From the sounds coming from the main room, it was apparent Patsy was talking to herself. When he stepped through the door, silence fell. He looked up from shooting his cuffs. She was a vision, her face aglow with a rosy flush. With a smirk he said, “I’m ready.”
Lips pressed tight and brows knit, Patsy glowered at him. She huffed. “So ya are. Let’s go.”
Four
The Cosmic Cabaret had been Patsy’s life for the last three years. This was the final time she’d witness what she had helped create. If she returned, it would all be different. When she’d seen her first performance from the audience instead of backstage, she’d been enthralled. It had been the cirque full of brilliantly costumed acrobats whose every movement was carefully choreographed into an effortless kaleidoscopic scene. The mood-enhancing scent that was added to the air filtration system in the cabaret wafted around her, bringing the same tingle of excitement. It was an aroma she had come to associate with the CC and the frisson of anticipation for the enchantment to follow. The burlesque and musicales had been entertaining, but the cirque would always be her favorite.
The maître d’ was resplendent in red and white striped pants. Patsy followed her to a table on the lower level closest to the action. Tonight the dinner show would be burlesque with its mix of comedy, singing, dancing, and striptease acts. Trey insisted she needed to learn about BDSM, but it was equally true that he needed an understanding of what a cabaret show encompassed if he was going to help her figure out the kinds of performances that fit a BDSM cabaret. Burlesque by nature was bawdy and irreverent. It mocked the serious-minded. Trey didn’t seem like a person who would enjoy his lifestyle being the butt of jokes.
A glance at him as they were seated gave her no clue to what he was thinking. He wasn’t frowning, but neither was his expression pleasant. On him, staid was intimidating because he was such a big muscle-bound behemoth of a man. Many of the show’s players interacted with the guests. He would make the perfect foil for their antics. Whether that spelled trouble was yet to be determined.
Trey looked at her from the touch-pad menu he’d been perusing. “The food looks good.”
“Chef is amazin’. Even the vegetarian option is five-star magnificent. But I’d advise ya to try the Bayou because it includes Chef’s famous blue-crab gumbo. Ya haven’t lived until you’ve tasted it.”
“Menu one it is then. The blackened ribeye sounds good, too.”
“Enter your choice on your menu. It’s linked to your seat.”
After entering their selections, they set the menus aside and looked at one another. Patsy’s gift for conversation failed her, perhaps because of the intensity of his gaze. It was as though he were consuming her with his eyes. The silence between them took on a life of its own, expanding until it surrounded them in a bubble that excluded the other sounds inside the cabaret. He seemed unfazed by it, but Patsy urgently wanted to cross her arms and tuck her hands behind her elbows.
When he at last spoke, she leaped on the opening. “I’m looking forward to the entertainment too.”
“Ya are?” Her cheeks warmed. “O’ course ya are. I guess I was a little uncertain. Ya haven’t said much today. I don’t know what you’re thinkin’. Whether ya believe I can create the proper atmosphere for a BDSM cabaret.”
Now he scowled, upping his intimidation factor by ten. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel as though you were on trial here. Randolph hired you because he thought you were the right person for the position. He’s seldom if ever wrong about people. I’m trying to absorb as much as I can about the Cosmic Cabaret to give us a point of shared reference. It’s all new to me. I’ve been to strip clubs before, but that’s not the same thing.”
Patsy sat straighter. “No. Absolutely not. The stripteases aren’t about getting naked. They’re meant to tantalize, promisin’ somethin’ but withholdin’ it, and when the big reveal comes, the audience gets a brief glimpse, and the performer exits the stage.”
“Sounds like orgasm denial. Maybe burlesque and BDSM can find some common ground.”
Her chest lightened as though a helium bubble had burst inside her, brightening her mood. “I knew we could.” She grinned broadly. “There’s a new comedy act tonight that I helped hire, Charles and Sadie Camp. They play off one another brilliantly. Charles is the straight man, and Sadie is a hoot. I can imagine an act like them at the new cabaret.”
