Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  The band plays an up-tempo jazz song and I tap my foot along to the beat. As I sip my champagne I take notice of a well dressed man sitting in front of us, his back is all I see, but a tingle of recognition travels up my spine as I watch him bob his head along to the rhythm of the bass guitar. I can feel my heart thumping along to the beat too. I let the music invade my body. I close my eyes and sway my shoulders in time with the drummer’s steady rhythm.

  The band finishes their set and things quiet down as a DJ begins to set up. I finish off my first flute of champagne and finally glance at Kazumi and Jordan. They are both staring at me. Jordan’s forehead is all scrunched up and Kazumi’s eyes are huge and sparkling jovially.

  “What?” I ask as I set my glass down.

  “Who are you? You’re so...happy. Look, you’re smiling!” Jordan says, obviously taken aback by my sudden change of mood. Kazumi nods alongside Jordan. She’s wearing a sparkly black dress, with an A-line hem; it hugs her curves nicely and really shows off her legs. She has a feather headband wrapped around her head, just kissing her forehead. She looks part pixie and part flapper.

  I say nothing, feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious. My smile dims by a few watts.

  “We just sat through two songs and you haven’t stopped smiling. I like it! Let’s have another round!” Jordan shouts over the music.

  Kazumi tops me off and we all clink glasses. Toasting to what? I don’t know, but I’m smiling again.

  “It’s a good sign isn’t it, Kazumi?” Jordan says to her and they exchange another knowing look.

  “What? What am I missing?” I practically shout over the music. The DJ has turned it up and is playing a song by the Squirrel Nut Zippers. The Speak Easy is getting more crowded by the minute. Men and women are packing the dance floor. Some dancing casually, and others are clearly professional, here to show off their moves. I catch sight of the man who was sitting in front of us, he makes his way over to the crowded bar, accompanied by another man. I struggle to try to catch a glimpse of his face, but he disappears into the crowd.

  Jordan and Kazumi glance at one other again and Kazumi slides in closer to me, trying to re-capture my attention.

  “Ok, so I want The Mercuries to perform an additional night, that much I told you. What I haven’t mentioned is that one of my girls is getting married next week and is going on a month long honeymoon,” she says with a small pout. I wait patiently for her to continue.

  The man returns, and takes his seat once more, but his back is still all that I’m able to see. The other man he’s with heads in the direction of the dance floor. I watch Jordan’s eyes follow him. I shake my head and look back at Kazumi’s earnest face.

  “It puts me in a tough position because as you know, I’m trying to add another night. I need all of my girls. I need even numbers for the choreography to make sense,” she pauses, her eyes sparkling with some untold secret.

  “Okay, and?” I’m pretty sure my smile is starting to fade.

  “Well, you’ve practiced burlesque with me a little bit, I know it’s just been for fun, but…I’ve seen the way you can move. You can dance to anything! You’re just what I need. How would you feel about joining our burlesque crew? Temporarily. You know, dancing to a band, dressing up, getting paid decent money!”

  Now she is the one beaming. My smile has officially left the building.

  I’m quiet for a few moments. Why on earth would she ask me? The Mercuries are professional dancers. I have no experience other than a little ballet and playing around with Kazumi a few times at practice. There is no way I could perform in front of strangers! The Mercuries have undeniable sex appeal. I’ve seen videos of their performances. I’m gangly and awkward in comparison. I don’t even dance in the Christmas ballet she puts on every year because I’m too shy to perform in front of a crowd. Not only that, but I’d be too self-conscious to get on stage in a skimpy little outfit!

  And what about after the performances on stage? That’s when the girls go off into the private rooms to put on shows for the businessmen and bachelors who are always celebrating one thing after another. Kazumi has mentioned to me that she’s had to call security on more than one occasion! What would I do in that circumstance? The girls are all professional at flirting and mingling with men; I would have no idea what to do. No idea how to manage.

  “Excuse me a minute,” I say getting up from the table. As quickly as possible, I make a dash for the ladies room. I sit on a pretty chaise lounge and stroke the purple velvet, and try to reign in my anxiety. I hear women coming in and out, chatting excitedly.

