Slowly, the pony was starting to become familiar. Sure, it didn’t offer the luxury of the place she typically frequented in Paris, but it was more spacious and the girls were nice, less in competition with her, they regarded her as a good friend at best and a curiosity at worst, which Chéri could deal with.
What she found harder were the customers: older, less rich, less cultured, and generally after her for different reasons, she mostly found them boring and overeager. Oh well, that was the province, she supposed. To be fair, it had mostly advantages, but tonight she longed for someone who could at least come off as a little more refined.
She was wearing her long, light brown wig, styled according to the fashionable gibson girl style, and a beautiful pigeon-breasted white gown that she had adjusted to fit her less than feminine form. A little bit of padding here and there had done the job. It wasn’t for her curves people were interested in her anyway. “Delicate” was the word she had heard mostly. Which generally meant she had fat lips, a nice ass and the rest was skinny. She wondered if those qualities were the sort of things the blonde gentleman talking to the bartender could be looking for.
