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It had been quite awhile since the prince went to a nightclub. It all seemed very new to him…the sights, the sounds, the people…he felt as if he were a tourist. Nonetheless, he had never felt more relaxed. Ever since his rise to fame, he had not had a single moment wherein people left him alone. Here, they were all too busy entertaining themselves. He settled himself on a table a few feet away from the performers onstage. The African-American musicians were playing the Manhattan Serenade. Some couples danced to the music. Waiters moved in and about tables and cubicles. As his eyes took in the scene unfolding before him, he noticed a couple on the next table.

"What’s it gonna be, my sheik? Cash or check?" the blonde flapper asked.

"I’d take cash all the time," answered the dark-haired man. Vegeta watched in awe and disgust as the couple kissed…kissing as if there was no tomorrow. Almost immediately, a young black waiter tapped the man on his shoulder.

"Sorry, mac. Bank’s closed. You’re gonna hafta do your thing somewhere else," he stated firmly.

"This is none of your beeswax! Now, go chase yourself! People do this in other nightclubs all the time!" the man flicked his hand as if shooing the waiter away, his scarred face distorted from anger.

"Not in this nightclub, sir. I’m afraid I may hafta ask you to leave," the waiter held his ground. Suddenly, the man stood up and pulled the young waiter by the collar, almost lifting him up from the ground.

"So now you think you blacks are better than us?" he spat, pounding the word ‘black’ as if it were profanity. "Listen you little sap! Just ‘coz you and your wretched kind invented jazz, that don’t mean you can strut around like you own America!"

Silence fell around the club as all heads turned to see the brawl happening before them. Even the musicians had stopped playing. The few whites that had been the noisiest just moments ago sank down their seats while others pretended to hear nothing.

"Let him go, Yamcha!" the woman cried.

"I ain’t a lettin’ this little rag-a-muffin get away with disturbin’ us!" Yamcha shouted as the waiter trembled in fear. Vegeta started to stand up but then, a group of muscle-bound black men came and took the troublemaker out of the building, his woman following close behind. A wave of murmurs washed over the sea of mixed races. The waiter ran his hand around his neck, his eyes wide as if he had just survived the greatest ordeal of his life.

"Everyone, please," a tall, bald black man called from the stage. "We are sorry for the disturbance. Let’s not let it spoil night," he waved his hand and the band began playing once more. Vegeta watched as that same man made his way to the distraught young waiter and put his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder.

"You okay, Richard?"

"Yes, boss."

"Can’t believe he had the nerve to…and of all places."

"He was ossified, boss," the waiter presented a small flask. "Found this in his pocket. T’was full of moonshine."

"What!? This place ain’t a speakeasy!"

"Seems that man carries his own can of booze."

"Well get rid of it! We can’t let the Feds see that! They’ll never believe a black man’s words!"

"Right away, boss."

Vegeta eased back into his seat. After a few minutes, everything went back to how it was. The whites that had fell silent during the brawl had once again started chattering away. People huddled to the dance floor, swinging to the music of the Manhattan Serenade. The smell of burning tobacco invaded the prince’s nose, giving him the urge for some.

"Waiter, gimme a ciggy" he called.

"Here, sir," a waiter gave Vegeta a cigarette and lit it for him. When he left, the boxer opened the menu. He figured he might as well have something to eat, since there wasn’t much he could do to amuse himself. His clean-cut good looks could easily snag a woman, but most of them are gold diggers. On more than one occasion, he had woken up with a hundred dollars or so missing from his wallet. He hadn’t thought much of women in awhile and refused to have anything more to do with them other than for his own satisfaction. However, it had been a long time since he last spent time with one...and he had no intention to do so in the next couple of hours. He’d eat, listen to some music and then go back to the Ritz.

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The music finally died down as the song finished. Vegeta had just finished his roast beef as well. The couples that were dancing stopped to applaud the band, the audience doing the same. The saxophone player approached the microphone and tapped it.

"Thank you, everyone. We’re glad you enjoyed that," he smiled broadly at the crowd. "And now, we have a special performance to complete the night. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Miss Bulma Briefs!"

A chorus of clapping hands rippled across the tables as the lights dimmed down, leaving the stage the only lighted area in the club. Spotlights were aimed at the curtains as it was drawn up, slowly revealing the woman behind it. Pale, shapely legs were the first to come in view.

"Look at ‘em tasty gams!"

"Whopeee! Bring home the bacon!"

Vegeta could hear the hollering, whistling and clapping grow louder and louder all around him. He was quite curious himself, since he had expected the performer to be black. When the entire curtain had finally been drawn up, the crowd went wild. Standing on the stage, was a very attractive woman with all the curves at the right place. Bulma wore light make-up on her creamy white face: a bit of rouge on the cheeks, a tinge of eye shadow and mascara, as well as hot red lipstick to emphasize her heart-shaped lips. Her forest green hair reached just below her ears, as was the famous style of the decade. A pair of diamond earrings dangled from her lobes to match her sparkling sleeveless dress, with its neckline dropping provocatively, revealing part of her cleavage. The lower portion of her dress was cut in sparkling strips, barely obscuring her flawless thighs. Long strings of pearls adorned her neck and wrists. Her white high-heeled shoes formed the shape of her dainty little feet. She smiled, beaming a row of perfectly white teeth at the audience. In small, measured steps, she walked up to the microphone, her blue eyes shining under the glare of lights all around her. Vegeta shifted in his seat as he lit another cigarette.

