The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy) Read Online Free Page B

again before I put them in my go bag, but it only takes one hole wrapped around a toenail to make you paranoid for life. It really cramps my strut when I feel like gangrene is creeping up my foot.
    Next, I retrieved the baggie containing my garter belt. Bra and garter hooks are the natural enemy of stockings, so I stored them separately. I hooked the belt on, sat down, put on my flesh-tone nylon footies so my toes wouldn’t poke through the netting, and slipped the stockings up my legs.
    It was always worth the extra thirty seconds to move carefully with fishnets.
    I rolled up my pink sweater, tossed my bra into my bag, and swiped my breasts with an alcohol pad to remove any oil from sweat. Then I applied the right pasty, as high on the aureole as I could. Princess Farhana taught me that valuable trick: never go dead center. If the bottom of the pasty just barely covers the bottom of the nipple, it’ll sit higher on the breast, making your breasts look about an inch perkier than they would be without pasties. A little cover-up and powder on the bottom of the aureole, and the audience is none the wiser.
    I was a young-looking thirty-two, but every little bit helped.
    The door slammed open. “I just
knew
Billy Joel would fuck up my life someday,” Tish announced. She threw the door closed behind her and flopped into the chair next to me.
    Tish, the fabulous Lola Getz, was even shorter than me, but you’d never guess it. Her voice was girlish, but she made up for it in volume. Her brown hair was cut in a bob that she used to create 20’s-style curls around her face. That face itself wasn’t classically pretty, but her rosebud lips were made for wicked smirks, and when she wore her dark eye makeup and false eyelashes, her hazel eyes looked almost like an anime character’s. And no one, but no one, could argue about the proportions of her petite body.
    “Hi,” I said absently, affixing the left pasty. I hated changing in front of her. As a troupe director and lifelong dancer, I’m sure she’s seen it all, but her figure was so much cuter than mine. She already wore her glittery black corset. “What about Billy Joel?”
    “It’s too annoying to talk about,” she said, and considered her manicure. “I don’t know what to do about this guy.”
    “The one who didn’t call?” I asked.
    “Well, he did,” she said. “But he totally doesn’t understand what we do. He wants me to give him a private show, and that would be, you know, weird.”
    “So what did you say?” I started lacing my lightweight corset. I wouldn’t wear something that would press deep indentations into my stomach before a solo, but it had a nice shape, and it was surprisingly comfortable. Once tied, the red laces came to a nice bow in a V at the small of my back. Tying it was the tricky part. Lacing yourself into a corset isn’t always easy.
    “I changed the subject,” she said. “Did you put on weight?”
    I flushed. “Maybe.” I looked down, feigning concentration.
    It’s just her insecurity
, I reminded myself.
Don’t personalize stuff that doesn’t belong to you.
The past two times we’ve launched Chicago Cabaret shows, the reviews mentioned me as a high point. One of them mentioned Tish as a producer, but not as a performer. Ever since then, and especially since the Boylesque Incident, she’s felt the need to get her little digs in. To be fair, I did love my wine and chocolate, so it stung, and I couldn’t say “no” conclusively.
    “He said he might come tonight.”
    “Does anyone have a scrunchie?” Lisa asked again.
    “Lisa, if anyone had a scrunchie, they would’ve said so the
third
time you asked,” Tish snapped. She turned back to me. “I hope she doesn’t do that reverse plough roll in her solo again,” she whispered. “It looks so awkward. You can see everyone wince.”
    A knock sounded at the door. “Ten minutes,” Grant’s voice called.
    Tish recovered her feet in one fluid motion and yanked the door