The server arrived with their first course, a bourbon champagne cocktail. Trey raised his glass. “To you and your new adventure on Beta Tau.”
Taking a sip of her drink, Patsy eyed him over her glass, awaiting his response.
“Mmm. That’s quite good.”
“I was worried for your delicate feckin’ nose after the orange fizzie did ya in.”
Trey laughed. “Aren’t champagne bubbles supposed to tickle, not burn?”
“Yer right. Did they tickle you?”
“I’m not ticklish.”
“Oh my, am I ever. The bottoms of my feet are the worst. Touch them and you’re likely to get kicked.”
The intensity of his gaze ratcheted up. “I’ll remember to restrain you if I decide you need tickling.”
With eyes narrowed, Pasty said, “Trey Johansson, I was after believin’ ya were a Dom, not a sadist.”
“It’s not an either/or. Sometimes it’s both. I’ll admit to a narrow streak of sadism, but that’s not unusual in most people. It’s what you do with it that counts.”
The conversation was interrupted by the room darkening. Ethereal music played while large metallic balls of gold, silver, bronze, and copper floated from the ceiling toward open spots on the floor throughout the cabaret. When they touched, they burst with an explosion of glitter. Showgirls dressed in a minimum of spangles and feathers stood and strutted, hands on their hips, smiles wide, to positions facing the diners in the circle that cut a swathe between the tables on the cabaret’s lowest level and the stage.
Patsy wasn’t surprised that Trey’s gaze was riveted on the dancer closest to their table. The woman was statuesque, athletic, and had a chest three times the size of Patsy’s own. Dancers shimmied, swayed, and kicked their legs high in unison, finally working their way onto the stage where they were joined by more scantily clad entertainers with huge feathered headdresses. When the troupe finished their choreographed routine and promenaded offstage and out an exit, Patsy’s eyes prickled with tears. The show must go on. It was going on without her, and the players weren’t affected by the loss. That’s the way it should be. I left things so the next stage manager could take over without a hitch. It’s all good.
Their gumbo arrived. After his first bite Trey said, “This is good. Shrimp and”—he stirred the soup with his spoon—“what’s this kind of sausage?”
“Andouille.”
“I like it. Too bad it’s such a small bowl.” His concentration remained fixed on the gumbo until he’d eaten it all.
Patsy ate hers quickly, wanting to ask him his opinion of the show so far. “Did ya like the bubble dancers?”
He tapped his spoon on the table. “They were fine. That must be hard on their knees. Do they dose with speedheal after every performance?”
“Some probably do. Any other observations?”
“Not really. Good-looking women barely dressed in feathers and rhinestones. Most men go for that kind of thing.”
“But ya don’t?”
“No. I mean, they’re nice to look at, but I’m not much into watching entertainers.”
Patsy wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.
The servers removed their dishes while the master of ceremonies introduced Charles and Sadie Camp.
Charles, dapper in a flashy evening suit, clapped his hands together and said, “Looks like a lovely crowd tonight. Say hello, Sadie.”
Sadie rocked back on her heels, the fringe on her flapper-style dress swaying. “Hello. Oh look, Charles. I think I know that man.” She pointed straight at Trey.
T
he focus of the audience narrowed on Trey.
Peering at Trey, Charles asked, “Who? The big fellow with the pretty girl?”
Sadie nodded. “Mmhmm. I think I sat on him before.”
Charles’s eyebrows shot up. “Sat on him?”
“Yeah.” She squinted at Trey. “No. I’m wrong. It was another guy. Just as big and stern.”
“And you sat on him?”
“Yeah. Oh, not him.” She flicked her hand at Trey.
“The other big guy.”
“Yeah, the other one.” With a soft giggle she peered at Charles.
“Sadie, are you going to tell me why you sat on him?”
“Oh sure. I thought he was a chair.”
The audience laughed, and Sadie beamed at them.
“A chair.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding her head.
“I’ll bite,” Charles said to the audience, then to Sadie, “Why did you think he was a chair?”
