Once he’s another foot off the ground, Gideon tries to copy my swing. He slams into the pole, catching the brunt of his weight right between his legs.
“Aaaaaah!” he wheezes.
Every woman in the audience cracks up laughing.
Every man winces.
Gideon slides down the pole with a sickeningscreech, his face twisting in pain. Beth runs over as he collapses at the base, clutching his ruined jewels.
Serves you right, Gideon Blake. You steal my jewels. I break yours.
“Are you okay?” Beth cries as she tries to get him to unclench his hands from his crotch. “Is there anything I can do? Perhaps a soothing massage. Or, I know, get into the tree pose. That will help align your chakras—”
“I need… air…” Gideon rolls onto his back, curling into a ball like a misunderstood hedgehog.
“Pole dancing is a dangerous business,” I say. “Perhaps Gideon should be more careful.”
Gideon tries to say something, but all that comes out is a gasp.
Maisie rushes over, clutching her pet duck in her arms. “You’re so encouraging, Arabella. You know, the variety show fundraiser needs more acts. I think you’d be perfect.”
I grit my teeth. I’d been planning to make an anonymous donation to fund the newspaper and keep Maisie’s job, but before I could write the cheque, Beth and Maisie had concocted their absurd variety show plan. “I don’t perform any more. Tonight was a favour to Beth.”
“You wouldn’t have to perform,” Maisie nudges me. “You’d be the director! You put the show together, run the rehearsals, and create the overall vision. Please? As a favour to me? James Pond thinks you’d be amazing.”
She holds up the duck. He’s dressed in a sparkly bow tie and a hat with bobbing peacock feathers that makes me think of the feathers Catherina used to unfurl on stage.
“Quack?” James Pond begs, giving me big, duck eyes that match Maisie’s.
“Please?” Maisie begs.
“No.”
“PLEEEEASE?”
“No.”
“With a cherry on top?” Maisie clasps her hands together over James’s breast. “You’ll be perfect. You’re an actual showgirl.”
“I wasn’t merely a showgirl. I was an entrepreneur.”
“Well, can you see your way to lending that damn fine entrepreneurial arse to managing this thing for me so I get to keep my job?”
“QUAAAACK?”
I sigh. “Fine.”
Maisie does a double take. “You’ll really do it?”
“Yes. I’ll direct the bloody variety show. Anything to get the duck out of my face.”
Maisie throws herself at me, wrapping me in her arms. “Thank you, thank you!”
“Quaaack!” James Pond flaps his wings in protest as he’s trapped between us.
“Not so fast.” I frown at her as I extract myself and pull duck feathers from down my sports bra. “I have two conditions. The first is that I’m not doing it on my own. I’m moving house. I have client work. I have to spy on Gideon. I’ll need help.”
“The Nevermore Coven can help with your move! Winnie could organise. I could pack boxes. Isis will cleanse the new house, and Celeste could bring us packing snacks when she finally gets back from her mum’s—”