  I know I have deprived myself of the normal experiences a young woman should have. I bypassed adolescence, and most of my childhood. I rarely socialize with anyone outside of my shop. I know what Kazumi is asking should flatter me, but it scares me!

  What is most frightening to me is the fact that I do secretly fantasize about performing on a stage, of loosing myself in lights, and music and sexy provocative movement. It’s not so much the audience, or applause that I desire, it’s being free and lost to the music; feeling what it does to my body.

  Dancing is one of the most satisfying releases for me. It’s the only time I can forget my past and can unburden myself from the confines of my mind. But I’m used to being tucked away in the shadows, how can I just step into the light overnight?

  A feeling of exhilaration takes over my body and I know I’m going to say yes. It’s temporary after all. It can be a fun experiment. I know what my body has been asking me for this whole afternoon since my unnerving encounter with the handsome stranger; I’m craving excitement. I’m craving something new.

  I have no idea how the Lenore I am can become the Lenore I’ve always wanted to be. Tonight feels like the beginning to something, the birth of a new me.

  I rise from the chaise lounge and look at my face in the mirror above the sink. The bathroom is now empty. The only sound is the muffled noise of activity and music coming from outside. I take a cool drink from the faucet and set out of the bathroom to an unknown future.

  Jordan is alone at our table when I return. Kazumi is with the owner of The Speak Easy talking business. I sit down and Jordan gives me a stern look and opens his mouth to speak, or to lecture me, I’m sure, but I cut him off.

  “I’ll do it, save your speech,” I say gulping down the remainder of my second glass of champagne.

  He closes his mouth and looks at me with eyes wide as saucers.

  “Really?!” he shouts a little too loudly. A few people glance in our direction.

  “Yes,” I say meekly. He gives me a half-cocked smile and lunges at me. Kissing me loudly on the forehead.

  I think the man sitting in front of us is eavesdropping. I watch him stiffen in his seat, and when he turns his head slightly to the side, I think I see a ghost of a smile. No…Is it? But the lights dim and he disappears in an instant. My heart starts to pound. No. Surely I’m imagining things.

  “I love you tonight!” Jordan squeals, and I’m transported back to my current conversation.

  Shit, did I just agree to dance burlesque?

  “I don’t know why you’re being so easy going, but I will not question it.” He waves Kazumi over. “Zumi, she’s going to do it!” He blurts out when she reaches our table.

  She looks at me and blinks. Her pretty face brightens, but she remains mute. She’s speechless.

  “Thank you,” I say to her, catching her off guard. Her heads whips from Jordan back to me. I can’t help but laugh. “Thank you, for thinking of me.”

  She exhales and a grin stretches out across her face.

  Two waitresses, as if on cue, come over with another bottle of champagne and plates of delicious Spaghetti alla Carbonara. Okay, maybe this is better than beer and wings. We are all bubbling with excitement and anticipation discussing the how, the where, and the when.

  The night quickly snowballs into me getting too tipsy. The next thing I know we are at a different club and we are way overdresse
d. 90’s hip-hop is being blasted through the speakers and for some unfathomable reason Jordan and I are incredibly excited about it. We dance the night away, and just before I black out, I think I catch sight of the stranger from my walk, staring at me intently from the bar, a subtle smile on his supple lips. But the blackness rises from the floor and swallows me with it.

  Chapter 3

  Oh, my God, my head hurts like hell. Bucky is licking the side of my face, and the smell of his saliva is enough to take me over the edge. I have no idea what time it is; I just know I need to recover. I roll over to my side and realize that I am in bed and there is a trashcan beside me. I lift my head and see through blurry eyes that Jordan is curled up on the love seat in my living area. I probably slept with my make-up on, and I’m sure I look like a raccoon right now.

  I sit up and the room spins. I’m in my pajamas. That’s nice. I know Jordan or Kazumi must have dressed me. I love that my friends take care of me.

