I watch Andrea make her way down the hall, her usually purposeful stride more of a trudge. A sliver of anxiety weaves into my preshow jitters, but I have to shelve my concern. We have half an hour left, and there are a few things to cover before we’re stage-ready. “Ladies, family meeting.”

Ginn and Tonic look up expectantly. The aerialists are “Twins” in stage name only, as evidenced by their vastly different coloring, and have been been performing together since high school. They are also a rare exception to the show’s focus on classic burlesque, performing their peels suspended above the stage.

Ginn pulls her red hair into a messy bun. “Fire away, Kitten.”

“Should we get Jane?” Tonic asks.

“Nah. We talked songs on the ride in. Ladies,” I direct to the Twins, “you’re trying the new aerial number with the silks, right?”

“Silks!” they chime.

“N’kay. I’ll have them ready.” I jot a note beside the set list. At the top of the page, the club’s name, Meryton, is spelled out in fine, looping lettering, with “the Meryest Burlesque Revue in NYC” printed below.

“It’s Ming, Twins, Jane, then Twins, Ming, Jane, for the eight o’clock,” I say, citing the performance order. “We have three confirmed bachelorette parties for that show. Ming, the one at table five chose the ‘naughty’ theme—I’m sure they’d appreciate a little extra attention. They’ll be the ones with the dick straws and the bride in the phallus-tipped tiara. And that was two separate synonyms for ‘penis’; I hope you’re taking notes.”

“I like what I like,” Ming sniffs, and dabs at a blob of pearlescent body paint in her belly button.

“And you do like penis,” says Ginn.

“Anyway,” I interrupt, “that’s all I have. Anyone need anything?”

Ming cranes her neck, rubbing the dislodged body paint over the swells of breast cresting the cups of her bra. “Did Andrea bring our bubbles?”

I glance at the file cabinet, where Andrea deposits the preshow prosecco and stems, but the only thing breaking up the gray metal surface is Ming’s Mad Lib. That anxiety from earlier tightens around my middle. Andrea might have been distracted by the Mad Libs, but it would take more than that to sideline her from bringing down a bottle. “I’ll go.”

On my way out, I check in with Jane. “I’m going upstairs. You need anything?”

He straightens his tie with a broad smile. “No, I don’t, but thanks for checking first,” he croons, each word a note on the scale.

Turning, I point to my back, where my corset stays hang in need of tying. “If you’d be so kind?”

“Do you have the ladies where you’d like?” he sings, higher this time.