The nightspot was a trendy place, expensive, with small portions and big attitudes, the heady smell of pricy cologne and exotic perfume blending with the palpable scent of money in the air. Ben secretly hated places like it, but his companion loved nothing more than seeing and being seen, and he was willing to play along in order to keep her happy.He had met Rachel two months before, at another high-end bar, and had been delighted when she’d seemed interested in him – no doubt a function of his buying Rachel and her girlfriend a bottle of champagne before sidling up to them and making conversation. From that encounter had come a date where he had lavished delicacies upon her at one of the hottest restaurants in Jerusalem, and then spent the evening dancing at an impossible-to-get-into disco that he’d read about in magazines – the trick to entry being the right denomination bills surreptitiously slid to the doorman, who had palmed them as adeptly as a magician before sweeping the velvet rope aside and welcoming the guests like royalty.Ben was in his late thirties, average-looking, tall, his dark hairline receding, a kind of geeky man who had, of late, stepped up his game with a new wardrobe and an upgraded attitude – courtesy of a recent financial windfall that had been as unexpected as it had been welcome.Rachel giggled, alcohol being her preferred social lubricant, and pulled closer as she teetered down the sidewalk in impossibly high heels that showcased her dancer’s calves, which in reality needed no help.
