“Speaking of which, where’s your bracelet?” Kit asked, brushing the dirt off her skin. She was still in her strapless bra and underwear, causing a few stray pedestrians to stop and peer into the front window of Café Rose.
“In my purse,” I said.
“Well, that’s the first thing you’re putting on. My costume is second.”
I gulped.
Angela turned me around and launched me back upstairs. When she announced to the rest of the girls that I would be taking Kit’s place in the Revue, I expected disappointment or impatience. After all, I would bring the quality of the choreography to a grinding halt. Instead they all clapped and whistled, and positioned me in a line, then helpfully and slowly modeled the first few steps of the routine. Kit, her back miraculously healed, became the ad hoc choreographer, snapping and counting in her bra and underwear. It was like the sleepover I had never been invited to, but with lingerie. When I messed up, no one scolded; they all laughed and made me feel like being an amateur would endear me to the crowd regardless of whether I would hinder their performance. Truth was, their generosity, genuine support and encouragement for this terrifying thing I was about to do brought tears to my eyes, which I was careful to stanch lest I smear my six layers of mascara Angela eventually applied. It took away some of the terror. Some.
Two hours later, one spent learning the group’s routine and the other spent with Angela helping me come up with my own, I was backstage at the Blue Nile as the crowd of mostly men streamed in and gathered around the tippy tables in front. Between bouts of practicing, and deeply panicking, I got help from one of the girls in applying the final touches, pressing on a fake mole, adjusting my stay-up fishnets. Finally, Angela stood before me, Kit’s burlesque outfit, white lace on black, draping from her fingers, the long pink ties trailing to the floor.
“Okay, babe. One leg, then the other,” she said, as she shimmied the tight suit over my thighs. “Turn around, I’ll lace you up.”
I turned, keeping one hand on my churning gut. I watched as the tighter Angela tied the ties, the higher my breasts swelled over the top of the scalloped bodice. That’s when Matilda ducked backstage, the sight of her taking the rest of the air out of my lungs. She smiled at Angela and threw open her arms.
“You’re a champ, Angela!” she said, leaning in to whisper to her, “I think you’re almost ready to guide. Leave us alone for a bit, my dear.”
Angela left, beaming. So she would be a S.E.C.R.E.T. guide soon. I wondered what that felt like.
“Cassie, look at you!” said Matilda.
“I feel like a sausage. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“Nonsense.” Matilda tugged me completely out of earshot of the other girls to give me some last-minute instructions.
“Tonight, you’ll have your pick, Cassie.”
“Pick of what?”
“Of men.”
“Which men?”
“Men from your fantasies. The ones you’ve thought the most about over this past year. The ones who’ve vexed you, and who’ve left you with lingering thoughts of them. Those men.”
“Who? Which ones? They’re here?” I almost yelled.
Matilda clapped a hand over my mouth. The cold dread pooling in my gut was quickly replaced by nausea.
She gave me a look. “Well, obviously you know who one of them is.”
“Pierre?”
My heart leapt at his name. Matilda nodded, a little too somberly, I thought.
“Who else?”
“Who else had you swooning?”
I flashed back to tattooed flesh, a white tank top lifted to expose a rippled stomach … the way he laid me across that metal table … I closed my eyes and swallowed.
“Jesse.”
I was sure I’d never see either of them again, hence my ability to behave with such abandon. Knowing they’d be in the audience, I was certain I’d freeze.
“But do Pierre and Jesse know about each other? And am I supposed to pick one of them and reject the other? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this, Matilda. In fact, I know I’m not. I can’t go through with this. I can’t.”
“Listen to me. They don’t know about each other. All they know is they’ve been invited to a legendary burlesque show along with the rest of the community. They have no idea you’re performing. And they won’t know it’s you onstage.”