  I stumble into the shower and wash up quickly and force myself to vomit. It’s not too bad, I heave a few more times, and my stomach finally relaxes. I brush my teeth furiously and stand with my mouth open, drinking the warm shower water. Must. Take. Aleve. And I must have coffee.

  I towel off and palm a few after ransacking the medicine cabinet. Ok, I am already feeling better. My eyelids just feel really heavy. I glance at my alarm clock and see that it is only 6:30 a.m. Ugh! Way to early! I grab my reading glasses to help my eyes adjust and tiptoe downstairs to make espresso, and maybe clean up the garden before I have to open up. I have neglected my little tomatoes and herbs for two days. I know being outside will probably help me feel better.

  Bucky follows quietly behind me so that I can take him outside. I open the back door for him, it’s too cold and my head is feeling far too sensitive so I shut it after him quickly.

  As I tiptoe to the kitchen, the smell of espresso invades my nostrils. Mmm. My stomach growls noisily and I rub my palm against my abdomen to quiet it down.

  “Good morning,” sings Kazumi from the kitchen. I peek in, and there she is at the table, looking as fresh as can be, sipping on a hot cup of coffee, eating a bagel. It’s as if she didn’t go out last night, she looks radiant and well rested. She’s wearing a pair of my thermal pajamas, the pale yellow ones, and she looks incredibly fresh and young.

  “Hi,” I mutter. I go to the stove and pour myself a cup, throwing a bagel into my always-warm oven. I sit and take a sip of my coffee with my eyes closed. I can feel Kazumi studying me.

  “What?” I ask without bothering to open my eyes.

  “Nothing. How much do you remember about last night?”

  “Everything...I think,” I murmur into my mug. “What time was it when we got home?” I’m still not sure how hung-over I am, or will be. I may still be a little buzzed.

  “Not too late. I think it was 2:30 a.m. I made you take some Aleve and gave you some water when we got in. You fell asleep in the car,” she pauses. “You were saying some interesting things last night,” she says, clearly entertained at my expense.

  Oh, great. I bet “interesting” is furthest from the truth.

  “I don’t want to know what I said,” I say quickly. I really don’t want to add embarrassment to my list of feelings this morning. Queasy is more than enough at present. She smiles a perfect toothy smile.

  “Okay, Lenore, but don’t forget our agreement.”

  “I know what I agreed to. I said I would do my best. I don’t know how comfortable I’m going to be. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it now. You can see for yourself how awkward I’ll be after tomorrow night’s practice,” I mutter as I take a seat across from her.

  Kazumi and her burlesque crew practice Wednesday evenings, I get to go in a couple hours before the rest of the girls to work one-on-one with Kazumi. I am nervous that they won’t like me, The Mercuries, or worse, I won’t like them. Aside from Bingo night with Gladys and Maggie, I’ve never hung out with a group of women.

  Kazumi has assured me that they are very professional, and for the most part, socializing isn’t really on their itinerary during practice. I believe her; Kazumi can be very strict and direct when it comes to dance. I shift in my seat uncomfortably just thinking about it. Kazumi changes the subject and begins talking about her parents and how they are planning to add a new green house to their nursery. I am thankful for the distraction.

  After my espresso and bagel, Kazumi makes me a “miracle smoothie”. She doesn’t let me watch while she makes it, which leads me to believe there are some bizarre ingredients in it. I drink it down and begin feeling better almost instantly. In fact, I feel as though I got eight hours of sleep.

  Kazumi and I busy ourselves in the garden for an hour or so weeding and trimming my plants and vegetables. Bucky lounges beside us, absorbing the sun and cool breeze. For the time being, it feels like fall. I know it’s only a matter of days before the hot California sun resurfaces and squashes my hopes of crispy air and foggy skies. For now, I’m enjoying the grey weather. It suits my mood perfectly.

  Once Kazumi goes home, I take Bucky for a short jog through the streets. It’s quiet out. I have my ear buds plugged into my head, the music as loud as I can take it. Most of the businesses don’t open until ten or eleven in the morning, so it’s a ghost town except for the few cars making their way down the side streets, or the quiet bustling of the few breakfast spots serving hungry customers.

