Cool, soft, and devastatingly feminine.
I let her pull me through the crowd because, frankly, I couldn’t have stopped myself from following the woman directly into the ocean at this point.
“Time for what, exactly?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
The lounge area beyond the curtains looked even more theatrical than the rest of the speakeasy. Circular tables crowded around a small stage framed in red velvet and gold trim.
There were feathers everywhere. A woman wearing a rhinestone corset the color of champagne strutted across the stage to roaring applause while a jazz trio played behind her.
I cleared my throat. “Is this… is this a burlesque show?”
Winnie looked thoroughly amused by my confusion. “Yes.”
“Oh my god.”
“Do you disapprove?”
“No, I’m just surprised.”
The performer winked at our table before peeling off one opera glove while half the audience showered the stage with dollar bills. The entire thing was somehow equal parts sexy and absurdly camp. A bearded man in fishnets performed next and got a standing ovation from the poker ladies.
A woman dressed as a gothic bride removed layers of black lace while fake thunder cracked through the speakers. Someone dressed as a devil did aerial silks to a swing remix of “Bad Romance.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. Not at the performers. Just at the sheer joy of it all. Nobody here seemed embarrassed or self-conscious. People clapped and hollered and tossed cash, celebrating every performer equally, regardless of body type, gender or age.
It was all weirdly wholesome.
Winnie leaned closer beside me during one particularly enthusiastic routine involving a feather fan the size of a dining table.
“I used to dance,” she said casually.
I turned toward her so fast I nearly pulled something. “You did not.”
She laughed softly. “I did.”
“There is absolutely no world in which I can picture that.”
“That’s hurtful.”
I laughed. “It’s just… you’re too composed.”
“Oh, I wasn’t always this composed, Conrad.”
Her expression turned solemn. “I had a very strict upbringing,” she continued. “When I first got freedom, I overcorrected slightly.”
I stared at her. “So you were a wild child?”
“I was many things.”
The mental image hit me all at once. Winnie younger, sneaking into clubs. Dancing under low lights in dresses that definitely violated several centuries’ worth of social expectations.
My brain short-circuited immediately.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” she informed me.
“I am not.”
