Toni's over-the-top attitude softens. Despite his usual humour, he knows that when it comes to my brother, I don't appreciate jokes. Konnor is, without a doubt, my favourite person in the whole world, and he's been through so much. He's adopted, but I'd like to see anyone tell me he isn't my real brother. They'd soon be sporting a Cassidy-shaped fist in their abdomen.
Toni's smile is tight. "He lives on the other side of the state, aeons from the District. It's too far. He's got classes and rugby and heterosexual male stuff to do. Darlin’, you'll have more fun without him tonight, don't worry. He's kinda a drag when it comes to you."
"Yeah, I know," I huff. "But I'd still like him here."
"I know you would. But you havethisdrag."
I grin at him and lift my feet onto his lap. He immediately gets to work, unwrapping the ribbon from my pointe shoes and peeling me out of my confinements.
"Oh my gawd, that feels so good." I wiggle my toes. "Flick says his punishment is 'Crazy Grandma Duty' next Christmas."
Toni's eyes crinkle as he laughs. "Does she still call him 'The Fake Grandson'?" Toni asks as he rubs my feet.
I try not to giggle because she's harmless, and Konnor knows it. "Yep, every time. But they both get drunk, argue,and then end up discussing the universe and religion and communism. It's like clockwork."
"Are they for or against communism?"
"Hard to say. I think they both agree on a kind of socialism?"
Toni laughs again. "Your brother is so intense."
"I know."
"So can you get your fanny up and get a move on!"
Nodding, I face myself in the mirror. "My birthday... Lots of people. Profiteroles, maybe. Cocktails, definitely. Speeches, I hope not! Presents... Maybe I'll get the Bert and Ernie leotard I've been asking for... Hey, have you ever noticed that Bert has a monobrow, while Ernie doesn't have any eyebrows at all?"
"No, I didn't. But I did notice they sleep in the same bed, so I blameSesame Streetfor my homosexuality."
I pull my feet from his lap and twist to face the mirror. "You should write to thank them."
"I will. Now let's get that makeup off, because you kinda look like a baby prostitute."
"I think I'm the last person in our entire city you can call a prostitute," I point out as I begin to wipe the makeup off my eyes and cheeks.
"You have no one to blame for your abstinence but yourself. Guys wanna get up in there." He smirks and thrusts his hips suggestively. "You just won't let 'em."
I copy his thrusting and giggle. "I don't have time for guys to get up in here."
"Get a dick up ya already." He laughs loudly. "You're all wound tight! We're not living in a John Hughes movie; you're not gonna lose it to the boy you will marry and have annoying little brats with."
I scoff as I continue to remove my makeup. Whensomeone knocks at the door, I immediately sing out, "Come in," without thinking.
My casual attitude changes as soon as I see who strides in. Two middle-aged men in coats greet me—one with a wide smile and open arms. I don’t need an introduction to know who he is. It's a formidable sight to see Jimmy Storm striding into my dressing room. I've never met him before.
Why would I?
But I've seen him on The District News enough to know that he's Barack Obama to some and Al Capone to others. I swallow, finding it hard not to notice that Toni's suddenly ashen beside me.
"Cassidy. What beauty. Thank you for that performance," he says, his accent so thick it's like he's only just left Sicily.
"Hi, Jim— I mean, Mr Storm."
"Jimmy, please." He extends both hands and sandwiches mine between them. He smells like smoke and bourbon and something else—something like... shoe polish?
I grin at him and feel my cheeks heat. "I'm glad you liked it."
"Liked it?M’arricriài!" He gestures theatrically. "You are a very talented young lady."
