Chapter Eighteen
Eve stared dumbfounded at the entrance of the Gilded Garden as more and more customers arrived. The tables were almost completely
full and it had been so long since that happened, she wasn’t prepared with enough waitstaff, so she’d had no choice but to
jump in and play hostess, guiding people to their seats in front of the stage and taking drink orders.
“What is going on?” the bartender whispered at Eve as she picked up another round of espresso martinis.
“I have no clue,” Eve murmured, piling drinks onto her tray. “And I’m not questioning it either.”
“Do you have someone new performing?”
“Yeah, but . . .” Eve shook her head as another laughing group of college-aged students piled into the lounge. “Full Bush
Rhonda didn’t mention having a following like this. She hasn’t performed since the nineties.”
The bartender did a double take. “Excuse me? Full Bush who?”
“You’ll see,” Eve said, weaving through the throngs of customers to drop off the martinis. She remained another twenty minutes
to help the waitress fill orders, before ducking through the blue velvet curtain leading backstage. There, she found Rhonda
sitting at one of the performer vanities, awash in a row of Hollywood-style lightbulbs, putting the finishing touches on a
very dramatic cat eye. “Rhonda.”
“Yes?” drawled the older woman, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth. “What can I do for you, honey?”
Eve’s lips quirked at Rhonda’s smug tone. “These people are all here for you, aren’t they?”
She patted her hair. “Told you so.”
“Rhonda, none of these people were alive the last time you danced.”
“Bitch, you can’t let me have my moment?” Rhonda said on a burst of laughter, elbowing Eve in the hip playfully. “I’ve got
nine grandkids, all college age or older, and they did their damn . . .” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Social media
magic. You’re welcome.”
The rising hope in Eve’s chest was tentative, but . . . it felt good. She hadn’t experienced one of those feelings in a long
time. “Are your grandkids here too?”
“Some of the girls, yes. It was a tougher sell to the boys, but they’re going to take me out for dinner tomorrow instead.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Rhonda hummed, distracted by a clump on her eyelash. “I’ve always danced for the ladies, anyhow. There’s always a face or
two in the crowd that just transforms when they see how much I love my body, flaws and all. I like to think they go home and
look in the mirror a little differently. With more gratitude for what they’ve got.”
“That’s beautiful,” Eve said, meaning it. Tucking it away for later, so she could reflect on it some more. For her, burlesque
had always been about seductiveness. Teasing. The decadence of the slow reveal. But there was more to it. More to consider.
“You’re on in half an hour. You ready?”
“Born ready!”
Eve scooted back through the curtain, bobbing and weaving to avoid getting clocked by stray elbows, returning to the bar with her tray at the ready, quickly kissing a newly arrived Elton on the cheek.
“I could barely get a parking spot,” he shouted over the noise, taking off his black ball cap and tossing it on the bar as he took a seat. “Is it always like this?”
“No.”
Elton nodded with approval at the packed lounge. “Guess I’m in for a treat.”
Eve smiled. “You have no idea.” Checking the time on her watch, she was reminded that more than one event was taking place
tonight. “Do you know the score of the Yankees game?”
“Are you serious? I get alerts in real time.” He winced. “They’re losing. Three to one. But it’s early.”
“Yeah. Is Madden happy there?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re his wife.”
She flipped him the bird. “I would. I will. It’s just . . .”
“You’re both the strong, emotionally stunted silent type?”
“You get more annoying with age, you know.”
He grinned, though it dipped slightly as he glanced back over his shoulder toward the door. “So is the rockabilly donut queen
coming with her boyfriend, or what?”
Eve didn’t show a reaction, but she found it very interesting that Veda had spent a lot of time at iHop dropping sly inquiries
about Elton and his romantic history, which Eve had been compelled to be honest about. Elton had always been the type to commit
fast and hard. Too fast and hard. He wanted exactly what his parents had. An established place in the community, permanency,
respectability, kids, square footage.
Considering Veda was still in her party phase and didn’t show any signs of slowing down, any mutual interest in each other could end . . . badly.
“Yeah, she’s coming. With the situationship and her sister.”
“Nice. Nice.” He popped his neck. “How old is she again?”
“The sister?”
“Uh. Veda.”
Oh brother. “Twenty-one. Too young for you.”
“I’m not interested,” he scoffed, leaning sideways to order a beer from the bartender. Then, “But out of curiosity, how is
that too young? I just turned twenty-five.”
