“Get a fresh flash drive,” Madonna ordered. Scott followed the order. “Make me a copy, from every camera.” Scott did as he was told, and handed Madge the flash drive. “Now, destroy it all. And don’t even think about talking to anyone about this. If you do, I swear I will find out… and I will bite your fucking dick off. Am I clear?”

Cringing, Scott confirmed that he understood, “Crystal clear.”

Madonna watched Scott destroy the evidence, thanked him, and took her leave. She did not exit the building, to meet up with Stephen. Instead, she went to the nearest restroom, stripped off her clothes, walked into a stall, and polished her pearl more furiously than she had since she was a ‘tween.

Her lust sated, Madonna was now afraid. The song and dance routine was a clear message. Kitty was singing every line in the song back at the sexagenarian. It was a powerful message: keep your hands off him bitch. And what a way to deliver it!

Kitty had calculated the whole thing. She knew she’d get the attention of middle aged, pot-bellied, bald security guy. She knew he’d tell the manager. She knew he’d rush to the restaurant. She knew he’d choose to tell the only female at the table. She knew Madonna wouldn’t tell the boys. The calculations of her gambler mother. The logic of her journalist father. Genius. If she turned bad, she would be the Bond villain that destroyed 007.

Madge finally made her exit from the hotel, and found Stephen sitting atop the same picnic table that Kitty had found Lance perched atop earlier. He was staring into the sky, or maybe the void. Maybe the void was staring back at him.

“Sorry,” Madonna said, chuckling.

“It’s okay.”

“She put on a Hell of a performance, our little Kitty.”


“If this all goes horribly wrong, she’ll be able to pay the bills stripping.”

Really?” Stephen’s inner Rasputin came to full attention.

“Oh, yeah. She can move. I’d put her on my stage, or in front of the cameras, in a New York second.”

“But you destroyed it all? The video?”

Madonna knew damn well her boyfriend wanted to see the girl get down and dirty. It comes with the dick, after all. Smiling a knowing smile, Madonna said, “Poof! All gone.” She made no mention of the details of the performance, or the fact that it was a warning to her.

Belatedly, it occurred to Madonna that Kitty had used the term, “I’ve heard it all before” numerous times when she was executing her prosecution of the meatmouth. Stephen had used it on her, first, and she’d smashed it back at him brilliantly, and repeatedly. Madge sings it more than two dozen times in Sorry. What in the name of Carl Gustav Jung did that mean? Or was it synchronicity, at all?

Kitty had actually set up the carefully calculated strip show message/warning while delivering her sermon on veganism. She stormed from one stunning performance straight into another. Madge’s mind stuttered trying to comprehend it, and she knew she’d never forget it.




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