Oh no.
I keep smiling, and we pause, teasingly, while Gertie draws out the last line.
No, this is what women in Chadwick Hall novels do.
It makes us objects for the male gaze. It’s derogatory.
Then again, maybe I’m just afraid. It’s not like I’ll be topless.
Show your fierce beauty to the world.
We all smile teasingly, and the cheers grow louder.
The corsets come off in one sweep.
Except for mine.
I chickened out.
After a five-minute break, and a few prop exchanges, we’re ready for “Circus.”
This time, Tyler’s the soloist, and he looks unbelievably awesome in a red corset costume with a flashy silver sequined skirt. I wonder, fleetingly, if he thinks of Freddy as he performs. I can’t imagine he doesn’t.
I take my place beside him, determined to have fun on this one. No more nerves as I stand by Tyler in the dark.
“Having fun?” he whispers.
“Fucking time of my life.”
“Then this one’s yours.”
“What? Wait!”
He hands me the mic.
“No... no... no...”
But he’s already snapping the removable silver skirt around my waist.
“You’ve got this, Lizzie.”
Do I?
I break my rule and look out into the sizable crowd lingering around high, round wooden tables. Little quirky vases of bright carnations accent the tabletops and bar. The place is packed. I see an artsy, warm crowd wearing drag—colorful gowns, fun tuxedos, and sparkly tiaras. I see wigs and, even in the dim lights, dramatically dark brows honoring Dita Von Teese and Jean Harlow. In this moment, I’m a rogue Victorian-in-mourning, and I feel wonderful.
The music starts.
I’ve got this, and I love this crowd. I stretch my free hand out to them as I grip the mic and belt out the first part of the song.
Now the corsets part away from me as August and the other vests weave between us. But I strut forward. This ismyshow.
The corsets behind me straddle and swing on the chairs, twirling giant red ribbons. As the beat picks up, I pull off the removable skirt and—oh why the hell not?—I toss it into the crowd amid roaring cheers. I wink as a drag queen in a pink gown catches it.
August and another vested dancer lift me up into the air as I sing loudly, with a confidence I’ve long forgotten.
They bring me down and twirl away while I swing my foot up onto my chair. While the corseted dancers flank me, twirling the giant red ribbons, Tyler tosses me a large silver one from somewhere. My voice quavers, surprised, until I remember I’m in charge here.
Claps and cheers sound as I flick and twirl the ribbon in front of me, gripping the mic still in the other hand. I spin with the ribbon a few more times, before handing it off to August as he twirls by. Then I spin on my chair, syncing a nice leg kick with Tyler. Are my moves perfect? No. I’m far from a Rockette. But I’m having the time of my life, and the crowd knows it.
