Black Burlesque Page 5

  I’m alone.

  Wednesday morning begins with Adele’s Skyfall on full blast. I sit at my small register with a freshly sharpened pencil and a pad of paper and begin writing things down, things I want to add and change in the shop, and eventually a list of things I would like to add and change in my life, too. I lose sense of time and place as my pencil scribbles across the paper. I feel inspired this morning, and need to get the thoughts out of my mind and onto paper. That’s one step closer to putting these thoughts and ideas into action, even if it is just to write them down.

  I hear the distinct scraping sound of books being moved around and I realize I have a costumer. I didn’t even hear anyone come in. Putting my pencil and pad of paper down, I get up and walk in the direction of the sound.

  “Hi, what can I…help...you...with?” My smile fades, my voice drifts and my heart drums a loud, chaotic, familiar beat. Blue eyes look up at me from a faded copy of the Personal Poems of John Greenleaf Whittier.

  “‘From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds...’” he says slowly, his voice incredibly lush and deep. His eyes hold my gaze. I am so completely stunned to see him that I forget to look away. For three excruciating seconds that is. He looks more beautiful today than ever.

  He has a sly sexy smile playing on his lips. When he smiles like that, it showcases all of his best features.

  Swoon.

  “I was standing at the door watching you write for quite some time. Do you enjoy writing?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. How does he do that? Making me a babbling fool one moment and then render me speechless the next?

  “You looked very…content,” he adds with an amused smile on his lips, those beautiful, full, pink, soft lips.

  “I, um...” Okay, get ahold of yourself. I shake my head and snap out of my reverie. “Yes. I do. I’m terrible at it. But I do like to write.”

  He closes the book and places it back onto the shelf. He does it slowly, and carefully, without taking his eyes off my face. His every move is deliberate and patient. This is the longest I’ve been able to hold his gaze. I, of course, break first and look down.

  I turn and walk away, attempting to appear casual and unaffected. I try to organize the shelf next to us, but I nearly drop an antique picture frame that’s for sale. Clumsy ass. I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  “So, anything I can help you with?” I say, sinking into my professional persona. I hope he’s convinced.

  “No. I was just checking things out,” he counters in his alluring voice. I glance back in his direction and his eyes sparkle with mirth. Does he mean he is checking me out? No…I doubt it.

  I begin slowly walking back toward my register, suddenly thankful that I made more of effort with my appearance today. I’m in my best high waist jeans and wedges. I’m wearing bright red lipstick, which pops against the neutral camel color of my sweater. I can feel his eyes studying me. A loose tendril of rebellious wavy hair falls over my eye. I bite my lip.

  Think of something, Lenore!

  “Oh...would you like some coffee, Vincent?”

  Ooh! It feels good to say my stranger’s name out loud.

  I keep one hand on my desk to steady myself. I hear his sharp intake of breath as I slowly peer up at him. His eyes suddenly appear darker. Filled with some unnamed emotion.

  “No. Thank you, Lenore,” he says, taking care to enunciate every word, and every syllable. His tongue grazes his top lip as he says my name. Lustful thoughts fill my mind as I stare at his mouth, the memory of his tongue as it gently stroked his top lip, the sound of my name materializing from his throat.

  He strides over to me, and for a moment, I actually think he’s going to take me in his arms and kiss me. I close my eyes, and brace myself. But when I open them again, he’s simply sweeping the hair off my face. I look at him, feeling my temperature rise by several hundred degrees. He’s so tantalizingly close. I swallow nervously.

  We stand in silence for a moment, with him looking at me, and me unable to hold his gaze. I probably look like a frightened animal. He slides his glasses off and tucks them into his blazer pocket. He looks even more handsome without them, which I would have thought impossible. He is the most beautiful man ever.

  I have to look away, I need to sit down; my legs feel weak. I have no idea what else to do. It feels strange having him in my space. He takes up the air in the room, fills every single inch and corner of my shop with his presence.