"Not bad," he thought to himself. "I might enjoy this."

"Good evening," Bulma greeted, making the prince look up at her as if hearing her voice had sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. "Tonight, I shall be singing for you a song popularized in the late 1910s entitled ‘You Made Me Love You’. I hope you’ll enjoy listening, dancing, and reliving the memories of the past decade as much as I enjoy singing."

The applause immediately faded on the first note of the piano. And the song began…

The applause that had gone suddenly rushed forth once again. More and more people gathered to the dance floor.

A cigarette fell silently on the marble floor…Vegeta’s cigarette. He hadn’t noticed that nothing was dangling from his lips now. He just sat there mesmerized by the apparition before him. He was caught off guard. Just moments ago, he was snared by her beauty…and now, her voice had taken his breath away.

Bulma dragged the microphone stand along with her as she walked slowly to the right of the stage, the spotlight following her where she went.

She cat walked to the opposite side, the sparkled strips of her skirt flying away with her every step, her legs made visible for a few moments, making the men holler and whistle even more. She was now a mere few feet from where Vegeta sat. The green-haired flapper looked at the direction of the boxer, smiling at the way this handsome bachelor was staring at her. She had that effect on men. She decided to flirt a bit, to make for a more dramatic performance. Pursing her lips and holding out her hand as if reaching for him, she continued to sing.

You know you made me love you!"

Vegeta’s eyes widened at this display. He pulled on his collar as if helping the huge lump in his throat sink down to his stomach. He began fidgeting uneasily in his seat as he watched Bulma sing. The performer continued preening and prancing on the stage but she always found herself looking back at the gentleman she had flirted with. He had that look of arrogance and sophistication about him, which pretty much attracted and challenged her as well. His thick brows twitched above his ebony eyes that were now narrowed into slits. His thick black hair flared up from behind him, slick yet clean looking. His nose and chin were perfectly shaped to go with his strong, masculine face. When Bulma examined him more closely, she realized why she saw sophistication in him. His expertly tailored black, striped suit, his red silk tie, his clean white gloves and gold cuff links all told of the incredible wealth that must be behind him.

"A rich guy, huh? This should be interesting…" Bulma stepped down from the stage, still dragging the microphone stand with her. The men cheered wildly with each small step she took while some women looked jealously at her.

Much to Vegeta’s surprise, Bulma was making her way towards his table, flashing that brilliant smile and batting her long lashes.

The mic in one hand, she reached for the boxer’s tie and pulled his face close to hers. The shouting and hollering of the crowd was deafening, yet Bulma’s sweet but sensuous voice could be heard throughout the club.

"Wait a minute…" Bulma’s eyes widened as a realization occurred to her. She stood up straight and immediately let go of Vegeta’s tie, like a child who had been caught stealing candy. 

She did a quick scan at the sea of unfamiliar faces around her as she made her way to the center of the aisle, eager to finish her song.

You know you made me love you!"

And with that final high note, the whole club exploded into a series of applause and whistles. Bulma walked back on the stage and did a bow, waving kisses and beaming at everyone…but it was a false smile. Anxiety was in her brilliantly blue eyes as she glanced over the audience. Finally she let out a sigh…both out of relief and disappointment. The lights on the stage dimmed, the spotlight fading along with it. The whole building was covered in a blanket of darkness for a moment, yet the applause didn’t lose its glow. When the lights were finally brought back on, the performer was gone.

* * * * * *

Author’s notes: Ha! See? Told ya Bulma would eventually come. Obviously, that’s one of the contest rules. Can’t write a fic that’s ‘bout Veggie only. Hope I hooked you there. Kinda catchy end to the chapter eh? Hope it is. Hehe…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Slang Guide*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Booze = liquor/Hooch
Bank’s closed = No kissing or making out
Beeswax = business
Brawl = a noisy quarrel or fight
Cash = a kiss
Cash or check? = Do we kiss now or later?
Check = Kiss me later
Ciggy = cigarette
Flapper = A stylish, brash, hedonistic young woman of the 1920’s with short skirts and shorter hair
Feds = Federal Prohibition Officer
Gams = woman’s legs
Giggle Water = alcohol/Booze
Go chase yourself = get lost
Gold Diggers = a woman who pursues a man for money
Hooch = bootleg liquor/Booze
Moonshine = homemade whiskey
Ossified = drunk
Rag-a-muffin = dirty or disheveled individual
Sap = a fool/idiot
Sheik = One’s boyfriend esp. one with sex appeal
Speakeasy = a bar selling illegal liquor
Tasty = appealing

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Little Facts*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

*In the 1920s, liquor was banned in the US due to the Volstead Act.