Page 9 of A Certain Appeal
Jane cradles the microphone in one hand, the other resting on the green egg. The clapping tapers to quiet. After a beat of silence, he begins singing.
At first, it’s just Jane’s smoky voice as the spell is cast. The effect is gradual, building as he assures bird and sun and breeze that they know how he feels. By the time he croons the first “And I’m feeling good” of the song, I have chills. The band comes in, brass-heavy and seductive, and Jane saunters into the dining room. We girls match each leisurely step with one of our own, making our way to the main floor. We rest against the slim bars of the railing, slowly melting.
Ming holds a hand to her chest in an earnest swoon, and her head falls to my left shoulder. “The basement. Is.Flooded.”
I can’t even laugh. Chin propped on the crossbar, I send a dazed look over the audience. No one is immune to Jane’s siren song. Couples clutch hands and lean against one another, expressions pleasantly glazed. The two women who asked about my corset are straight-up making out with their dates, while the bachelorette party on the risers simply stares, inactive phone screens dimming one by one.
I get to Charles. His jaw hangs open, his frame slack, as though the back of his chair is the only thing keeping him upright. The man is gobsmacked and, I suspect, a few seconds shy of drooling.
I grin. Earplugs willdefinitelybe in order this evening.
And Darcy—
Is looking at me.
In the sway of Jane’s performance, the eye contact is electric. My lips part in a gasp, and his eyes drop to take in the movement, then lower, drifting along my form with an intention that feels like a promise. I grip the railing so hard my knuckles crack.
Jane sings the final “And I’m feeling good!” extending each word formaximum effect. As the words carry through the room, Darcy’s chest rises in a long, slow breath, the kind of intake that precedes sudden movement, and I know, as sure as I know my own name, he’s going to come to me.
This is happening...
Darcy’s hand pushes against his table, his chair moving as he shifts to stand. I rise from the railing—
Johnny clears his throat into the mic, and I crash back to earth so suddenly I have to cling to the rail for balance. My eyes dart back to Darcy. His gaze is low, eyes blinking rapidly as if he, too, is coming back to himself. He’s firmly in his seat, hand gripping the table.
Disappointment seizes my chest, and I sag against the railing.
It was the song. And it’s over.
With the rest of us waiting in the wings, Johnny closes the show with our roll call, summoning us from the stairwell one at a time once the thunderous applause for Jane dies down. I’m first, the band playing a light, brassy tune as I make my woozy way to the stage, quickly followed by Ginn, Tonic, and Ming. We crowd the tiny dais, where the six of us take our bows, and Ming initiates a conga line to guide us off.
I scan for Darcy as we pass through the audience, but the crush of the other performers blocks my view, and I’m steered down the stairs. At the landing, I recover my mental note about restocking the pastie tray for the second show. Ming pulls me into the coat check, the alcove unused in the warmer months, and we draw the heavy red drape shut to avoid any chatty guests.
I rest against the wall, still muddled by the influence of Jane’s song and... God, whatwasthat?
Whatever it was, a few more beats of that heat and my undies would haveignited.
I replay that deep breath from Darcy, his grip on the table. Hell, a few more seconds and—whatwouldhave happened? He was coiled like he was going to pounce.
My thighs clench.I could go for a pouncing.
“Heads up!” Ming stands on a chair, riffling through the stock she keeps in the corner. She tosses the little bags of pasties down to me. “So, what was the occasion for Nina? Jane feeling feisty?”
“Kind of.” I lurch to catch a pair of tassels and peek through the gap in the curtain at the guests queuing for the bathroom. “He spotted a cutie earlier and wanted to make an impression.”
“Oh?” Ming sounds unconvinced. When I look over, she has a hand on her hip, still standing on the chair in the corner. “That’s not very Jane.”
I shrug and return to the gap, hoping to spot a specific face. “Imayhave encouraged him.”
Ming chuckles. “Good for you, giving him a nudge. Our boy doesn’t recruit enough action here.”
Damn.No Darcy. I let the curtain fall shut. “You know Jane.”
She nods, eyes going distant. “It’s been, what? Three years since all that went down?”
“Three in July.” Like I could forget: the breakup was the catalyst for my move here. Jane was devastated when his fiancé left him, but in typical New York fashion, the practical took priority over the emotional. He needed to split his suddenly doubled rent with someone. I was reeling from my own crisis and jumped at the opportunity to move cross-country and start fresh.
I’d only met Jane twice before then, through my cousin in LA. But when I lugged my few boxes into the apartment, I was stunned at the change. He drifted around like a ghost for months, and it took him the better part of a year to get back to the brilliant creature he is. Even now, he’s reluctant to plunge into the dating pool. He’s dabbled in hookups and casual dates but hasn’t gotten excited over anyone since his ex. Wielding Nina tonight is a huge step for him, even if Charles doesn’t bite.
