by Kitty French
‘I made you breakfast.’ She held the plate out and smiled before taking a sip of coffee from the mug in her other hand.
‘To say thank you for your orgasm?’ he said acidly, even though it smelled good and he was hungry.
She didn’t take the bait, just kept on smiling that pretty girl smile and raised her eyebrows expectantly until he accepted the plate and swept his arm out in resigned invitation. Genie followed him back to the dining table. All traces of last night’s showgirl had been erased by her daytime uniform of cut off shorts, tee shirt and tied back hair. She could pass for eighteen, and she sure made him feel like a clueless teenager too. She wrong-footed him at every turn, like this most of all. He didn’t know how to be around her when she was this way: unguarded-looking, innocent, and every inch as sexy as her womanly alter ego. More so. Dangerously so, because she bought out his hunter protector gene and made him feel like a prize shit for wanting her theatre.
‘Is it good?’ she asked, nodding towards the sandwich, sipping her coffee as she perched on a dining chair.
It was good. Really good.
‘How old are you, Genie?’
Mild surprise registered in her eyes. ‘Twenty-eight. Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just… nothing.’ He wasn’t sure how to articulate it without starting another argument and he preferred his mornings drama-free.
She didn’t push him. Maybe she was fresh out of argumentative spirit this morning too. Or maybe she had her own agenda. From the pensive look on her face, he was pretty sure that whatever was on her mind was about to come out of her mouth. He was careful not to let his eyes linger on her lips for long, because every time he did his cock stood up and begged to be fed between them.
‘Will you do something for me, Abel?’ she said, her voice soft and her gaze direct. He prayed it was something easy, because in that moment he feared there was no way on earth he could say no.
‘Go on,’ he said, pushing the empty plate away from him and taking a slug of her coffee.
‘I just want you to listen to me. A few minutes of your time. No interruptions.’
He had the time. He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear what she had to say, but he nodded all the same.
‘It’s about your opinion of me,’ she said, confirming his suspicion that he wasn’t going to enjoy the next few minutes.
‘Or else your opinion about what I do, which seems to be a problem for you. I’m not sure you understand it, and I want you to. Burlesque isn’t cheap, Abel, and it isn’t prostitution. It’s an age-old form of entertainment, rich in comedy and music hall tradition. It’s about striptease, illusion, art… a celebration of women. Yes, it’s suggestive. Yes, it’s sexy. But it’s not obscene, or debasing to the performer or the watchers. When I’m up there on stage, it’s… I can’t even put it into words how it makes me feel. Powerful, and feminine, and I can feel the audience sharing in that with me. I see it in their eyes, my pleasure amplified in theirs. It’s that connection, that appreciation, that makes it so thrilling. So addictive.’
Abel listened to every word and detested them all. Had she finished? Was it his turn to speak now?
‘There’s something else too. Last night, out there on the landing… that’s the first time any man has ever touched me in costume, Abel.’
He reached for her coffee again, needing the scorch to burn away the image of her on that table last night in her tassels and g-string.
The knowledge that no other man had touched her while she was dressed like that did things it shouldn’t have done for his ego, perversely making him harsher than he might otherwise have been.
‘You done?’
She accepted the mug he pushed back across the table and nodded, her pretty face a mask of subtle hope.
‘Nice speech, Beauty. I can see you mean it too. You love your job. You’re proud of what you do. I get it. Is that what you want from me?’
Clouds gathered in her eyes. ‘Not really, no.’
‘Ah.’ Abel nodded. ‘You want me to agree with you. Well, therein lies the problem, green eyes. You say sexy, I say sexual. The same, but very fucking different. You say music hall tease, I say stripper. You say striptease is a celebration of being a woman. Do you think it feels like that to women who strip in seedy downtown bars for men who want a whole lot more than to appreciate their playful sense of humour?’
Watching her digesting his words, all innocence and ponytails, riled him something chronic. ‘Is a high class hooker different to a girl on a street corner, Genie? Just because you work a more classy joint, it doesn’t make you any better, darlin’.’
