If anything, that should be encouraging about our future together.
He told his family that I was black. No need to surprise them too much. According to him, they took it in stride…whatever that means.
He thought it best for them to meet me before learning about my nightly occupation.
“It’ll be fine, Giuseppe.” I reach out and hug his arm, drawing him closer for a kiss. “Trust me.”
I have a pretty good feeling about it. Most people are perfectly fascinated by what I do, no matter how conservative they are. The man sitting next to me is the very one to prove that theory true.
“Mmm,” he says against my lips. “Too bad they can’t get this treatment. They’d be sold in a heartbeat.”
I pull away and give him a grimace. “I’m going to take that one the way it was intended.”
He winces. “Yeah, that came out wrong.”
The Uber driver slows down and Giuseppe cranes his neck to look out at the street we’re on. “Third one up ahead. The one with the brick siding.”
I follow his gaze, curiosity eating me up.
I’m not nervous at all. I live for the performance, especially with a new crowd. The challenge of winning them over stirs that internal seductress in me.
The small street is crowded with cars, no doubt from his huge family, so the driver lets us off a few houses down. I’m in a pink, flowing skirt with matching heels and a white sweater, feeling absolutely Easter-esque.
We stroll, arm in arm toward the house. I’m carrying a pot of lilies and Giuseppe has the “much needed” wine, which is apparently tradition for the family to bring in honor of an end to Lent.
Should make things even more fun.
I smile at all the children skipping around on the front lawn. There are definitely a lot. One of them is the first to catch me, a boy about seven years old stopping and staring with open curiosity.
Eventually, the others catch on, all of them looking with the same curiosity about Giuseppe’s new girlfriend.
I return a dazzling smile.
“Good afternoon!” I sing in a cherry voice.
Giuseppe begins the introductions. “Guys, this is—”
“Honey,” a woman a few years older than him says, with an amused but assessing look. She walks over and pulls Giuseppe in for a warm hug. She turns to me and matches my smile with a perfectly pleasant one. “Nice to meet you.”
“You must be…” I squint one eye and bite my lip as I twirl a finger her way. “Angela.”
She laughs raising her brow in appreciation, then turns to Giuseppe with a sardonic grin. “Good guess.”
She turns back to me with a slightly more welcoming smile. “Well, you might as well come on in and join the circus.”
“Who doesn’t love a circus?” I say, making her laugh.
Inside, it is indeed a circus. The house Giuseppe grew up in is neither tiny nor large, but with enough people, it might as well be a clown car for how many people are coming and going.
And the two of us are suddenly the main attraction.
Amid all the warm, familial hugs, Giuseppe introduces me around and I’m met with a mixture of polite smiles, similarly warm hugs, and the occasional teasing jab about what I’m doing with a “bum” like their brother. It reminds me of the sort of ribbing I grew up with from my own siblings.
Before we can get to his parents—his father is in the den watching TV and his mother is cooking in the kitchen—one of his brothers puts the first crack in the dam.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks as he studies me. “I swear the name and the face…” His brow shoots up. “Hey, you’re—”
He stops himself before revealing too much. But the leak has already started.
I turn to Giuseppe with a pert smile, leaving it up to him to reveal the truth.
“She’s what?” a woman nearby asks.
“Well, I don’t want to talk outta turn or nothin’,” he says, grinning at Giuseppe.
I continue to smile at Giuseppe, who finally turns to me and sighs. “It’s up to you.”
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I turn back to Marco and beam. “Yes, that’s me. Chanteuse Femmes? I’m a burlesque dancer.”
“I knew it! Gina and me, we went to see that a while back after winning these tickets at something, I dunno what it was, but—” he stops and stares in wonder at me, then turns to Giuseppe. “How the hell did you land a girl like this?”
Giuseppe frowns.
I laugh.
Then, I take hold of my guy’s arm and hug it. “You’d be surprised what this one is like underneath that Clark Kent exterior.”
By now, the spotlight on us is even brighter, and the questions roll out nonstop.
“A burlesque dancer? Like with the feather boas and stuff?” Yes.
“Like from that movie, what was it?” Gypsy?
“You don’t get nervous or nothin’? Up on stage with all those people watchin’?” Nope!
“Care to give us a demonstration?” That one earns his brother John a smack on the head from his wife, to the amusement of everyone.
“What in the world is going on in here?”
That silences the family, who are absolutely eating this up. We all turn to see a surprisingly short woman who I recognize as Giuseppe’s mother. She has her hands on her hips and looks on with her brow furrowed in curiosity.
“Ma,” Giuseppe exhales, he takes my hand and leads the way through the crowd toward her. “This is Honey, the woman I told you about.”
She scans me up and down with a shrewd eye as though wondering what all the fuss is about me. “You the reason for the captive audience?”
“Well—” Giuseppe says, hesitating.
“I was just regaling you’re lovely family with tales from my adventures on the stage.”
I hear a snort of laughter behind us and grin in amusement.
“You see, I’m a burlesque dancer.”
I turn to Giuseppe. His expression is positively anxious as he stares at his mother.
“Hmm,” his mother says, scrutinizing
