Page 22 of For Your Eyes Only
She snickers, handing me the black leather rabbit mask. “This will help.”
I take it and fasten it around my head over the wig. It reminds me of something Halle Berry would wear as Catwoman, only I’m Glitter Girl.
Turning my head side to side, a tickle is in my stomach. “I love this look.”
Bianca steps back inspecting her handiwork. “You look fierce.”
I apply dark berry lipstick to my full lips, and electricity moves from my stomach higher into my chest as I wonder if he’ll be here tonight, out in the darkness watching me, wanting me. Now I know where to focus all my energy.
For the first time in a long time, I’ve got stage butterflies. Excitement zips through my torso, and I’m having a hard time not smiling. I feel like I have to pee, but there’s no way I’m getting out and back into this costume before I perform.
Bianca will never let me hear the end of it if she knows what I’m thinking.
Shula runs breathless and shimmering off the stage as we wait in the hall, and when she sees me, she stops dead in her tracks. “Holy shit! You look amazing!”
The smile I’ve been holding back bursts across my face. “Thanks.”
“You’re not going out there smiling, are you?” Red crosses her arms, eyes narrowed.
She’s the oldest dancer at the club, and she got her name because she always wears a signature red wig. She’s also grumpy as hell.
“This isn’t my first time performing,” I snap back, and she arches an eyebrow before turning and walking away.
People think I’m a pushover because I’m young, but they forget I was a ballerina for ten years, and at home, I had to contend with Aunt Graziella. I’m tougher than I look.
“You got this?” Bianca puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes.
“I got this.” Glitter Girl is rising inside me, and I can feel her taking away my fear. “Is he out there?”
A beat falls between us, and Bianca doesn’t breathe. I don’t breathe. She leaves me for a moment and walks to the edge of the curtain, peeking out from the darkness into the now-lit house. It’ll be dark when I perform, and with the spotlight in my face, I won’t be able to see anyone in the crowd.
Her face gives nothing away as she walks back to where I’m standing, my breath shallow. Our eyes meet, and she nods. He’s there.
He’s watching.
“Let’s go.” I walk onto the stage.
Tonight we’ve planned my dance so I’ll start on the stage, sitting backwards in a bent-wood chair with my arms stretched forward and my head bowed behind a thin, shimmering curtain. I’m dancing to “Open Your Heart” by Madonna, and as soon as the first beats of the drum strike, the curtain swirls away. I begin to move.
I know all the words to this song, and even if they don’t exactly apply—I haven’t been following Trip around, and he hasn’t walked past and ignored me on the street—I’d be okay with him opening his heart to me.
I’ve imagined threading my fingers in the sides of his dark hair. I’ve thought of his scruff on my face, my shoulders, my inner thighs. I’ve pictured his full lips capturing mine in a possessive, dominating kiss.
I’m inexperienced, but I read romance books, and I have a vivid imagination. Now I’m on the stage dancing for his eyes only. I ignore the men howling like wolves. I can’t see their drooling mouths. I can’t see anything with the glare of the spotlight in my face, but I know where he’s sitting.
Reaching my arms in his direction, I look down the line of my fingers. I skip away, turning as I lean forward, arching my back and sticking out my ass as I untie the first ribbon on my left boot.
I toss the scrap to the hungry men who mean nothing to me on the floor. Then I move to the next boot, repeating the process.
Energy hums on my skin, and I’m one with the music. I’ll make them all want me. Moving higher, I untie the ribbon around my waist, twisting around and shaking my ass as I untie the next bow, allowing the fabric to fall away, leaving nothing but a G-string.
The roaring of the crowd grows louder, and I hear a voice yelling, “Glitter Girl!” Disregarding it, I continue the dance, strutting in my giant boots.
I wish I could see his face. Instead, I close my eyes and picture it in my head as I slide my hands up my body. I see the sly smile curling his lips, exposing straight white teeth. I picture those teeth clamping down on his full bottom lip, and heat warms my core.
Turning to the front again, I’m at the end. I skip to the side and bend forward, sliding my hands from my ankle to my thigh, to my waist, finally lifting my breasts. The last bow is tied behind my neck, and I’ll release it as I turn away just slow enough to provide a teasing glimpse of my breasts.
It’s time. The trumpets sound, Madonna is urging, and I do it. I pull the ribbon and start to turn. I’m midway through my spin when hands clutch at my feet. Someone is on the stage trying to grab me.