“He didn’t move. Just like him.” She waved at Trey.
Patsy bit back the giggle that was close to bubbling out of her. Trey sat with the same noncommittal expression.
“I assume he was sitting on a chair.”
“Well of course he was sitting on a chair. Otherwise I couldn’t have sat on him. Really, Charles, sometimes you’re very silly.”
This garnered another burst of amusement from the diners.
Charles looked at them and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Mmm.”
With a smile Sadie said, “Yeah.”
“What did this man who you thought was a chair sitting on a chair do when you sat on him? Did he jump up in surprise?”
“Oh no.” She looked at the floor where she was rubbing the toe of her shoe. “He put his arms around me.”
“He what?” Charles put his hands on his hips.
“Yeah. I’ll show you.” Sadie bustled down the stage steps and headed straight to their table. Patsy bit her thumb. Every eye was once again on Trey.
He stiffened when Sadie plopped herself into his lap. She tapped his arm and said, “Put your arms around me.”
Patsy covered her mouth to hide her laugh when Trey obeyed and encircled Sadie’s waist. He glanced at her with a look of pained acceptance.
Sadie patted his arm. “Just like this.”
From the stage Charles asked, “Then what happened?”
“We sat. Me on him on the chair.”
“You on him on the chair. Sat. How long did this go on?”
“Oh not long. Just when we were getting comfortable, his girlfriend came along.”
“I’ll bet she had words to say.”
Murmurs from the audience suggested they agreed with Charles.
Sadie nodded her head. “Oh sure. She told me to get up. It was her turn to sit on him.”
The laughter Patsy had been trying to contain burst from her. Trey’s expression became a tinge more aggrieved.
“Her turn?” Charles asked.
“Yeah. He was really good at putting his arms around a girl sitting on his lap.”
“Was he?”
“Yeah. So I got up and let her sit down.” She patted Trey’s hand. “You can let me go now, big fella.”
When Trey released her, she stood up and said to him, “It was very nice to sit on you.”
“You’re welcome.” His deep voice and staid expression added to the humor of the moment, making Patsy laugh out loud again.
Sadie turned to Patsy and said, “You should try it out. He’s very good too.”
To which Patsy snorted and slapped a hand to her thigh. Trey gave her the stink eye and then smiled.
Through the rest of the seven-course meal, Patsy kept her focus on Trey. He’d been a good sport with Sadie and was enjoying himself if the occasional smile and nod of the head was proof. The food was a definite hit. With sweet mascarpone cheesecake and amaretto biscotti on the menu for dessert, she decided to save space and not eat the sixth course, scallop cakes served with a cilantro lime aioli and pan-seared green beans. Trey ate both hers and his.
A pair of servers they hadn’t seen before started around their circle of tables. One man gathered plates and stacked them in the other’s hands. They both appeared to be ham-handed, dropping plates or letting them slide from the pile. Each time, they recovered by using their feet, slipping a dish back in place with a toe or popping one in the air with a heel to grab in the nick of time. When the stack looked particularly precarious, rather than take them away and return for more, they continued stacking, and the pile grew taller. The server carrying the dishes veered left and right trying to keep the wobbling stack from falling. When the pair had collected the dishes from the last table, the pile was well over the second server’s head. He staggered about, and just when he got the entire pile balanced, he tripped and the stack fell like a column heading toward the floor to shatter. The audience gasped. The other server dashed and caught the top, tucked it under his arm, smiled, and saluted the spectators. The server who had tripped did the same on his end, and the pair carried the dishes sideways out the serving entrance.
Showgirls, dressed this time in miniscule thongs and under-bust corsets that exposed their breasts, returned for another medley of tunes, dancing, shimmying, and bouncing. Dessert was served, and while Trey and Patsy ate their cheesecake and biscotti, Marie Cantable, the CC-renowned torch singer, ended the evening with captivating renditions of old-Earth rhythm and blues songs.
