Page 2 of Eye Candy

Like getting handouts from your younger brother wasn’t embarrassing enough.

I made listening noises as Mike told me about the meeting, and guilt ate me from the inside. I should be sending money home, not the other way around.

Maybe I could convince the Dragonfly to give me a second chance? This place wasn’t everything I’d ever dreamed of, but they paid their regulars well and had a reputation for being good employers.

Mike and I hung up, and when the club booker knocked at the door, I’d scrubbed the glitter off my thighs and was hopping around the room with one lash on, trying to jam a fluffy slide on my foot.

“It’s not going to work out. Sorry Kiwi,” Sal said.

Oh shhh… Sophia Loren.

“Five p.m. on a Thursday is a really hard slot, Sal.” I used my slide to quickly brush away a tear. “Maybe you could give me a nine? Or later?”

Sal was the walking epitome of the kind of alt-chic the Dragonfly Den catered to. The gray-haired white rocker wore an open leather waistcoat over a T-shirt for a band I’d never heard of, and the sides of his pompadour were shaved to show the red roses tattooed on his head.

Sal was shaking his head. “Sorry, Kiwi. Our performers have to be edgy. Fresh. Your uptown schtick is too tame here.”

Privately, I agreed with him, but uptown wouldn’t hire me either.

Smiling as sunnily as I could, I said, “Thanks anyway.” When in doubt, give ’em the Summer Smile. “Let me know if anything opens up.”

“Unlikely,” Sal said, not unkindly, but the words still hurt.

I nodded, my one surviving lash swinging from my lid, clinging as tenaciously to my lash line as I had to my dreams. I would have to go back to my tiny studio apartment and tell my roommate that nothing was wrong and rent wasn’t going to be a problem. Somehow, I would pull this month’s check out of my exquisite ass. I always did.

“I know you said you didn’t do privates,” Sal continued, “but Gerard, the guy who owns this place is out front. He wants to talk to you.”

Getting propositioned was bad enough, but getting propositioned by a club owner treating his venues like a dating service made me want to maim someone (him) with my curling wand.

I repeated firmly, “I don’t do privates. That’s non-negotiable. I’m a burlesque performer, stage only.”

I’d spent my whole career drawing firm distinctions between stripping, burlesque, and sex work, not because any category was any lesser, but because I was a burlesque artist. Period. Some cismen—and it was always cis men—saw a thong and took it as an invitation.

“He doesn’t want anything like that.” Sal looked offended. Good. “He just wants your time. Said he had a business opportunity for you.”

Bet the opportunity is his dick.

“Pass,” I said.

Sal shrugged. “Your call, Kiwi. If you change your mind, he’s the Gatsby-looking fuck sitting at the bar. Gerard owns this place and another one in Toronto, and he’s always hiring performers for his parties. Maybe he has some casual gigs uptown that would fit your style. If it were me, Kiwi, I’d hear him out.”

He waved and I was alone again.

I stared at my dollar bill. Washington stared back.Haughty bastard.

Eventually, I went out to the bar and listened to what Gerard had to say. The resulting twenty-minute conversation, held over the sticky counter of an alt nightclub, was about to change my entire life.

CHAPTER 2

THREE WEEKS LATER

CHASE

This wasn’tthe first time I’d had to rescue my half brother from disaster—Joe regularly set his life on fire and passed me the burning trash can—but it was by far the most inconvenient.

I’d been on my way to the airport when I got Sonya’s message. My luggage was in the trunk, my passport in my jacket. Now, instead of enjoying iced hibiscus tea and slow mornings working on my blog in the South of France, I was heading to an art gallery I didn’t like, to be stared at by people who didn’t like me, to extract my brother from yet another scandal.

Joe was the fun brother, the one whose company people enjoyed. I was invited to things solely because of my last name, and I spent most of my time ensuring no one smashed a priceless vase or fell off the side of the yacht. Most of my social circle considered me the fun police.Iconsidered myself the fun police.

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