I think someone once said in the many Pride and Prejudice discussion boards I perused that Kitty is an introvert trying to copy an extrovert, ie. her sister and mother, and that’s the interpretation I carried through in my own novel. She’s someone who wants to be part of the party and have a good time, but her insecurities make her quieter and copy whoever’s the most confident person in the room.

As one can imagine that a major part of her arc is learning to become confident. Here’s a peek at Julia’s unorthodox way of helping her friend.

Chapter 7 

Let Me Entertain You 

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” Kitty asked again, rubbing a spare towel that Julia kept in her dance bag under her neck, arms and under her breasts. 

“You’ll see,” Julia sing-songed, enjoying her role as secret-keeper way too much. 

Kitty rolled her eyes as the scenery changed from the suburban streets of their town to the highway, and discreetly glanced at her phone again.

So so sorry about the lesson. Julia said she knew how to help me with dance practice. 

His reply came instantly, You didn’t tell her about the lessons, right? 

No. Our secret. Kitty smiled at that and shivered from the ticklish giddiness in her stomach. 

“Who are you texting?” Julia asked, side-eying Kitty as she changed lanes. 

She forced herself not to automatically cover her phone. Acting suspicious would only lead to suspicion. 

“Just telling Mom I’m going to be late to dinner,” she said. Something she should actually do. Her mother didn’t take surprises very well. Bad nerves. 

Julia shrugged and turned her eyes back to the road and the slight fear in her stomach that her lie wouldn’t be believed, released. 

The simple thing, the right thing to do would be to turn to Julia and explain she had singing lessons with Frederick and they could hold off her surprise for tomorrow. 

Yet something stilled her tongue.

It wasn’t only that Frederick told her not to even though she understood where he was coming from. Theater was competitive and the others wouldn’t appreciate what seemed to be favoritism. 

Even though they have all the advantages in the world with their singing lessons and acting coaches. 

She didn’t want to give Julia another reminder of how she wasn’t as experienced or privileged in the theater field. She had to take free singing lessons from the assistant director who wasn’t even a music major. It felt like sham lessons even though she knew Frederick was helping her. 

If she was being honest, she kind of liked having something special between her and him. It made her feel like she knew him better than anyone else in the cast. 

So, she didn’t speak up, and let Julia drive her to their mysterious dancing solution, which appeared to be in the city as the highway changed to the cement streets and oak trees of Boston. The smell of the air transformed from the earth smell of falling leaves to gasoline mixed with the scent of hamburgers and fries from the revolving doors of pubs, opening up for the evening rush. 

Julia swerved through several side streets before squeezing into a parallel parking spot by Dave and Busters. 

“Mmm, this looks good.” Kitty’s stomach growled in ferocious agreement and she quickly texted her mom that Julia was taking her out to dinner and shut off her phone. She didn’t want to hear the rapid notifications of her mom texting that she should have given notice earlier. 

“We’re not going here. It’s down this way. Also you can’t eat that kind of food anymore. A dancer has to stay in good shape.” Julia pointed to the right side of the street to what looked like another bricks and mortar pub at the corner of the street. 

Kitty rolled her eyes, and trudged after Julia. Mrs. Norris had been right about breaking her body down. She didn’t think she’d be able to move faster than a snail’s pace in comparison to Julia who was running in place at her slowness. 

The restaurant had a brown awning over its arched wood door typical of buildings in the area and the inside was as predictable, with a bar right in front where customers looked upward at the TVs set to ESPN and walls covered with photographs of sports people that Kitty couldn’t tell apart. 

“If the solution to my dancing problem is drinking, I think your aunt is going to have a problem with that. “Straight spines, straight lines,” she mimicked.

“Oh, but you’re looking in the wrong place,” Julia smirked mysteriously and gestured to a small side door by the bar that Kitty had assumed was a closet or the bathroom. 

There was a small sign on the knob that said “CC” like that was going to explain anything. 

When Julia swung it open, there was a set of creaky wooden stairs. Kitty followed after Julia, gently shutting the door behind her. The light the bar provided disappeared and a flickering lightbulb overhead made the swift descent reminiscent of a creepy horror movie. Her arms rippled with goosebumps from spiders that she imagined crawled around in the basement of the restaurant. When they reached the landing, Julia knocked against a metal door that melted into the surrounding darkness. 

The door creaked open, revealing a burly man that looked more lumberjack than bouncer in his orange flannel. “What is it you-oh, Miss Bertram, nice to see you again.” 

“Hi, Pat, sorry we’re late for the show. We can still sneak in, right?” 

Pat looked behind him before answering, “You’re lucky that Mondays aren’t packed. There’s still a few tables. I’ll have Randy get your usual order.” 

“Thanks,” Julia gave a little ballerina curtsy and charged forward. 

Based on the fact that this was set under the bar, Kitty guessed that this place would have been the basement for storage or a wine cellar much like the one Lizzy’s boyfriend showed them when he gave the Bennets a tour of his house. His wine cellar was the length of their entire cottage, and split in half for two rooms full of wine cabinets and shelves. This basement could have been the size of Darcy’s wine cellar but that was where the similarities stopped. 

Walls that had been concrete in the wine cellar were covered by velvet curtains or framed posters of scantily clad women with feather fans and jeweled necklaces. The floor was made of sparkly marble tiles that led up to dozens of small tables and patrons looking at a gleaming mahogany stage. 

In the seating area, the lighting was dim even though Kitty could see the sparkle of a chandelier overhead. The lights were low to bring all the attention toward the stage where five figures seemed to be high-kicking to “Lady Marmalade.” 

Were those real red velvet curtains? Kitty wondered as they approached an empty table near the back. It had a floral cover with a bouquet of lavender. A small candle under a covered cage provided enough light for her to see two empty plates that were whisked away by Pat. 