Five
Several times during the evening, Trey had noticed Patsy’s eyes misting over, especially when Marie Cantable closed her set and the show with a song about needing help from friends. She sang it straight to Patsy. These people had developed an affection for Patsy. Whether that was common among the show business crowd, he didn’t know. It spoke to Patsy’s generosity of spirit.
When the performance ended, Patsy clutched his hand. “Let’s go down to the dressin' rooms.”
“Sure.”
Tears fell as she said her final good-byes to the players who remained. Marie Cantable swallowed her in a fierce hug, placed kisses on both Patsy’s cheeks, and said, “Gonna miss you, sweet girl. Maybe I’ll come and check out your new cabaret.” She glanced over her shoulder at Trey. “If they grow all the men in that backwater as big and good-looking as this one, it’s a place I need to explore.” Her voice was a mellifluous purr. “But I’ll leave him to you.” She returned her gaze to Patsy, pulled her into another tight hug, and said, “I wish you could stay, but I know you gotta go.”
Released from her arms, Patsy took Marie’s hand and choked out a response. “Already miss you. Keep the others in line.”
“Will do, baby girl. Now head on out to your new life.”
Patsy turned and, once again tightly gripping Trey’s hand, rushed out to the corridor that would take her away from the Cosmic Cabaret for good.
To allow her time to gain control of her emotions, Trey waited until they’d made their way back to the Xventure Entertainment deck’s main walkway to speak. The sinfully exotic scent she was wearing had tantalized him all evening, tempting him to haul her to her cabin and get his fill of her. If this had been a purely personal relationship, he’d have done just that. Instead he asked, “Do you have any other plans for tonight?”
“Er. The Spector Station is right here. We could get a drink. It’s a 1920s old-Earth speakeasy. Or there’s the Phoenix Stardust, a dance club, but with the clothes we’re wearin’ we’d want to get naked. Because of the glow paint.”
“Unless you really want to, I had something else in mind.”
Her pupils dilated. “Er. Why don’t we get a drink?”
“Alcohol would interfere with my plans.”
“Oh. Er. Okay. Back to the cabin then?”
Trey nodded. He hadn’t expected Patsy to get a case of nerves, but the normally expansive hand motions she made while speaking had become fidgety. Perhaps the fact that she was taking the final steps of saying good-bye to the CC was affecting her
. He’d like to think it had something to do with being alone with him, but he’d already spent a night sleeping on her bedroom floor without eliciting any demonstrable anxiety. More likely she was worried about his opinion now that he’d taken in a CC show. Understandable, because she wouldn't like what he had to say.
If she was angry with him, it would be easier to keep at bay the thoughts of how he would peel her out of that dress whispering around her body. The soft, sensual swishing of the fabric filled him with a longing to smooth his fingertips over her skin.
Silence weighed between them as they walked along the corridor teeming with people from a variety of Federation worlds, each intent on wringing every bit of fun from their stay aboard LS Quantum. At one point a raucous group of young men headed their direction. Trey picked Patsy up at the waist and deposited her on his other side, so he was between her and the rowdies.
“Er. Thanks.”
He scowled down at her. Patsy broke eye contact, flicking her gaze left and right as though she was looking for an escape route. How the hell was he supposed to remain the aloof training master when he burned to scoop her into his arms, rush to her cabin, and plunge inside her. His desire for her went beyond anything he’d experienced for years. If it weren’t for the task Randolph had set him, he would have already seduced the woman into submitting to his own brand of dominance.
Reel it in, Johansson. You’re scaring her. He tucked his hand into hers, and she returned her gaze to him, a tremulous smile flirting at the edges of her lips.
Once inside the main room of her cabin, they stood a moment. “Er.”
“Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable. Pajamas would be good.”
Trey slipped one arm from his jacket.
She didn’t follow his suggestion immediately. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
He laid his coat over the back of a chair and seated himself on one end of the love seat. Heaving a deep sigh, he relaxed into it. With Patsy already tense, he would have to be careful how he approached their discussion. Her temper was quick to spark, but it flashed hot and brief rather than burning long.
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