  As I sink into my seat, I quietly add, “Let me know if there is anything you need.” I carefully, and unintentionally, place emphasis on the word anything. I don’t know why, but I sound more risqué than intended. He takes his bottom lip in between his teeth and resumes looking at me through heated, searing hot blue eyes. My body is answering in this way, this strange way I’ve never felt. I reach my desk chair and feel as though I am on safe ground again.

  I look back at him, feeling more confident, and hold his unrelenting gaze.

  “Actually, Lenore. There is something.”

  Oh, God. His voice is so seductive and sumptuous. I can only stare and wait for him to elaborate.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner. This Friday; 9 o’clock, are you available?”

  I feel my stomach do a somersault, I feel as though I am free falling.

  Holy shit! Like a date?

  His eyes dance with amusement. I realize my mouth is hanging open.

  “Um…Friday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Out…to dinner?” I breathe. I’m aware that I’m repeating him like an idiot.

  “Yes,” he almost laughs.

  “Likea date?” My voice is wavering.

  He grins, “Yes. I’d really like to take you on a date.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I bite back a smile.

  His body relaxes as he strides self-assuredly toward the door. He is wearing fitted black slacks and I can see just a bit of his royal blue socks peeking out with each step he takes. I love that. It’s so bold. And his black oxfords look freshly shined. Why must he always look so perfectly put together? I need to step my game up.

  As he reaches the door, he turns to me, “Thank you. I’ll see you then. I better go. I’m meeting a realtor at Starbucks in five minutes. Uptown is starting to grow on me,” he says with an arched brow and a sexy grin. I flush bright red in response to his gorgeous mouth aiming a smile right at me. And then his words register in my mind. What?

  “Have a lovely day, Lenore,” he whispers gently. He’s out the door before I get the opportunity to ask him anything. I sit, staring at the door for minutes, or is it seconds? Was he really here? Perhaps I imagined him. I inhale deeply. No, he was here. I can smell him in the air. He’s left behind his delicious scent and delectable energy.

  Fuck.

  I get up, and walk ever so slowly to the small poetry section in the back corner of my shop. I run my fingers over the shelves and the books he touched. I find the one he was holding, take it off of the shelf, and hold it against my chest. I close my eyes and absorb the warmth he transferred to the book. It’s as though I can still feel him. What has gotten into me? What the fuck am I doing?

  I shake my head, and look at the book again. Is he really thinking of moving to Uptown? Oh, damn. My city will never be the same again if he does. I fan the pages of the book in my hand before placing it back onto the shelf. His scent reaches my nose and I breathe him in. He is intoxicating. I’m sure he has this effect on everyone he encounters.

  I open it up to the page he was reading from and piece of paper slides out, and hits the floor.

  Again, it is the same ivory stationary. The paper feels luxurious. It must be hand made. I open it up and find another note written by hand.

  “How Strange to Dream of You Even When I’m Wide Awake...”

  -David Jones

  V.J.R.

  I’m certain my heart has stopped beating. I stare at the note. Is it
really possible that this is from him? V.J.R. Well, I know his name is Vincent. I don’t know about the rest, but those are the same initials that were signed on my first note. Did he mean for me to find this? He must have. I’m...touched by the quote, and I-I’m not sure what else I’m feeling.

  My insides clench and my body begins to tingle all over. Oh, fuck. And I can’t even work up the courage to have a proper conversation with him. And we have a date this Friday! I’ve never been on a date.

  I’m afraid that I will humiliate myself, and I am afraid that, I don’t know...that I will feel inadequate and unprepared like I did after our walk.

  I need to do this. I need him to see the side of me that isn’t a walking zombie stealing glances in his direction and thinking perverse thoughts I’ll never act on. I need to redeem myself. So that at least, if he never speaks to me again, I will know that it wasn’t because I was behaving like a dorky teenage boy with a crush way out of his league.