Once she settled in, Kitty focused on the act that was performing onstage and stared. 

At the center of the spotlight was a Rockette line of women in thongs and tassel pasties.

Kitty’s mouth dropped, taking in every bounce, jiggle and sway of naked flesh in varying tones. Some were flat with lines of abs that Kitty always envied when she felt bloated from too much food. Others were hypnotizing for their differences, like the woman at the far end of the line who sported a decorative tattoo of dragons climbing up her thigh, undulating with each high kick. Each was beautiful in their own way, glowing under the spotlight, yet Kitty was flushing like she was exposed. 

Julia seemed to take their near-nudity in stride, thanking the waitress that silently placed two plates of salad on the table, as if she was watching a dramatic monologue and not a strip show. Her nonchalance snapped Kitty out of her stupor. She shouldn’t be staring as if she had never seen a naked body before, but she still didn’t understand how this was supposed to help. 

Is Julia trying to say if these people can dance naked then dancing awkwardly isn’t so bad? 

She looked at the stage where the women were making their bows and back at Julia who clapped enthusiastically. “How is watching a strip show supposed to help me?”

Julia leaned closer as if people could hear them over the applause, “This isn’t stripping. This is burlesque. You know, part of vaudeville. They make dirty jokes; they dance like in Chicago.”

“Okay, fine this is like Chicago. But my problem isn’t research, it’s about how to dance and we’re not going to be stripping,” Kitty said, trying to keep the nervous shrill in her voice to a minimum. 

“I told you. It’s not stripping. It’s a burlesque, it has meaning behind it,” Julia said. 

“What? Stripping with a plot?” Kitty said doubtfully. 

“It’s like dancing with less clothes. It’s art, and these dancers move the way you need to be able to move onstage,” Julia corrected with a frustrated scowl. 

Kitty was about to reply that art was subjective and she’d already seen Gypsy when the room went dark. Then the stage was bathed in silvery-blue light where two men draped in seaweed rolled a large shell to the center.

“Bring your hands together for your favorite naughty mermaid, the Pearl of Oceania, Syrena!” 

Bubbly sound effects piped over the speakers before launching into a slow version of “Part of Your World.” The shell lifted to reveal its “mermaid.” Unlike the famous cartoon, this was a cedar-skinned, curly-haired brunette woman who didn’t have a tail. Rather her outfit was made up of strategically placed netting around her torso and waist that fluttered as she rose to her full height. It was so unlike the skinny blonde stripper ideal Kitty saw on TV. 

But Syrena didn’t strip. She walked down the steps off the stage to a table near the front. “Can I have that tiny spear?” she asked, projecting throughout the room. 

“It’s a fork,” the woman at the table laughed, handing it over. 

“No, it’s a spear. I saw it stab Flounder,” Syrena replied, prompting a few chuckles at the dark humor. 

“Unless this fork stands for something else. A pirate showed me his spear and he used it in a very different way. Same size though,” Syrena winked, then turned to go across the room, “Do you have a- oh, what’s the word?” Calling out to the crowd, “What do you call the oval of water?” 

People called out.  “Toilet!” 

“Water bowl!” 

“Dog bowl!” 

Turns out the correct answer was a pitcher. Once she gathered a tray, pitcher and several utensils with dirty pirate and sailor jokes all the way, Syrena went back to her shell. She dramatically put the full tray on her head and began to undulate her torso in an opposite direction from her hips in a hypnotic belly-dance without spilling a drop. The routine started slow but grew to a hip-shaking frenzy as the rhythm of the music increased like a stormy wave. Syrena stared out boldly and cocked one hip. The netting slipped off her left hip, but at the last second, she bumped it back to place to a mix of appreciative murmurs and groans. 

Kitty was transfixed. A part of her wanted to look away, feeling like a creep waiting to see if the net would fall. With each move, Syrena threatened to shed her netting, only to coyly slip it back on much like the tides moving back and forth on the beach. That woman didn’t feel creeped out or unnerved by the stares. It looked like she relished them. She was having fun. Like when she had raised her hands in the air, egging the crowd to cheer her on even more as she twitched her hips to the music. Then she held up one hand and the room went silent. 

Her mother always warned her that you were what you wore. You couldn’t blame people for treating you a certain way if it seemed like you dressed the part. 

At that point Mary or Lizzy would chime in about archaic double standards and victim-blaming and how men aren’t held up to the same definitions based on their clothing choices, but Kitty agreed with their mom. Life was unfair and even though one shouldn’t be judged by how they dressed it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be. 

She shouldn’t be fascinated by the dancer. She shouldn’t want to be onstage like her, slowly sliding her netting up her leg in front of dozens of eyes. 

Yet she wanted to. She wanted to be like that dancer.

“Wow,” Kitty breathed. “She’s so . . . so confident.”

Yes, that was the word. Power and confidence radiated from Syrena. How amazing would it be to be like her. 

Syrena burst into a bright smile, highlighting a dimple in her right cheek and the school-yard silenced eased into laughter. The dancer controlled the room, she controlled her whole image and she was powerful in a way too. No one could look away from her, not Kitty, or Julia or anyone else. She saw what Julia meant that it was like art, using her body she mimicked the unpredictable nature of the waves, gorgeous and uncontrollable. 

They all wanted her or wanted to be her. 

Kitty wanted that. No more self-consciousness when dancing. Or to be thought of as the little sister or worse, Lydia’s shadow. 

If she did that, maybe she could have some of that confidence. She’d be able to catch the eye of a man like Frederick. Be the star of the party like Lydia. She wouldn’t be worried about how she looked or sounded compared to others.