Page 34 of Eye Candy

I thought I’d been doing a slick job pretending to be Teddy. I’d swanned around in couture, wrapping privilege around myself like a fancy fur and behaving shamelessly. It was fun to pretend I didn’t have problems, and thrilling to pull something over such privileged people. I’d worn my early success proudly, as proof that anyone who hadn’t believed in me as a burlesque star should eat crow.Take that, club bookers! I’m the most talented performer in town!But tonight was proof it wasn’t talent that had gotten me this far. It was that no one had cared enough to look closely.

Until Chase.

I walked from the closest subway station to mine and Lyssa’s apartment, wrapped in my subway coat, which the spring night was way too warm for. The fluffy leopard number was what I used to wear when I was touring, and dressed outrageously on public transport on my way to a gig or a party and wanting to avoid stares. No one gave a crap what anyone was wearing in New York (yesterday I saw someone on the subway with a racoon on a leash), but old habits died hard.

On the walk I rued how badly my whole plan had derailed.

This was supposed to be simple: I would spend a few months performing in a regular slot at the Dragonfly, then either get scouted by another club or transfer to one of the other Dragonfly locations. All roads led to becoming a massive success!

Nowhere in the plan had I accounted for being attracted to my mark’s hot brother.

Bad showgirl, bad, bad showgirl.

Three nightsafter the escapades at Lueur, I was lying in my bottom bunk, phone in hand, scrolling into the small hours. Even though I wasn’t a working performer right now, my body hadn’t gotten the memo that nighttime was for sleeping. I’d already read all of Chase’s blogs that I could find—and I had to admit that most of them were full of technically good advice, but the dudes who wrote to him made me want to pull my hair out. Anyway, once I’d done that, I went back to scrolling videos.

A call from an unknown number slid down over the video I was watching of lop-eared rabbits. I was tempted to answer, in case it was a club calling to offer me a generously paid gig that I didn’t need to commit identity fraud for. But more likely, it would be Dad’s produce supplier in New Zealand. Mike swore at him last month and it hurt his feelings, so I volunteered to make those calls.

But it wasn’t the fruit guy or a booker.

1 new voicemail. Unknown number.

[Fumbling sounds] “Hi. It’s Chase. Sonya gave me your number. I thought calling would be better than showing up at your building. Again. [long exhale] I just wanted to know… uh … [something inaudible] Fuck, this is unconscionable. You’re scamming me, and I’m stalking you.” [Call ended].

I played the recording over and over, paying specific attention to the way Chase’s rough voice said the F-word. I loved how he said it. Profanity from Mr. Morality Blog was unexpected, but since Lueur, I knew that was just the beginning of his depths.

Replaying the message yet again, I wondered if Chase had late-night stubble to match the late-night voice. He sounded like he had stubble—the kind that would graze the soft skin of myinner thighs when his head was between my legs, moving rhythmically as his tongue lapped me?—

I deleted the message. I had to. Horniness was clouding my judgment.

But it wasn’t his last call.

1 new voicemail. Unknown number.

“Just tell me if I’m close. Sam. Kaitlyn. Paige. Winifred. Come on, Floss. Don’t make me a man who dry humped a woman on a bar without knowing her name.” [Call ended].

Since starting this Teddy charade, I rarely heard my own name, and the result was a violent craving for it. Mrs. C usually called me dear, and Lyssa used Care Bear, which I hated with a burning passion.

Chase would say it right; I knew he would. I pictured his jaw dropping over my name, two drops in total, a wealth of syllables I didn’t get as Teddy.

Caroline, he would say.Ca-ro-line.

There was no reason for me to see Chase again.

I missed that I would never hear him say my name, and would never know if his dirty talk was a one-time thing, or if he was a cuddler after sex.

It didn’t make sense to miss what I’d never had. And yet.

Chase called at the same time every night—a very considerate stalker.

1 new voicemail. Unknown number.

“It’s me again. I’ve been thinking about the power dynamic between us. It’s important I verbalize this. [throat clearing] Initially, the power was yours, with the lying and the frauding and so on. But the balance has since shifted. As you know, I’m, well …”

He wasChase Sanford.Rich. Connected. Privileged beyond belief. Unaware of what it’s like to scrimp for rent or fight tooth and nail for a slot on a bill, or a seat at the table.

“ … me. I know what people think when they hear my name. But I can’t make an informed plan of action unless I have all the information. Please call me. I’ve told you, I’ll be as reasonable as I can. And I won’t kiss you again—as long as you don’t kiss me first. And don’t call me Daddy Long Legs. [Long sigh]. That’s where it all went wrong.” [Call ended].

1 new voicemail. Unknown number.

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