  I spend the rest of my day in a trance. I nearly sew my finger to a 1950’s prom dress that I am supposed to be revamping when Jordan comes barging through my shop doors at closing time.

  “Hi! Ready to go?”

  Oh, shit! I totally forgot about practice with Kazumi today. I have been so wrapped up in my anxiety about dinner with my stranger. I exhale and sag my shoulders.

  Jordan raises his eyebrows, and I throw my shoulders back and pick my head up high.

  “Yes!” I say loudly. This is my exaggerated faux confidence. He laughs.

  “That’s better. Go get dressed. I’ll close up down here. We can go out through the back.” I roll my eyes at him when I know he isn’t looking, and go upstairs to get ready.

  I quickly change into a black leotard and black leggings, and grab a cardigan and grumble my way downstairs. Jordan drives me to the studio. I don’t think he and Kazumi trust me to make it on my own, like I’ll make a run for it, which I might.

  I enter the studio with an underlying current of nervousness, just like the first time I walked through these doors. It has been a while since I’ve felt nervous here. I don’t like it. This is normally where I come for peace and tranquility.

  Kazumi has the lights dimmed low and Ken Booth playing softly. My favorite! She is obviously trying to set the mood. She smiles excitedly as we enter, her eyes glimmering amiably.

  Jordan takes a seat and I lace up my ballet slippers. Kazumi looks at me quizzically.

  “We usually wear heals, Lenore.”

  Oh, yeah. Duh. Fuck up number one.

  “I didn’t bring any,” I mumble apologetically.

  “That’s ok. If that’s what you’re comfortable in, then that’s fine. Let’s warm up.” I love how she cuts to the chase when it comes to dance. She’s all business.

  We settle in comfortably and warm up just as we do for ballet. Going through various positions and stretches. We use the barre, too. Then she turns the music up a bit. Old Fashioned Way caresses my soul. She knows this. Whatever she is doing to get me in the mood, is working. My shoulders begin to move as I feel the music. She smiles at me kindly, and puts it on repeat.

  The atmosphere of the studio, the calm Kazumi brings, the music and my thoughts of Vincent possess me. My body moves perfectly. Rolling my hips. Dipping. Shimmyingit’s all coming out of me with easy, poised grace.

  “Ok, now pay close attention,” she says, suddenly growing serious. And I do. I pay close attention. Following her moves is easy. I feel very sexy. With the lights dim, the mirrors reflecting Kazumi and me, our bodies move provocatively. I really do look seductive, which is something I’ve never aspired to, but I feel differently about that tonight.

  Ihave a pretty face, and figurethis I know, but I have always tried my best not to attract attention to myself. With burlesque, it’s just the opposite. You attract attention with the way you move your eyes, the expression on your face, not to mention the way you move your body and the barely-there clothing. It’s all very come hither. You have to own it. There is no room for doubt or for feeling self-conscious. This will be the big challenge for me.

  Kazumi brings out two large white feathered fans, and shows me how to move them, how to move behind them, how to show the right amount of my body. She shows me how to tease. It’s an art form, really. It’s a craft that I will have to learn. It feels good. It feels natural. And you know what? It doesn’t feel cheap or embarrassing like I thought it would. I’m having fun before I know it.

  “Don’t we need to listen to what is normally played at the club, Kazumi?” I ask after we’ve worked up a bit of a sweat.

  “Not right now. We’ll get to it. For now I want you relaxed and in your element,” she takes a deep breath. “You’re doing really well, Lenore. You do realize you’ve been doing everything on pointe right?”

  I glance down at my ballet slippers. “No, I didn’t realize. Sorry, Kazumi.” I really hadn’t noticed.

  Fuck up number two.

  “Don’t apologize. It looks really good. It works. That can be your thing,” she says smiling. “There are few burlesque performers who can pull that off, you look like a pro.” She looks so proud it makes me blush.

  “Really? I guess I should have done some research. I had no idea. It does feel more comfortable, and safer for me in these.” I smile down at my ballet slippers.

