Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“What is going on?” the bartender whispered at Eve as she picked up another round of espresso martinis.
“I have no clue,” Eve murmured, piling drinks onto her tray. “And I’m not questioning it either.”
“Do you have someone new performing?”
“Yeah, but . . .” Eve shook her head as another laughing group of college-aged students piled into the lounge. “Full Bush Rhonda didn’t mention having a following like this. She hasn’t performed since the nineties.”
The bartender did a double take. “Excuse me? Full Bush who?”
“You’ll see,” Eve said, weaving through the throngs of customers to drop off the martinis. She remained another twenty minutes to help the waitress fill orders, before ducking through the blue velvet curtain leading backstage. There, she found Rhonda sitting at one of the performer vanities, awash in a row of Hollywood-style lightbulbs, putting the finishing touches on a very dramatic cat eye. “Rhonda.”
“Yes?” drawled the older woman, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “What can I do for you, honey?”
Eve’s lips quirked at Rhonda’s smug tone. “These people are all here for you, aren’t they?”
She patted her hair. “Told you so.”
“Rhonda, none of these people were alive the last time you danced.”
“Bitch, you can’t let me have my moment?” Rhonda said on a burst of laughter, elbowing Eve in the hip playfully. “I’ve got nine grandkids, all college age or older, and they did their damn . . .” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Social media magic. You’re welcome.”
The rising hope in Eve’s chest was tentative, but . . . it felt good. She hadn’t experienced one of those feelings in a long time. “Are your grandkids here too?”
“Some of the girls, yes. It was a tougher sell to the boys, but they’re going to take me out for dinner tomorrow instead.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Rhonda hummed, distracted by a clump on her eyelash. “I’ve always danced for the ladies, anyhow. There’s always a face or two in the crowd that just transforms when they see how much I love my body, flaws and all. I like to think they go home and look in the mirror a little differently. With more gratitude for what they’ve got.”
“That’s beautiful,” Eve said, meaning it. Tucking it away for later, so she could reflect on it some more. For her, burlesque had always been about seductiveness. Teasing. The decadence of the slow reveal. But there was more to it. More to consider. “You’re on in half an hour. You ready?”
“Born ready!”
Eve scooted back through the curtain, bobbing and weaving to avoid getting clocked by stray elbows, returning to the bar with her tray at the ready, quickly kissing a newly arrived Elton on the cheek. “I could barely get a parking spot,” he shouted over the noise, taking off his black ball cap and tossing it on the bar as he took a seat. “Is it always like this?”
“No.”
Elton nodded with approval at the packed lounge. “Guess I’m in for a treat.”
Eve smiled. “You have no idea.” Checking the time on her watch, she was reminded that more than one event was taking place tonight. “Do you know the score of the Yankees game?”
“Are you serious? I get alerts in real time.” He winced. “They’re losing. Three to one. But it’s early.”
“Yeah. Is Madden happy there?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re his wife.”
She flipped him the bird. “I would. I will. It’s just . . .”
“You’re both the strong, emotionally stunted silent type?”
“You get more annoying with age, you know.”
He grinned, though it dipped slightly as he glanced back over his shoulder toward the door. “So is the rockabilly donut queen coming with her boyfriend, or what?”
Eve didn’t show a reaction, but she found it very interesting that Veda had spent a lot of time at iHop dropping sly inquiries about Elton and his romantic history, which Eve had been compelled to be honest about. Elton had always been the type to commit fast and hard. Too fast and hard. He wanted exactly what his parents had. An established place in the community, permanency, respectability, kids, square footage.
Considering Veda was still in her party phase and didn’t show any signs of slowing down, any mutual interest in each other could end . . . badly.
“Yeah, she’s coming. With the situationship and her sister.”
“Nice. Nice.” He popped his neck. “How old is she again?”
“The sister?”
“Uh. Veda.”
Oh brother. “Twenty-one. Too young for you.”
“I’m not interested,” he scoffed, leaning sideways to order a beer from the bartender. Then, “But out of curiosity, how is that too young? I just turned twenty-five.”
“She’s a different kind of young, Elt.”
“Right,” he said, brow furrowing. “Maybe the sister.”
“Maybe the sister.”
The door of the Gilded Garden opened and in walked a trio that could not be more mismatched. Veda was arm in arm with a boy who looked like a paid Grease extra, right down to his leather jacket, Elvis haircut, and the toothpick dangling from his mouth. Beside them was a real estate agent. Even if Eve hadn’t seen her face on half a dozen benches throughout Cumberland, she’d know this woman was into selling houses. She had on a blue blazer, pleated pants, and ballet flats. Her smile was bright and welcoming. Hair tastefully waved and spilling around her shoulders.