Free The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight by Lynne Connolly Page A

of a couple discreetly in shadow but obviously naked, posed in what looked like a flamenco step. And the others more flamboyant, the woman barely clothed, the skirts of her salsa dress flung high.
    They appeared stylish. She paused. The entrance was discreet, marble and unsmudged smoked glass. The man who stood just inside the door was dressed not in the obvious tux or flashy uniform but in a smart lounge suit. The very big man, obviously one of the club’s bouncers.
    She shifted the bag containing her dance gear to her other hand and took a step away from the photos.
    The man beckoned, crooking his finger at her.
    A sense of fatalism filled her. What did he think she was? Before she could push the door, he opened it for her, smiled, and gave her a once-over. “Are you here for the auditions?”
    “I—” He had to be joking.
    He tilted his head to one side. “Come on, you’re a dancer, aren’t you? I can spot you people a mile off.” He nodded at her bag—a sports bag with her shoes and dance gear in it. “You looked like you were going to run. There’s no need. The auditions are open, first come first served. You’ll probably be last, but I can put you in there.”
    That sounded suspiciously like he was looking for a favor. “Thank you, but—”
    “What’s wrong?”
    What was she thinking? She couldn’t work at one of these clubs. They’d never let her in a ballet theater again. Then again, they weren’t letting her in now…
    His brown eyes shrewdly took in her appearance. “This is the first Maskerade club. The first and the best.” He puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back. “We lead the way.”
    She’d bet they paid more than union rates, and a place like this would want bar and waitstaff as well as dancers. That would work for a while. Maybe she’d look into taking a job here, if they’d have her. This was a new market than the one she was used to and a completely different circuit, but it was all dance. She could do this.
    The dancers weren’t entirely naked, and she was used to exposing her body. She’d done some contemporary dance in an effort to broaden her range. As long as it wasn’t explicit. Erotic, sure, but pornographic? Not a chance. At least, she didn’t think so, although the difference between the two escaped her. She was no expert, as she’d proved to Nathan the night before last. Already her experience with Nathan seemed so long ago, as if it had happened to somebody else.
    After he returned to Chicago, he’d have forgotten her. He’d have women falling over themselves to get to him. And she’d have recovered from their affair. It would be a pleasant memory, and they could meet as friends. Distant acquaintances, more like.
    This was the best offer she’d had all day. Apart from that, she wanted to prove herself, to show she could do something. “What’s your name?”
    “Smokey,” the man said. “On account of me being as big as a bear and my first name being Joe.” He shrugged when she frowned. “You don’t know Smokey the Bear? Or Smokin’ Joe Frasier, the boxer?”
    For the first time that day, she smiled. “That’s going back some.”
    “People remember. What can I say?” Smokey gave a sweet smile, his teeth flashing with the whiteness of the cosmetically enhanced or the fake. Probably the latter, if his battered ear was any guide. Instinctively she liked him, trusted him, and when he touched her elbow to guide her in the right direction, she didn’t flinch back.
    Why the fuck not go for the audition?
    What did another rejection matter in a long line of them?
    * * * *
    Nathan glanced out the window that overlooked the main floor of the club.
    Even by day it didn’t look sleazy, more like an exclusive dining room.
    Which was what he meant it to be, one day. He was considering using the clubs by day as well. It seemed criminal to let the time between the cleaners leaving and the club opening go to waste. A dinner or lunch club seemed ideal.