Page 32 of A Certain Appeal
The rest of the band joins in, trumpet and drums and bass and sax meeting Jane’s exuberance with each note. He returns to the mic; there’s no question that every word that follows is meant for Charles.My vision swims with tears. When did this happen? It’s been less than two weeks. I look from Jane to Charles and back again. There’s just enough light from the stage to illuminate Charles’s smile, and Jane—
Jane drops to his knees. I gasp, thinking of Monday’s accident, but he keeps singing, radiating bliss and pointing at Charles with every “you.” He belts out the last five words of the song, and Charles tosses the bouquet just as Jane’s voice tapers. By some miracle, Jane catches the flowers in his free hand. The curtain drops, concealing the stage at the exact moment the music ends, and the audience erupts in cheers.
My seat gives me a clear shot to the stairs, and I charge backstage as the applause roars on. The guys in the band carry on almost as loudly as the crowd on the opposite side of the curtain, high-fiving and congratulating Jane on his performance. Jane is still on his knees, panting, and I rush to him for a hug.
“Jane, that was fantastic! How are you? Your head okay?” I ask. His heartbeat is racing.
“I don’t know what happened,” he says, gasping. “It’s like... Ifeltthe song.”
“You’re really taking that bravery thing seriously, aren’t you?”
He fans himself, cradling the roses in the crook of one arm. For a moment, he admires the bouquet, smiling. But the smile fades. I meet his eyes, and he worries his bottom lip. “Seeing him out there, after Monday and the past few days, Ihadto show him how I feel, Ben.” Jane’s eyes are wide. “Do you think he got it? What I was trying to say?”
I laugh. “From where I was sitting? I’d say loud and clear.”
Johnny announces intermission and the house lights come up, filtering through the curtain to wash the stage in a soft red glow. Jane and Imove to the stairs to find most of the audience filing toward the bar. The flow of bodies has created a blockade on the far side of the room, stranding Ming and Charles, who wave to us excitedly.
“Should we cross the stage to get to them?” asks Jane. “Oh! I didn’t know Darcy was coming with Charles.”
“What?”
Jane points to the increasingly crowded bar, where Darcy stands beside Ginn and Tonic. Beside, to be sure; the Twins are huddled with their backs to Darcy, making his exclusion clear.
“Meet you over there?” Jane suggests, already starting across the stage. “I’ll get Ming and Charles and we’ll make our way to you guys.”
I nod, still puzzling through Darcy’s unexpected attendance as I head toward the semi-trio. While I can’t fathom why he’d make the trip out here, I can’t help but wonder when he arrived.Did he see the peel?
Tonic catches my eye and elbows Ginn. They wave, the movement as synchronized as when they’re performing. Behind them, Darcy gives me the kind of strained nod generally reserved for hostage victims trying to signal distress without alerting their captor. He’s back to the more formal look he wore at Meryton: a trim-cut suit, though no tie, his shirt open at the collar.
Ginn beams at me. “Kitten! That peel was hot.” She has her arms outstretched like she wants to hug, then claps her hands to my upper arms. “Tag.” She releases me. “You’re it.”
“What?”
She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “Tall Guy is friends with Jane’s boo, but he doesn’t speak and it’s creeping us out. He’s all yours.” She takes Tonic’s hand, and the two stride away.
I turn to Darcy with an apologetic grimace.
“I take no offense,” he says. “Small talk with new people has never been my strong suit.”
“Ah,” I say thoughtfully, though his admission makes me smile. I rest my elbow on the bar and lean in like I’m going to share a secret. To my surprise, Darcy lowers his face closer, and I pick up the faintest trace of his body heat.
“I can relate. I’mnota good dancer. It’s part of why I kitten.” I tip my head. “Though I’ve always figured it’s my own fault—because I don’t take the time to practice.”
This gets me a smirk and a tease of the fullness a proper smile would give his lower lip. “Perhaps I’ll fare better now that I have a more compelling partner.”
I clap my hands. “That could almost be a compliment. You should fit those into conversation if you ever get stuck. People love compliments.” He flashes a quick smile and my curiosity wins out. “When did you get here?” The question’s a more subtle version of the“Did you see me perform?”I’m hoping to have answered.
“I missed some of the beginning. I—” He frowns. “I’m sorry, you’ve mentioned that before, that not being able to dance is part of why you kitten. Is the other part the...”
I get a little flutter that he’s interested enough to ask after something so personal, but I leave him hanging on principle. He’sata burlesque show; he should be able to name the main activity.
After a few seconds, his mouth goes tight, and I offer, “Stripping?”
He winces at the word but nods. “It’s all an act.”
I wait a beat, wondering if this is that same deadpan humor as Monday, but his brow stays furrowed. “Literally, yes, Darcy. This is a show. That you paid to attend,” I remind him. “Where the performers make a production of removing clothing.”
He looks around the room with narrowed eyes. “I don’t trust it.”
