“It’s a factor I’d have to consider,” Phule agreed. “Also, the fact that Super Gnat represented us in the fencing match with the Red Eagles, which was covered by the media.”
“I was wearing a mask for most of that,” Super Gnat said, waving a hand in vague dismissal.
“True, but you weren’t wearing a mask for that photo session … or much of anything else, as I recall.”
“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Brandy interrupted hastily. “We wanted to make the point that women can change their appearance dramatically with a change of hairstyle or color, or makeup, or wardrobe.”
“Or just by putting our clothes on,” Super Gnat added with a bawdy wink. “Tell me the truth, sir. When you look at one of those nudie photo spreads, how much time do you spend looking at the woman’s face? Would you recognize her if you saw her on the street? Without a staple through her navel?”
“I … I’ll admit I never gave the subject much thought,” Phule said. Though he tried not to show it, the conversation was making him uncomfortable … just as the photo spread in question had when it first appeared. “If we accept for the moment that you can change your appearance sufficiently to avoid recognition, though, what would you do? Do you have any specific covers in mind?”
The Gnat shrugged. “No problem there. I used to do a little waitressing from time to time, both dinner and cocktail. I’d probably prefer cocktail waitressing, if given a choice. They circulate through the casino rather than stand duty just in the dining room, and the kind of action you’re watching for will probably be going on at the tables, not over a meal. Besides, the tips are better from drinkers.”