L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

“Well, that’s the first thing you’re putting on. My costume is second.”
I gulped.
Angela turned me around and launched me back upstairs. When she announced to the
r e s t of the girls that I would be taking Kit’s place in the Revue, I expected
disappointment or impatience. After all, I would bring the quality of the choreography
to a grinding halt. Instead they all clapped and whistled, and positioned me in a line,
then helpfully and slowly modeled the rst few steps of the routine. Kit, her back
miraculously healed, became the ad hoc choreographer, snapping and counting in her
bra and underwear. It was like the sleepover I had never been invited to, but with
lingerie. When I messed up, no one scolded; they all laughed and made me feel like
being an amateur would endear me to the crowd regardless of whether I would hinder
their performance. Truth was, their generosity, genuine support and encouragement for
this terrifying thing I was about to do brought tears to my eyes, which I was careful to
stanch lest I smear my six layers of mascara Angela eventually applied. It took away
some of the terror. Some.
Two hours later, one spent learning the group’s routine and the other spent with Angela
helping me come up with my own, I was backstage at the Blue Nile as the crowd of
mostly men streamed in and gathered around the tippy tables in front. Between bouts of
practicing, and deeply panicking, I got help from one of the girls in applying the nal
touches, pressing on a fake mole, adjusting my stay-up shnets. Finally, Angela stood
before me, Kit’s burlesque outt, white lace on black, draping from her ngers, the long
pink ties trailing to the floor.
“Okay, babe. One leg, then the other,” she said, as she shimmied the tight suit over my
thighs. “Turn around, I’ll lace you up.”
I turned, keeping one hand on my churning gut. I watched as the tighter Angela tied
the ties, the higher my breasts swelled over the top of the scalloped bodice. That’s when
Matilda ducked backstage, the sight of her taking the rest of the air out of my lungs. She
smiled at Angela and threw open her arms.
“You’re a champ, Angela!” she said, leaning in to whisper to her, “I think you’re
almost ready to guide. Leave us alone for a bit, my dear.”
Angela left, beaming. So she would be a S.E.C.R.E.T. guide soon. I wondered what that
felt like.
“Cassie, look at you!” said Matilda.
“I feel like a sausage. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“Nonsense.” Matilda tugged me completely out of earshot of the other girls to give me
some last-minute instructions.
“Tonight, you’ll have your pick, Cassie.”
“Pick of what?”
“Of men.”
“Which men?”
“Men from your fantasies. The ones you’ve thought the most about over this past year.