  I run past the Bank of Uptown City building on the corner of Olive and Green Street. It’s enormous and the air is always cool in its grand shadow. I glance at the clock protruding from its side and see that I have a little over an hour before I need to open shop.

  Just as I am rounding a corner to head back home, I get the feeling I’m being watched. I feel that creeping chill up my neck, and my scalp prickles. I come to a stop and pull out my left ear bud. I glance around nervously, but I see nothing amiss. I try to shake off the feeling of that all too familiar anxiety I know, and hate.

  I have Bucky; he’ll keep me safe, I say to myself.

  I put my ear bud back in and resume my jog with much less enthusiasm. As I get to my street a few moments later, I see that creamy-white vintage Mercedes pulling away from my shop. I freeze and my heart slams violently against my sternum. What the...? I glance around. Was he just driving by? Does he want his umbrella back?

  I make a run for my door, unlock it, and slide it open. I release Bucky, and he dashes noisily upstairs. Jordan must be up.

  I quickly hang up his leash, and as I am about to take a step forward, I see an ivory envelope just under my foot. I slowly bend down to pick it up. I open it carefully and slowly with shaking fingers. Inside there are two papers, one is torn from a book, written on it is a familiar quote.

  That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.

  Edgar Allen Poe. Why this particular quote? I love Poe. Is this from him, the stranger?

  Steady girl.

  Why am I so excited? I feel my heart thumping heavy inside my chest. Something about that quote makes me think− a memory of last night flashes before my mind, but my brain is too foggy to remember it properly.

  I open up a small piece of folded stationary, my breath coming out erratically, and written in beautiful cursive, are a few simple words:

  May I join you on another walk?

  V.J.R.

  Oh, it’s him all right. The stranger. I feel my heart ballooning inside me. I could float up to the ceiling just now.

  I don’t know how I could ever summon the courage to go on a walk with him when I couldn’t even bare to look at his face for more than a moment. I stay perfectly still as I examine the note again and try to gain some understanding as to why I am feeling such a tangle of emotions at the thought of seeing him again. It is what I’ve been hoping for, isn’t it?

  Last night...was he there? Or did I imagine him? I struggle to remembe
r, but I can’t. My memory from last night is still asleep.

  I don’t even realize I’m shaking until Jordan, who is apparently on the stairs, runs down to me.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” he asks, placing a hand on my forehead. His eyes crinkle with concern for my well-being. I quickly hide the note in my jacket pocket and brush him away.

  “Oh, I’m fine. I just remembered what I agreed to last night,” I mutter convincingly enough. He relaxes and smiles.

  “Ha! You’ll be great Lenore. Just try and have a little more confidence in yourself.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “Ok, pretend to have more confidence in yourself, that’s pretty much all we can do right?” He shrugs at his own question. He’s in his clothes from last night. He looks lanky and sexy with his hair tousled. Am I the only one who looks like a mess after a night of drinking?

  He comes over to me and folds me in a brief but warm hug.

  “I’m going home, I’ll see if my mom has fired Caleb yet,” he says casually. I know he doesn’t want to have a confrontation with either of them, and just now I realize that perhaps he feels bad. I’ve been very inside my own head lately. I should have asked him more about his situation.

  “Just go back to work, and act like nothing happened. I mean, can’t you say you want to be friends?” I ask, as if it isn’t a big deal. He shrugs on his leather jacket and gives me a look that says I don’t know shit.

  “I’ll keep you updated,” he murmurs and leans over, kissing me on the forehead. He smiles at something on his phone. “I’ll go to practice with you tomorrow, offer you some support, and vodka if necessary,” he adds with a wink and tramps out the door.

  As soon as he leaves I clutch the note in my pocket. Can I go for a walk with V.J.R? Can I summon some courage, or at least pretend that I have some? I drag myself upstairs to change, hopefully today won’t be such a slow day and I’ll loose myself in work, or a book at the very least.