Page 6 of A Certain Appeal
“Don’t chuck heavy stuff at the band,” Jane clarifies, stopping the swivel of his chair to face Ming. “Their hands are busy.”
Ming cups her mouth. “Shit! Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. But you might want to apologize later.” I go through the items. “Gown, two gloves, robe, murder belt, bra. Everything’s accounted for.”
“Thank you, Kitten!”
I carry my load to the clothing rack on the far side of the room, arranging the gown and robe on a hanger before draping the remaining items on another.
Jane joins me. “You good?” He hands me my champagne flute. “You seemed preoccupied earlier.”
I take a sip of my drink. Guilt plucks at my insides, but I don’t want to tell Jane about the potential sale on the chance it goes south.He doesn’t rebound well from disappointment—unfortunate, given the audition-heavy nature of his work.
“Just distracted,” I say, which isn’t a lie, and wiggle my eyebrows. “There’s a dreamboat at table nine. We were making eyes for most of Ming’s set.”
“Oh?” Jane beckons toward the door with a cheeky smile. “I’d better have a look.”
We arrive in time to catch the end of the Twins’ routine. I try to point out the handsome one to Jane, but the latecomer’s position blocks my view. It’s just as well. The Twins haven’t perfected their aerial set, and their costume pieces are scattered across, behind, and away from the stage.
I’m struggling to count their items from afar when Jane lets out an appreciative, “Oh,my.” I smile, assuming he’s caught a glimpse of my quarry, but it’s the blond Jane’s spotted. “Isthatthe one you were talking about?” he whispers.
“No, he’s the friend. Super cute, though.” Jane has always had a thing for the Scandinavian types, and the strapping blond is giving off a distinct Valhalla vibe.
“Hmm...”
I do a double take. I know that tone. That’s Jane’s “I probably shouldn’t...but” tone. It’s the sound of an indulgence being weighed, the one I get when I suggest we spring for takeout or buy the “nice” toilet paper. But Jane doesn’t indulge where boys are concerned. It’s self-preservation for him, too, but more a life choice than my Meryton-specific policy.
“I’ll feel him out at the break, if you’d like,” I offer.
Jane bats his lashes, feigning innocence. “Well, you’ll already be out here...”
I give him a playful bump of my shoulder and we watch the girls wrap up. The descent’s been choreographed to display their coordinating tattoos: a juniper bush along Ginn’s right side, and a fever tree adorning Tonic’s left. The ink work provides more coverage than the pasties and G-strings they’ve stripped down to, their lithe dancer’s bodies a testament to the hours they spend on the silks.
If only they’d pay as much attention to their peels, I think, noting a bra between a pair of wineglasses on a two-top. The couple doesn’t seem to mind the intrusion, however, and when I pick up the bra on my way off the stage, the husband is composing a photo of the arrangement. He beckons for me to get into the frame, and my fishnet-clad legs make a clever backdrop.
At the stairs, I pause to listen to the first few verses of Jane’s performance of “Corvette.” It’s a guaranteed crowd pleaser, and while it doesn’t do his talent justice, he’s putting a little extra energy into it. I wonder if it’s for Mr. Valhalla. A quick glance to his table shows me the blond in profile—he’s smiling as he watches Jane, which is good, but his head is blocking my view of his friend again, which I don’t appreciate.
I tote the Twins’ items downstairs and slip on the garter belt with the little bag I use for change, then grab my tray of goodies. When I return to the main floor, I approach the naughty-themed bachelorette party. “Ladies, may I interest you in some pasties? Handmade by the incomparable Ming DyNasty.” I hold up a sampling of pasties, the sequined and rhinestoned disks used to conceal nipples, and then the tasseled versions, which allow for more creative feats of boobery.
All eyes fall on the bride-to-be. She chews her glossy lower lip,barely restraining a grin. I wait them out. When the energy nudges close to a go, I brandish my roll of fashion tape, twirling it around my index finger. “If the only thing holding you back is a lack of adhesive, I can tape them up for an extra two dollars a pair.”
The bride-to-be squeals, holding out her palm. “Gimme!”
I beam. “Any other takers?”
Inhibitions properly dashed by their leader, the remaining six women each shoot a hand into the air. I get a $5 commission per pair, so this is a good get, though if the other parties are equally enthusiastic, we might run out of pasties. I make a mental note to ask Ming about raiding her backup stash downstairs.
Bachelorette party number two isn’t as passionate about the goods as the first, pooling their cash for a pair of rhinestone pasties for their bride. I pose for pictures and check off several more boxes on my bingo card, includingHow do you even apply false eyelashes?and colorful commentary about Ming’s boob flexing.
Then I’m beside the pair of good-looking fellows. I’m a little apprehensive, given the ogling earlier, but I angle my tray to rest on the table. “Gentlemen! Can I interest you in any of my goods this evening?”
“What are you offering?” the blond asks with a flirtatious flair that tells me Jane is solidly in line with his preferences, and I, barring an experimental phase on his part, am not.
I cast them an apologetic glance. The sheer density of the dark-haired one’s eyelashes almost makes me falter. “Honestly, not a lot that might appeal to you. Though I’d be remiss not to mention tassels can work for men, too.”
The blond smiles. “Not tonight. It’s good to know, though.”
“I also have naughty playing cards.” I produce a hand of cardsfrom my tray, fanning them out with a flourish. “Fifty-four ladies—and gents—in varying stages of undress, including all of tonight’s performers, you lucky so-and-sos.”
