Chapter Five
Two weeks later, Eve sat at one of the ornate Gilded Garden cocktail tables, surrounded by silence, her gaze fixated on the
empty stage without really seeing it. A clipboard rested in her lap and it held five résumés for dancers. Today were auditions.
The Gilded Garden already employed a few off-and-on dancers, hired before she’d ever opened the doors to the public, but the
performers weren’t as inclined these days to travel from Boston or New York City, thanks to the lack of clientele. Ten tickets
sold wasn’t much of an incentive to drive between two and five hours, understandably.
It was time for Eve to admit she’d been foolish. Opening a burlesque club in a small town in Rhode Island? Mistake. A big
one. Instead of selling her father’s strip club and splitting the money with her sister, she’d convinced Ruth to allow Eve
to use the money to demolish the interior of the establishment that had caused her so much grief growing up and turn it into
something she could be proud of.
Ill-advised. Silly. Shortsighted. Arrogant.
Self-indulgent.
Four years ago, Eve couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
She’d been obsessed with rebranding her family name.
Proving herself a businesswoman to all the people she’d attended school with who asked her, every single day of her life, when she planned to join the family business and take off her clothes for cash.
Stripping was a legitimate job. The women she’d known growing up had families, bills to pay, or, hell, they just enjoyed the
art of getting mostly nude. Nothing wrong with that.
That being said, now she had Ruth’s twins to consider and burlesque was the more socially acceptable form of entertainment,
compared to stripping. Or so she’d thought. People in town didn’t seem inclined to make a distinction between the two.
Still, burlesque and the lounge she’d built to showcase it were simply more Eve’s style than Cat Fight.
Only let them see what you want them to see.
Isn’t that the epitome of who she was? And the Gilded Garden represented that.
It was her way of saying, Screw you, I didn’t run away from this place and my reputation, I rebuilt it stronger. With more style.
But maybe . . . no one cared.
Even when she’d gone onstage to perform a few weeks ago, hoping to draw some local interest from people who make it their business to see
others get humbled, the turnout hadn’t been that remarkable. Had she really thrown her heart and soul into something that
didn’t matter? Had she built a monument to her childhood trauma, simply for herself to worship?
The fact that the club was six months from going under said yes. She had.
Eve’s phone vibrated on the table.
“Oh lord,” she muttered, recognizing the number on the screen. Lark and Landon’s school was calling. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Eve Keller?”
“Yes. Speaking.”
“Great. I’ve got Landon here in the nurse’s office complaining of a stomachache.” Some whispering took place in the background. “Landon says he switched sandwiches with Corey W. at lunchtime and he thinks he’s allergic to turkey.”
The first time Eve got a call from the school about her nephew, she’d almost split her head open leaping out of the shower
to answer the phone, assuming blood had been spilled or he’d had some sort of mental breakdown over his mother’s sudden absence.
Nope. It was always something like this. Yesterday he’d gone to the nurse because his fingers looked weird. “Could you keep
him there a little while and see if his stomach stops hurting? Maybe some soda water would help?”
“That sounds like just the thing.” Based on the smirk in her tone, the nurse recognized Landon was trying to pull a fast one.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Gratitude nested in Eve’s breast. The school nurse was a real one, nice from day one. It was a testament to Eve’s experience
that someone being kind to her in this town landed so hard. “Thank you.”
No sooner did she hang up with the nurse than a young woman walked into the lounge.
Eve sat up straighter, liking her vibe. She was on the short side and kind of disgruntled looking, but she had a cool rockabilly
style with chopped black bangs and a vintage scarf tied around her neck. She was wearing a pair of high-waisted pants and
suspenders, complete with a cap-sleeved white T-shirt. Cute. Original. But maybe not the best choice if she planned to audition.
“Hi.” Eve stood up and extended her hand. “I’m Eve. Thanks for coming. Did you bring music?”
“Uhh.” The new arrival’s step slowed. Looking confused, she dug her phone out of her pocket. “I mean, I have Spotify . . .”
Unprepared. Not off to a great start, but Eve wasn’t in any position to be picky. “Great. Just pull up your song and I’ll
tell you how to connect to the Bluetooth. Do you need to change your clothes before the audition?”
“Oh.” A slow blink from the girl. “I think we have our wires crossed. I’m not here to audition.” She scratched her eyebrow.
“I don’t even take my clothes off in front of a mirror, let alone a crowd.”
