"Actually," Tracey clarified, winking at the barman when he brought her drink, "I'm a principle dancer for the Ballet Russes, circa 1918. I never get to dance in anything lovely at the school."
She would have to be careful not to drink too much, or certainly some harm would come to the costume. Even if Atwell could not repay her physically should anything terrible happen, he'd keep her from sleeping for weeks. He'd done it before.