“I’m sorry, sweetums.” That was all Orchid could muster. In Petra’s eyes, she saw worry and not anger. She couldn’t help but wonder how long that sentiment would last. “Only, it’s hard not to feel jealous when the woman I love is showing her wares to a group of grubby old jerks.”
“They’re not all grubby,” Petra said. “And they’re not all old. But I take your point.”
Orchid let out a heavy sigh. It seemed illogical for a former burlesque dancer to feel such indignation toward a current one. “Say, aren’t you missing the finale?”
“I’m not in that number,” Petra said, smirking. “After the Seven Veils, I’m done like dinner.”
She was only a few years younger than Orchid, yet she had the vibrancy of a woman who’d led a peaceful and open life. Orchid’s past was tainted by secrets and shame, being cast out of the religious commune of her early years for loving another girl. “Madame would be irate if she caught you out here dressed like that.”
Petra shrugged. Facing Orchid and the silent sea, she untied her belt and opened her robe. The very second Orchid caught sight of her lover’s bare breasts, her knees buckled yet again. She hobbled to the old willow tree, which clung to the cliff’s edge like a desperate thing, wanting life though death would be infinitely easier. She looked out across the ocean: the blue sky with its showy cotton clouds, darker water peaked with slow white waves. Nature seemed such a reliable force, and yet, to Orchid, her own nature struck her as invariably changeable. She couldn’t settle on one emotion if five were at hand.
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