The clouds in her eyes turned full on stormy, telling him he’d hit home. ‘That’s not fair and you know it, Abel.’ She held her body rigid with anger. ‘What about what you do? Gyms and whatever. Does that make you representative of those guys who wreck their bodies and their brains with steroids, who flip out and kill their girlfriends in a jealous drug-induced rage? Does that sit heavy on your shoulders?’
Abel huffed. It was completely different. Fitness was a lifestyle choice, not a last resort for people clean out of other options.
‘No, I guessed not,’ she said, standing up to leave, obviously feeling that she’d won her point. No. No way.
He flipped the plans open on the table and her eyes moved over them, widening slowly.
‘Why Abel? Why me, why here? Why this personal crusade?’
She didn’t have the first fucking clue how personal this was.
‘See this?’ he said, running his finger over the plans. ‘Seven weeks, and then this happens. The precious stage you perform on? Ripped out. The seats your audience ogle you from? Trashed. Gone, the whole fucking lot of it. Too right this is personal, and the reason why is none of your business.’
They were both on their feet, facing each other down across the table. The fury and hurt in her eyes gratified him and pained him in equal measures.
‘Thanks for breakfast. You can leave now,’ he said, sarcasm iced through his voice.
‘You haven’t won yet,’ she whispered, hot pink spots burning bright on her cheeks, her fists balled with temper. ‘Not by a long chalk, mister. This place is still mine, and I’m not giving it up without a fight.’
‘Fine. Have it your own way, but I should warn you… I don’t fight fair, lady.’
‘Me neither. You haven’t seen the half of me.’
He laughed, deliberately mocking her bravado. ‘Oh, I think I have, darlin’, along with the rest of your appreciative audience.’
She was practically shaking. ‘I think I actually hate you,’ she spat, unguarded in her own fury.
‘You should tell that your body,’ he said, shooting her a slow, disdainful look that made her want to gouge his eyes out with her fingernails. ‘Only it seemed to disagree with you last night.’
Chapter Ten
Genie glanced from the kitchen towards the five girls assembled in her living room, each of them strikingly different and all of them sexy in their own unique way. She and Deanna had deliberately selected the most seasoned performers from the applications to join The Divine Girls, because time was absolutely of the essence. They needed a show ready to go yesterday, and each of these women came with their acts already highly polished and perfected. Holly and Pearl she already knew quite well from the circuit, both women having performed previously in burlesque showcase nights at the theatre to general acclaim. Holly was as petite as Pearl was tall and as brunette as Pearl was blonde.
Petra was Italian, and dripped Sophia Loren-style sexuality from her exquisitely painted eyes to her heavily accented English. She’d walked into the auditions with nothing more than a copy of an Italian broadsheet newspaper as a prop, and had proceeded to sit on a straight backed chair and disrobe whilst reading the paper in a way that had her all-female audience roundly applauding her skill.
At twenty-one, Delilah was the youngest and least experienced of the girls - not that it was apparent from her act. As al
l-American as apple pie, she was the sexy cheerleader who actually did what all the guys fantasised the sexy cheerleader would do - stripped off that itty-bitty little uniform before she waved her pompoms. Her act was cheeky, the perfect match for her California sunshine personality.
The troupe was completed by Chastity, a vintage siren with royal blue pin-curled hair and the smoke-edged voice of an angel, or as close to an angel as an artfully tattooed girl in a spray-on dress can be. It was a toss up which was more mesmerising, her voice or her curves, as she slowly removed her clothes during her performance.
Genie added a milk jug to the coffee tray in Deanna’s hands and ushered her friend through to join the others. She reached into the pocket of her jean shorts as she followed behind, pulling out the note Abel had shoved under her door as she’d heard him go out an hour or two earlier. If the way he’d slammed his door and pushed the note so hard under the sill that it had skidded half way across the room was anything to go by, he was still mightily pissed off. Good. She wanted him wound up and not thinking straight. She wanted him goddamn furious. Maybe it’d force a little honesty out of him. And deep down dark and hidden, she just plain wanted him, which made her furious with herself most of all, because however unreasonable, the urge was as unstoppable as breathing. Her head was a mess of hating everything he stood for and at the same instant wanting his hands everywhere on her.