“She’s a different kind of young, Elt.”
“Right,” he said, brow furrowing. “Maybe the sister.”
“Maybe the sister.”
The door of the Gilded Garden opened and in walked a trio that could not be more mismatched. Veda was arm in arm with a boy
who looked like a paid Grease extra, right down to his leather jacket, Elvis haircut, and the toothpick dangling from his mouth. Beside them was a real
estate agent. Even if Eve hadn’t seen her face on half a dozen benches throughout Cumberland, she’d know this woman was into
selling houses. She had on a blue blazer, pleated pants, and ballet flats. Her smile was bright and welcoming. Hair tastefully
waved and spilling around her shoulders.
In other words, Veda’s exact opposite.
Eve watched Elton’s gaze bounce from the sister, Alexis, to the Grease extra’s arm, which was crooked around the back of Veda’s neck, tugging her close as they advanced toward the bar. In the
end, Elton’s eyes stayed on Veda, a telltale muscle ticking in his cheek.
Red alert.
“Hey, guys,” Veda said, seemingly avoiding eye contact with Elton. “This is my . . . friend and bandmate? Slightly more? I don’t know, but his name is Smith.” She hesitated, seeming kind of nervous, but she finally looked at Elton. “And this is my sister, Alexis. Alexis, this is Elton and Eve.”
Elton stood slowly, jerking his chin at Smith. “Hey.”
Smith fished the toothpick out of his mouth. “Hey.”
“This space is just a dream. You’ve done wonders with it, Eve,” Alexis effused, cutting the odd tension, before coming forward,
tucking her purse neatly beneath one arm and extending a hand toward Elton. “It’s nice to meet you. Alexis.”
Elton pried his attention off Smith and Veda, making a visible effort to focus on the young woman who couldn’t be more his
type if she tried. “Hi, Alexis.” He tipped his head at the bar, swallowing. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Her pearly whites were on full display. “Sure!”
It made no sense that Veda appeared crestfallen when she’d been the one to show up with Smith. Not to mention her sister,
who she’d brought specifically to introduce to Elton. But there it was. Veda watched Elton and Alexis launch into an easy
conversation, her body language that of someone who’d just been trampled.
Eve would have to sort through the odd undercurrent between Veda and Elton later, though, because the Gilded Garden was at
maximum capacity for the first time ever.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Eve said, gesturing for everyone to take the remaining seats at the bar. “I have to help the waitstaff
and give the performer a five-minute warning.”
Nine minutes later, Eve couldn’t even call drink orders over the cheering—and the praise was well earned, because Rhonda cooked.
She emerged from behind the blue curtain in a floor-length robe adorned with peacock feathers—presumably fake—and fluttered her falsies for a good thirty seconds to absorb the applause.
She then crooked her finger at the busboy, whispering something in his ear, to which he nodded, with a grin on his face.
Eve’s eyes widened considerably as the busboy got down on all fours, acting as a footrest while Rhonda proceeded to peel back one side of her robe, demurely, making a meal out of stripping off her thigh-high fishnet stockings one at a time.
Gradually, skillfully, the robe came off one rolling, shimmying shoulder. Then it slipped off the other, the duster slithering
to the ground before Rhonda bent forward, ass to the crowd, giving them just a flash, before she was back under the robe,
midspin to face the audience once more, the music picking up tempo. Using the busboy as her voluntary footstool again, she
propped a pointed toe on his shoulder and leaned back, arching, reveling in the purposeful movement of her ample cleavage.
Remembering what Rhonda had said backstage, Eve scanned the crowd and, indeed, saw several young women transfixed by Rhonda’s
confidence. Her enjoyment of herself, her body, what it could do. This was important.
Although every constructive thought in Eve’s mind fled when Rhonda faced the crowd fully and finally ditched the robe . . .
living up to her nickname and then some.
A beat of silence swept over the crowd. Then they absolutely lost it.
Veda bounded up beside her. “Dude.”
“Dude.”
“Do we even need the GoFundMe now?”
It wasn’t lost on Eve that Veda had started using “we” with regularity when referring to the triumphs, woes, and potential future of the Gilded Garden. Oddly, she didn’t mind it so much. “Yes, we do,” Eve said, sending Rhonda a thumbs-up. “I’m in a lot of debt.”
Veda nodded right through that revelation. “Not for long.”
Eve slow-clapped. “Give it up for Full Bush Rhonda.”
“A living legend.”