“Did Ming tell you we were coming by?” I ignore Ming’s feigned gasp of indignation.

Momma inspects her nails, the red acrylics filed to points. “I don’t break out ‘Fever’ for most Wednesday-night crowds.”

“We’re looking for someone to fill in for Johnny when he’s on tour in March,” I say.

“Go on.” Her voice is a purr.

“We’re thinking we’d start you off with a few spots as a featured singer. If you like the feel of the space, you’d sub for Johnny when he has other commitments. His annual Foul-Entine’s Day thing’s already scheduled for a Saturday, and there will probably be others once a month or so.”

“Is that all?”

“Ming’s assembling a Thursday-night set. More of a variety show than classical burlesque,” says Darcy. “It will need a host.”

“We don’t need an answer right away.” I draw a business card from my purse, grabbing a pen from the table to write the date of opening night on the back. “If you can make it, we’ll save you a table.”

Momma spears the card between her talons, turning it over to look at the date. “I can make myself available.” She tucks the card into the vast stuffing of her bosom. “Now for the after-show rounds. Momma needs a drink.” She sashays through the fringed curtain separating the dressing room from the front of the house.

“She’s the first soft ‘yes’ we’ve gotten,” Darcy muses, eyes on the still-swaying curtain. “Everyone else has been enthusiastic.”

Ming drapes her garment bag over the table. “She did say she needed a drink . . .”

“That’s my cue, right? I’m the closer?” Darcy looks to me for confirmation. At my laugh, he rises. “You need anything?”

“Other than a stimulant?” Ming slides into Darcy’s vacant seat. She puts her feet on my lap. “I saw you yawning during my set. It makes a gal doubt her sex appeal.”

I wrinkle my nose in apology, stifling another yawn. Between Work It, renovations, scouting missions, and my private nocturnal activities with Darcy, I’m spread thin.

Work It is still taking up the better part of forty hours a week, though Toby’s been understanding with the odd times I’ve had to duck out for contractor meetings. He blames himself for not warning me off of Wickham, and he was mortified to learn about the idea theft, though not entirely surprised. It turns out they weren’t as close as Wickham’s visits led me to believe, and Toby was secretly relieved when Wickham’s interest in me was redirected.

“No, thanks,” I tell Darcy, who’s already at the curtain. “Go land us a drag queen!”

“I’m out, too,” says Ming, shifting her feet off me. She plants a noisy kiss on the top of my head. “Might hit TD ’n’ F up for a shot, though. Part of my finder’s fee.”