Page 33 of A Certain Appeal
I laugh. “Trust?What does trust have to do with it?”
“There’s just a veneer of artifice about the whole thing.”
I arch a brow. “Have we just circled back to the idea of this being a show?”
“It feels... manipulative.”
I watch him, my skin creeping with unease. In my years in the scene, I haven’t heard anyone refer to what we do asmanipulative.Cheap? Sure. And a whole table of women once accused me of debasing myself; curious, given that they’d chosen to spend their evening in an establishment specializing in said supposed debasement.
Butmanipulative?
I drum my fingers on the bar, then point at him. “What was the last play you saw?”
He clears his throat. “How is that—”
“What was the last play you saw?”
“The Lion King.”
“The—really?”
His brows twitch down. I regret not tempering my response but,really? “It’s a stunning production,” he says stiffly.
I nod in a way I hope is diplomatic. “Agreed. ‘Circle of Life’ gets me every time. But”—I raise a finger—“when you saw it, were you upset that there weren’t actual lions onstage? That the play is all actors,pretendingto be animals?”
“That would hardly—”
I gesture to the stage. “How is this different?”
“Watching a woman take off her clothes is a far cry from watching a man in face paint pretend to be grass.”
I laugh. “Be careful saying something like that in this crowd. Somany New York creatives in one room, there’s bound to be a few who’dkillto play grass.”
Another half smile.
“Is it the nudity, then?” I ask. “Is that what makes it manipulative?”
The half smile vanishes. A furrow develops between his brows. “It’s so...”
“Intimate?” I offer, choosing a word he used that night at Meryton. I liked that bit... before all the talk of a certain lack of temptation.
“Something like that. Have you done it? The... stripping.” He gets the word out so quickly this time, he practically trips over it.
“A few times. Student showcases after the intro course at the School of Burlesque.”
“And you had no hesitations?”
“It’s all about context,” I say. “For me, onstage, the context was, ‘This is where I take off my clothes for appreciative strangers.’ At Meryton, it’s, ‘This is where I mince about in very little and hustle pasties.’ ”
“Ah. Does it bother people?”
The question is posed innocently enough, but a warning bell sounds in my head all the same. I know what he’s getting at. This time, however, he’s going to have to do the heavy lifting himself.
I cock my head, feigning confusion. “What people? My parents?”
“No, I—” Darcy’s eyes widen. “Yourparentshave been to Meryton?”
“A few times. They love it. Well, their first time visiting, my dad was put out that his shrimp was overcooked. But he’ll play poker with the guys, and I swear, Ming calls my mom more often than I do.They’re like this.” I cross the middle and index fingers of my right hand. “They came out here for Christmas last year, and we all did dinner together at the club. Mom and I cooked,” I add, smiling in earnest. “Andrea was such a fan of our mashed potatoes, Meryton uses our family recipe now.”
