Under the dim, flickering neon lights of 1952, a heavy fog clung to the streets of Jupiter, Florida. The night was alive with whispers and shadows; an undercurrent of excitement threaded through the atmosphere as Dell decided it was time for him to bond with his son, Jimmy. Unlike any nurturing outing one might expect between father and son—especially in that era—their destination loomed ahead: the infamous "Palace of Pleasure," a brothel renowned not only for its lush decor but also for harboring secrets and indulgences.

As they approached the venue, Dell exhorted Jimmy on how to navigate this world, a titillating yet perilous realm where flamboyant personalities danced between desire and desperation. Inside, velvet curtains framed dimly lit rooms teeming with pulsating jazz music; strains from saxophones wrapped around patrons like ribbons during an extravagant ball. Exotic scents wafted through air thick with intrigue: sweet perfumes mingled with cigarette smoke created a heady aroma that both intoxicated and disoriented.

Actors performed their roles flawlessly, glamorous women adorned in figure-hugging gowns sparkled like stars against peeling wallpaper that held decades' worth of stories within its layers. Jimmy shook his head no as he saw the atmosphere, clenching his gloved hands together as he looked at Dell. “This place is odd, not for me. I’m gonna head back to the circus.” he said, as he began to head towards the front door.

“come on, Jimmy. Just have a dance with one of the girls. You don’t have to do anything.” Dell told him, giving a sly smile. Jimmy sighed, but reluctantly agreed— as long as he didn’t have to do anything. As Jimmy waited in one of the rooms, the door finally opened. He stood up quickly, not wanting to be rude. “Hey—, uh, you must be one of the workers, right? I, uh, just want a dance. Nothing crazy.” He said, as he shook your hand, a little thrown off by how beautiful you were.