Deanna was speaking to the girls, assuming her natural role as campaign leader and organiser-in-chief. The gathered women gasped in shock at the news of the grave threat to the theatre, and Genie was buoyed by their sympathy and the way they banded together and threw themselves unanimously behind the plan to help raise funds.
Within a couple of hours they’d organised an intensive rehearsal and performance schedule and Deanna had taken charge of admin and marketing to get the people through the door.
Times like these, Genie was very glad to be a woman: she couldn’t imagine a group of men ever bonding together without their competitive spirits forcing them to try to assert themselves over each other first. Amen to sisterhood.
As the group quietened, Genie smoothed out the note from Abel and laid it on the coffee table in the midst of the group.
‘Kingdom sent me this today. He’s bringing a group of investors to look around the building on Friday afternoon and wants me to make myself scarce.’
Deanna half laughed, half snorted. ‘He’s got some nerve.’
‘Maybe these investors can be persuaded to invest in you instead,’ Pearl speculated, her blue eyes sparkling with trouble.
Holly laughed, clapping her hands. ‘Ladies, we need to be downstairs on Friday afternoon. All of us, yes?’ Her eyes slid around the other girls’ answering grins, all of them on the let’s-screw-over-Abel-Kingdom wavelength.
‘We’re gonna scorch their fuckin’ eyeballs out,’ Delilah’s laugh was pure filth.
Petra folded her legs beneath her on the couch, cat-like. ‘I shall read them the business supplement from my newspaper.’ Her deep, throaty voice turned everything she said into an accented, X-rated purr.
‘So what’s he like, this Abel guy?’ Holly asked, her head tipped to one side. ‘Is he hot?’
Genie’s eyes slid to Deanna’s, who shrugged and held her hands up in the air. ‘I’ll leave that one to you to answer,’ her friend said, and all eyes in the room turned to Genie.
‘No,’ Genie started vehemently, and then hesitated. ‘Well, kind of.’ She rallied. ‘But not once you get to know him.’
‘He’s blistering,’ Deanna supplied helpfully, and rolled her eyes when Genie shot her daggers. ‘Well he is,’ she said. ‘Not that it matters, but he is. In fact, you girls need to know that now so you can steel yourselves against him. He might try to divide and conquer.’
Genie nodded, mute, thinking of him dividing her legs and conquering her on the hallway table the night before. She pulled herself up out of the armchair as the girls gathered up their belongings, and hugged each of them in turn before she reached for the catch on the front door.
‘Thank you, guys,’ she said. ‘ I really mean it. This place is everything to me.’
She swung the door wide and stepped into the hallway, realising a beat too late that she could hear footsteps on the stairs.
There was only ever one person that it was going to be, and as the girls filed out from behind her onto the landing, Abel appeared at the top of the steps. He stood stock still for a second, clearly taken aback by the unexpected sight of the six women lined up in front of him. Genie noticed the subtle shift in the energy amongst the group, from camaraderie to speculation. The flare of a bent knee, the tipped up hip. The invitation of a subtly raised eyebrow. The folded arms to draw attention to high breasts. Every last girl offered Abel something new to look at, and it took Genie a few seconds to process the common expression in all of their eyes.
Not invitation. Challenge. They weren’t offering themselves to Abel Kingdom. They were throwing down the gauntlet. Take us on if you dare. Genie looked down at the floor for a second to hide her grin, and wanted to hug each of the newly formed Divine Girls all over again for their show of unity.
Petra broke ranks first, stepping forward and extending her hand delicately towards Abel. ‘Arrivederci, Mr Kingdom,’ she practically growled, holding his hand for a few seconds too long before brushing past him and heading downstairs.
Holly stepped up next, laying her hand on Abel’s forearm. ‘I’ve heard so much about you, Mr Kingdom,’ she murmured, batting her lashes as she skipped off down the stairs after Petra.
