It's dark and starting to rain when I get to the church, and
Nico's waiting for somebody to unlock the side door, hugging
herself in the cold.  "Hold on to these for me," she says and
hands me a warm fistful of silk.  "Just for a couple hours," she
says. "I don't have any pockets." She's wearing a jacket made of
some fake orange suede with a bright orange fur collar. The
skirt of her flower-print dress shows hanging out. No pantyhose.
She climbs up the steps to the church door, her feet careful and
turned sideways in black spike heels.  What she hands me is warm
and damp.  It's her panties. And she smiles.  Inside the glass
doors, a woman pushes a mop around. Nico knocks on the glass,
then points at her wristwatch. The woman dunks the mop back in a
bucket. She lifts the mop and squeezes it. She leans the mop
handle near the doorway and then fishes a ring of keys out of
her smock pocket. While she's unlocking the door, the woman
shouts through the glass.  "You people are in Room 234 tonight,"
the woman says. "