Crowd was a stretch. Seven people had attended last night’s performance.
Eve dropped like a stone back into her chair and blew out a breath. She should laugh it off and give the girl directions to
the interstate or the nearest Starbucks, depending on why she’d come in here, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to be cordial
or friendly. Her energy had slowly been waning since Madden walked out of her apartment and it appeared to finally be sapped.
Not good.
When she’d had time to breathe, the magnitude of what happened that morning hit her like a two-by-four. Madden had finally
figured out her longest-standing secret. He’d called her out for keeping him at a distance because of Skylar’s megacrush.
And sure, of course her best friend being in love with Madden had a lot to do with Eve keeping him at arm’s length. Over the
years, however, it had become a lot more than that. Her reasons for ignoring her feelings for Madden had multiplied.
I’m a fucking rock and you can’t dig me up.
The grind in her chest was so intense, Eve didn’t even have the capacity to react when the nonauditioner sat down across from
her, blocking Eve’s view of the stage. “You okay, bitch?”
Eve looked up sharply. “Do you need directions? Or maybe an ass kicking?”
A smile bloomed across the girl’s mouth. Pretty. She was very pretty.
She’d look even prettier outside. Driving away.
“I don’t need directions,” assured the girl.
“Not even to the exit?”
Rockabilly girl bit her bottom lip. “Damn. I kind of love you. Are you always this mean? Please say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Dreams do come true. I’m Veda.” Veda, apparently, pulled over a chair from another table and used it as a footrest, crossing
her booted ankles on top of it. “I’m here with a proposition.” Eve raised an eyebrow at the footrest situation and Veda promptly
put her feet back on the floor. “Sorry, I overcompensate when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“Are you serious?” Eve didn’t know where this was going, so she crossed her arms and waited for Veda to explain. “You’re kind
of famous around here. The hot burlesque club lady who walks her kids to the bus stop with no pants?”
It took an effort to keep her expression neutral when her stomach nearly jumped into her mouth. “That’s ridiculous. I wear
shorts. And a hoodie. It’s just a long hoodie that probably makes it look like . . .” She trailed off with an incredulous
headshake. “Why am I having this conversation?”
“You’re well known around here, so yes, I’m slightly nervous. That’s the point I’m trying to make.”
“Fine.” Eve picked up the clipboard to examine the top page. “What else has you so jumpy, babe?”
“My proposition.”
“Which is?”
Veda ran her thumbs upward beneath her suspenders. “You have a lot of land out back of this place. It’s just sitting there, unused. Do you have plans for it?”
As if she could see through the wall, Eve glanced in the direction of the acre that lay empty behind the club. Once upon a
time, her father had used the space as overflow parking, but Eve sure as heck didn’t have an overflow problem now. In fact,
she’d barely thought of the empty land in two years. “No plans at the moment.”
“Not going to lie, I was hoping you’d say that.” Veda scooted closer to the table, flattening her palms on the surface. “So,
I’m in a band—”
Before Veda could go any further, sunlight invaded the club, followed by a series of clicking footsteps. Whoever had arrived
was in heels. “Well, praise the lord. Someone came prepared to audition.”
“That felt targeted,” Veda responded, her eyes trained on the entrance to the performance area, along with Eve’s. But unlike
Eve’s, they widened as a woman sauntered into the room in leather pants, a cape . . . and pasties, complete with tassels.
“You can cancel the other auditions,” drawled the newcomer, who appeared to be in her early fifties, though her light brown
skin belonged in advertisements for antiaging cream. “Rhonda has arrived.”
Eve’s lips twitched “Hi, Rhonda. Do you have music?”
“Nope. I dance to whatever is playing in my head.”
What little energy Eve had left flatlined. “Okay. I need a drink.”
“Question.” Rhonda sauntered over to the table, hands on hips, perusing her surroundings as if she was mentally redesigning
her new kingdom. “What are the performance parameters? Can I flash a little bush?”
Veda slapped a hand over her mouth.
Eve didn’t so much as blink. She’d more or less been raised in a strip club.
Sat backstage and listened to the performers recap their conversations with the customers and, on occasion, overheard those exchanges firsthand.
She’d been present for it all. “There are no hard rules, although in the spirit of burlesque, we encourage the performers to keep something to the imagination.”
“Even if I flash it, I’m staying fully covered. I haven’t seen the inside of a waxing studio for the better part of a decade.”