  We wrap it up, and she explains that of the eight girls, there are really only three who put on a solo show. I, along with the other four, will be there in the background to compliment the main girls. We’ll all work together, in a way, but mostly to showcase and aid the main three.

  For one dance, we cover them with our large feathered fans as they strip down into more skimpy outfits. Or we help them with their props, things like that. This comforts me. Though I am still more than a bit nervous.

  We have a few minutes to kill so Kazumi leads us to her office. Jordan follows. He’s quiet, but I can see he is beaming. I can’t help but smile back at him. His smile broadens and he grips my hand tightly as we enter the office.

  Kazumi brings her computer to life and shows me some videos of her group’s performances at The Speak Easy. It’s a beautiful show, and she reassures me that there is no need for me to do any private shows in the VIP rooms after the stage sets are over. The other girls are comfortable doing it and it isn’t mandatory. Especially since I am only doing this temporarily. I sag with relief. The focus really is mostly on the three main girls.

  “Thank you, Kazumi. I’m so relieved. I was worried about that,” I sigh.

  “No pressure, Lenore. I’m going to take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. I think you’re ready to perform Friday.”

  Shit! Friday? I can’t tell them I have a date. They’ll interrogate me, and then I’ll feel foolish when they ask how it went, and I have to tell them I ruined it. And damn...does this mean I’ll have to cancel my date with Vincent?

  “Kazumi, I haven’t even practiced with the girls yet!” I squeak.

  “Lenore, you’re going to be fine. Think of Friday’s performance as another practice.”

  “I’m taking a date for your break-out performance,” Jordan interjects, cutting off whatever other argument I was hoping to make.

  Kazumi, seemingly oblivious, changes up the music in preparation for The Mercuries arrival. She spoke with the manager of The Speak Easy, and they are giving The Mercuries a shot at a Monday night gig after all. That will commence in a couple of weeks. I was really hoping that would be my first performance. I was hoping to have more time; I thought I’d practice with the girls for a couple of weeks! Why? Why do I have to perform Friday? It’s my first date...now I’ll have to cancel.

  We walk out of the office just as a few of the girls are walking in. They are all gorgeous. I shrink as they saunter in. Kazumi rattles off their names to me.

  “And this is Cat, she is the one you will be replacing, temporarily,” she adds kindly.

  Cat extends her hand to me. She has a short black bob, and Bett
y Page style bangs that compliment her pretty face. She smiles at me, and shows me the ring on her finger. She is beaming. I warm up to her quickly. She tells me all about her plans for her wedding and honeymoon in a matter of minutes.

  “I think he’s planning on surprising me. He keeps saying we are going to Hawaii for our honeymoon, but that’s so generic don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for my reply. “He knows I really want to go to Spain.”

  I return her kind smile and before I know it, Kazumi has us all called to attention.

  They discuss me replacing Cat, and then the matter of performing Friday evening. She is so serious and commanding. It’s impressive. These girls clearly respect her. The girls seem genuinely excited to meet me, they seem nice enough, but I’m still wary.

  I quickly learn her three main girls are Ginger, the busty redhead, Alison, the petite and beautiful brunette, and Jill, a curvaceous, exotic beauty with black, shiny, dark long hair. She has hazel eyes, with a wicked gleam. She is the favorite of the bunch. She looks intimidating, but is kind and playful. Of all the girls, she radiates the most sex appeal. I think I remember Kazumi telling me she has a law degree from Yale. She performs at The Speak Easy, purely for fun.

  The girls and me go through the week’s performances in a matter of two hours. They all work together in perfect harmony. A harmony I hope not to disrupt. I pray I can keep up with them Friday. I don’t want to be the pale awkward girl, lost in the corner. As it is, looking at them, and my reflection in the mirror, I do not see how I fit into this equation.

  Cat works with me on the side for the last hour of practice, offering me tips, and making sure I know my cues. She’s a kind and patient teacher, much like Kazumi, though she is much more talkative.