worth your while for a quick tumble in the hay, that's your call. Any extra's are all yours. The Club doesn't officially recognize that kind of activity, so I don't cut into any of your take."

Xander considered it. The assignment would be easy, plus there was the chance for extras. Jack was telling the truth when he said the Club didn't prostitute the dancers...although all of the dancers did that on the side. He'd even earned a few extra dollars that way twice...okay, three times.

But it was scheduled for *next* Friday. That was *after* he was supposed to have returned to Sunnydale.

"Well, Xan...what do you think? Should I call up and tell this broad yes, or what?"

Xander glanced across the small motel room which had been his home for the past two months. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He saw a tall young man with dark curly hair and dark eyes, slim muscular body that bore evidence of time at a gym and smooth tanned skin. He compared his reflection to the mental image in his head of the Zeppo...the lost and lonely boy who was desperate to please his smart, confident and talented friends...and failed miserably.

"Sure Jack. No problem. I'm your man. Tell the lady she's got herself a dancer."

"Great Xan. See you at the Club later."

"Yeah Jack...see you later."

END