‘All of it bad,’ Pearl added, laughing lightly, moving forward and brushing her lips against Abel’s cheek as she stepped past him. Abel touched his fingers against his cheek, frowning as his eyes met Genie’s big innocent ones.
Chastity followed Pearl, her blue waves arranged over one shoulder as she stepped in front of Abel and touched her lips against his other cheek. ‘Until next time, Mr Kingdom,’ she murmured as she moved away towards the stairs.
Delilah’s Californian smile wreathed her face as she followed the rest of the girls’ lead and approached Abel. ‘You’re every bit as hot as I’d imagined,’ she said, running an appreciate hand over Abel’s bicep as she moved around him to the staircase. She said it straight, but the mockery in her intention was clear enough. Genie wanted to laugh. Priceless. Well played, ladies.
Deanna was last to move forward, placing her palm flat against Abel’s chest as she leaned forward. ‘She says hot, I say dickhead,’ she whispered against his neck, too quietly for Genie to catch her words. ‘Fuck with my friend and you fuck with us all, sunshine.’
And then there was just Genie and Abel on the landing, eying each other speculatively.
‘Another pyjama party, green eyes?’ he said, his keys jangling in his hand.
‘Wouldn’t you love to know,’ Genie muttered, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her shorts to ensure they didn’t reach out of their own accord and touch him.
‘No need. It’s all in here already thanks to your pretty friends,’ he tapped his finger against his forehead. ‘Us guys are all about the visuals. But then you don’t need me to tell you what turns men on, do you?’
Genie caught his implied slur and batted it right back with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Change the record Abel. You’re starting to bore me.’
He laughed softly as he opened his front door. ‘There aren’t going to be any changes to my plan, Genie. You and the Kids from Fame go ahead and give it your best shot.’ He stepped inside and turned back to look at Genie, tossing his keys up and catching them deftly in mid air. ‘I’ll be waiting right here at the end of it all to take the keys to this whole building from your uncle, not just this apartment.’
He clicked his door closed behind him, leaving Genie standing alone in the hall with just fury and frustration for company.
Friday lunchtime found The Divine Girls gathered once more in the theatre, but this time downstairs rather than in
Genie’s apartment. The foyer, so often thronged with excited theatregoers, was thronged today with a clientele of a different kind. Almost exclusively women, a palpable sizzle of excitement in the air, an undertone of camaraderie and feminine sensuality.
Deanna had made sure to spread the word far and wide about the event, an afternoon of free burlesque instruction with The Divine Girls. The invitation had suggested attendees dress for an afternoon of frolics and burlesque fun, and they’d also provided an impromptu lending wardrobe for those who didn’t own anything suitable.
Genie was on the stage, Charity held court in the bar, turning it into a sultry saloon bar of bygone days. Deanna worked the kiosk, transformed for the afternoon into the sexiest of usherettes. Petra had set up camp in the auditorium, an innocent looking pile of newspapers and a line of straight-backed chairs her only props. Delilah was in command of the foyer, the heavy drapes drawn across the theatre doors to preserve their privacy from the street.
Holly and Pearl had teamed up for the afternoon to offer instruction in the art of posing, teasing, glove peeling and even tassel twirling for those brave enough to try it, whilst Genie held fan classes on the stage. In short, they were teaching women how to seduce, giving them a peek into the old-fashioned art of burlesque.
Deanna’s double whammy marketing ploy meant firstly that the women would hopefully return home full of excitement about the spectacle and book tickets to bring their friends and lovers back to see the new Divine Girls show. Equally importantly, the gathering would have the effect of utterly derailing Abel’s meeting with his bunch of straight-laced investors. He wanted to show a bunch of suits around? Sure. Let him try. They’d make sure that they saw the real, living theatre at its very best.
Genie glanced at the clock at the back of the auditorium. He was due at one, and it was quarter to. Any time now then. Nerves swirled low in her stomach, both because she needed to pull this off and because she knew Abel was going to be more furious than ever with her. It was his own damn fault, with his selective prejudices and his pigheaded stubbornness.