"What didn't she say? I do declare she would describe every part of your manly physique from the top of your head down to your toes." Cora Lee gave him a sly smile. "She was quite poetic about your buttocks."

He gulped down more beer.

Cora Lee wiped the counter, still smiling. "She always claimed you had a crush on her."

His hand tightened around the glass. "Did she, now?"

"According to Vanda, she can make you do anything she wants like a trained puppy."

He downed the last of his beer and slammed the glass onto the bar. "Where is she?"

Cora Lee pointed to a series of doors along the back wall. "The first one is her office."

"Thanks." Phil slid off the stool.

"Don't forget to knock," Cora Lee warned him. "Vanda's got the dancers in there. It could be kinda awkward if you just barge in."

He stiffened. "Why? What's she doing with them?"

Cora Lee shrugged. "The usual. She has to personally check out the costumes and dances before the guys go on stage. Quality control, you know."

Phil's jaw clenched. "You don't say."

"Oh, I do. One time I went in there, and Terrance was prancing around naked." Cora Lee giggled. "Vanda told him to put a sock on it."

"I understand," Phil growled. As he stalked toward her office, the music ended. With his superior hearing, he heard Vanda's voice through the door.

"Oh my God, Peter, it's huge!"

"They don't call me the Printh of Peckerth for nothing," a man boasted.

"You can't let him on stage with that," another man protested. "He'll make us look small."

"You are smaller than me," Peter insisted.

"We are not!" a third male shouted.

"Calm down!" Vanda's voice sounded agitated. "Peter, I'm glad you've come back to dance for us, but this—this is too much. You'll have to lose a few inches."