A dense crowd of sailors in dress whites crowded around the single-stage, lavishing tips on each dancer that appeared from behind the blood-red curtain at the far end. The small, round, pedestal tables dotting the room were just big enough for one dancer and two or three flyboys on their first night back from sea duty, hungry for booze and pussy. I remember wondering why these girls thought they had a chance of snagging a naval aviator, and whether it had ever actually happened.

I first noticed Laurie two songs into her set. She was new, and the guys didn't quite know what to make of her. Sandwiched between blonde, tanned, beach-bunny types, Laurie was a stark contrast. Tall, slim, but very hard-bodied, her skin was the whitest I'd ever seen. Jet black shoulder-length hair flared and bounced as she danced, always falling exactly back into place when she was still, as though it had a memory all its own.

Even her dancing was unusual. One minute her moves were feline, stalking prey stageside. The next, she was playful and laughing, as though she was having the time of her life. For the first time that night I was staring, and she was returning looks that bumped my pulse another notch. Her last song was a slow blues tune. She writhed and stretched on the stage floor under blue lights, eyes closed, as though she was alone, stroking and fondling her milky thighs and breasts. She had hushed the raucous place into silence while assuring us her thoughts were miles away.

It wasn't long before she was sitting at my table. I didn't even have to ask, and I was sure I was the luckiest guy in the place. Thinking back, it's hard to imagine believing the fantasy that seemed so elusive at the time. A waitress arrived, and I ordered drinks. Hers was tequila, a double.

Yes, this was her first night. She was from Missouri. No, she didn't know a soul here yet. She liked Billie Holiday. She had a probation officer - something about a misunderstanding with an old boyfriend. Yes, she'd like another double. Sure, she'd love to go to my car for a buzz. She raved about my Toyota as though it was a Ferrari. We smoked most of the homegrown stashed recklessly under the front seat. We drank, she danced, and I struggled to stay in touch with reality until the club closed. I hated to see it end. But, as they say, all good things...

I made my way to the car, a little concerned about how I would make it home in my altered state.  Laurie was waiting, leaning against the front edge of the hood, watching me with an evil grin. Her ride had gone without her, could I take her home? Now, I wasn't a strip club regular, but I was pretty sure this didn't happen often. Dancers just didn't go home with customers, right? Right.

She tossed the large canvas bag filled with her work gear into the back and I drove on auto-pilot, heart pounding like it might explode out of my chest.

"Show me the beach? It must be beautiful at night."

She seemed immune to the pot and tequila, still playing the sensuous siren against the playful tease with such unaffectedness that I doubt I could have refused her anything.

I parked the car just off the road, squeezing it into a break between two twenty-foot dunes. It must have been after 3:00 AM, but there was enough of a moon to make the white sand glow like new-fallen snow. The water sparkled in the distance as small waves quietly collapsed onto the beach, leaving the sand flat and slick after a slow retreat.

Laurie was so awed by the scene, one I had by then taken for granted, that she sat quietly and stared for a long time. Then, suddenly, she reached forward and brought the radio to life. Looking at me with her playful grin, she said two words that are etched into my memory to this day.

"Watch me."

Ten feet in front of my car, Laurie danced for me. I remember Billy Joel playing on the radio. I remember her perfect white breasts quivering just a little as she slowly pulled the t-shirt over her head. I remember how her hips wiggled a few times as the faded cut-offs she shed inched down her firm thighs, finally falling in a small dark heap in the sand. I remember her hands, busy between her spread legs, one in front, the other behind, and how her dark hair fell to cover her face as her fingers did a dance of their own.

When the song ended, she was suddenly bounding toward the car again, laughing, now obviously aware of the effect her still-naked body had on me. She stuck her head in the passenger window. Two soft, white breasts spilled over the edge of the car door.

"Catch me."

With another giggle, she took off running toward the beach. I was out of the car in a second, my feet sinking into the soft sand, when she stopped and turned to check my progress.

"The blanket! Get the blanket! In my bag!"

Making my way back to the passenger side of the car, I found her bag, unzipped it, and tugged the small quilt free that she used on stage. I was stuffing the rest of the contents back inside when I found the gun.

I'd never owned a gun - didn't know anything about them really, and the effect was sobering. I lifted it a little to see if it was real. In the car's dark interior, all I know is that it felt real enough.

Now, some guys would have thought nothing of this, put it back, and continued with what promised to be a memorable evening. And some guys might go screaming into the night, or at least end this little escapade prematurely. I couldn't seem to do either. Maybe it was my somewhat altered state, or maybe it was the naked girl I had come to fantasize about calling out to me, still prancing some twenty yards ahead in the moonlight.

I sat there a long time, so long that when I finally decided to find Laurie, she had disappeared. I walked the twenty yards, searched up and down the deserted beach, and was almost ready to give up when she appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me from behind.

"Gottcha!"

We did get to use that blanket. I remember her sometimes classic, sometimes playful face inches from mine as I looked into her eyes. I remember that she couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to be on top, or under me. We each compromised, again and again. I remember the rush of endless surf behind her soft little cries and moans. And I remember screaming in the dark on that quiet beach as I came inside her.

I went back to watch Laurie the next week, but she had moved on. No one seemed to know where. I spent months wondering if it could ever happen again and if it did, whether I'd make the same choices. My pulse still raced a little every time I entered the club, every time I thought of her jet black hair falling to her shoulders exactly the same way when she danced, and later how it fell across my face like a dark curtain in the moonlight.

Many years later, when I think about all the women I've loved, or loved and lost, I've come to see I've found a small part of her in almost every one - the teasing playfulness here, the magical, black, curtain of hair there, the way she could speak a single word that, like a hypnotic suggestion, made it impossible not to fall under her spell that made me want to be with her again and again, never-ending. Although she's never danced for me or shared that moonlit beach with me again, I marvel at how a part of her lives in every woman I've loved since that unforgettable night.

When I finally found my life's love, there was something about her that fit perfectly into the forgotten voids, the cracks and spaces left silently unfilled and wanting, even in the best of times. Then it comes to me with elusive and surprising awareness; I've always been looking for Laurie.