Spike heads back to his dressing room.  He stretches out on the little couch there.  Well, that was Raven's problem taken care of, at least.  He closes his eyes.  Next was the 'executive club' performance.  Which he hadn't *quite* explained to Raven.  Still no touching, but it was a whole different performance altogther.  It was a small room of select clientele who paid very highly for the privilege.  And he wasn't going to need a costume for it.<br/><br/>Still, he had done worse.  There had been a time or two in Sunnydale when he'd sold his body and his many talents for the price of a pint of blood.  Okay, more than a time or two.  But Raven didn't need to know about that.