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Scanning the crowd from backstage, I search for familiar faces or a glimpse of the infamous Jude. When I first started singing at Dusty Rose, it was on amateur night. Graham talked Dusty, the owner, into letting me have a weekend night. There are only three of us that play on Fridays and it’s become the busiest night for the bar. Especially since all three of us sing different genres, it attracts different crowds, but it blends well. Shanna Stellars sings country and Jarod Chavez does a cross between pop and funk. I’m the buffer between the two singing only pop. Before tonight, I did it with no regrets. It’s not that I don’t love pop music, I just imagined myself singing songs with more depth.
The reflections of my sequin skirt dance across the floor when the spotlight catches it. I cast my eyes down and wonder why I let Graham have the final decisions on what I wear. I’m overdressed. Throw me in some cutoff jean shorts and boots, and I’ll shine more than my sparkly skirt.
“It’s a packed house,” Jarod says, throwing his arm around me. I note what he’s wearing and sigh with a twinge of envy. He’s wearing jeans paired with combat boots and a simple black t-shirt. The girls go wild over him, which isn’t surprising because he’s gorgeous in a bad boy kind of way. He has a slender frame, naturally tanned skin and a drop-dead smile that can make women’s panties melt. “I heard Jude Stonewall’s coming tonight.”
“That’s the rumor,” I reply, innocently. A producer showing up is rarely announced. I’m uncertain how the word got out, but I won’t mention my source. “I guess we’ll have to bring our A-game.”
“Pshhh.” We don’t turn, knowing who’s behind us. “I always bring my best,” Shanna snidely says, standing to our side. My mouth drops open when I notice her. Jarod barks out a laugh and I elbow him in the ribs.
“Really, Shanna?” I force out, gawking at her outfit. If it weren’t for her dark chocolate hair, I’d think I was looking in a mirror. She’s wearing the same thing I am. Short black sequin skirt with a white lace top over a black tank. The only difference, she’s wearing the boots. Heat blazes up my cheeks.
“Oh, looky there. We’re twins,” she snickers, flashing her perfect white teeth. This is not a coincidence. She goes on first and considering she’s never tried to sabotage me before, she must’ve also heard that Jude will be here. Though, she’s not very smart showing me before the show starts. It’s still annoying as hell to find something else at the last minute.
Graham, already out working the crowd, won’t be able to approve another outfit without people seeing me in this one. I grab Jarod’s wrist and glance at his watch. Less than an hour to figure out a new outfit. I glare at Shanna. “You’re goin’ to need a lot more than stealin’ my wardrobe to get noticed. It’s a good thing you can’t steal my voice.” I force a sweet grin back at her before walking away. “I hated this outfit anyway,” I snap. Getting under her skin right before she goes on shouldn’t feel this good, but the way her face twists like she just ate a lemon, makes it better.
“There’s my southern sweetness,” Jarod croons. I roll my eyes. Anger brings out my southern drawl and Jarod loves it.
The thin dressing room walls shake from slamming the door. On a mission, I swipe each hanger looking through the options one by one. After finding an outfit that is more me, and one Graham would approve of, I quickly change. I’m slipping on my last shoe when Graham comes storming in. I figured as soon as he saw Shanna, he’d be on a rampage. His red, contorted face confirms my thoughts.
“Calm down,” I say, spreading my arms out wide. “I like this better anyway.” He has strong opinions about me showing off my legs so I picked something that did. His eyes move up and down my body and he twirls his finger in the air. I chuckle but spin in place for him. “Do I have the Graham approval?” I tease. I’m wearing short metallic silver shorts displaying my tan legs, a tight black tank and I finished the look with four-inch black peep-toe heels.
“Yes.” He sighs, waving his hands around. “But that bitch is on my list. I’ll make it my life mission that she never makes it anywhere near a recording studio.”
The air crackles with energy, my skin soaking all of it in like a sponge. There is nothing more exhilarating than being in front of hundreds of wired people, waiting on you to captivate them with your voice. Pull them in and give them an experience where they let go of all their daily grind for a night of fun. My body hums with adrenaline as the audience chants my name.
The lights go down. That’s my cue. The microphone almost slips through my sweaty hand as I take my place on stage, surprising me. I take a few deep breaths trying to calm the nerves running amok. I rarely get nervous. But there are two new sets of eyes watching me. Judging me. It’s my past and future colliding.
Lights illuminate the stage. “Hey y’all. Thanks for coming out to watch us tonight,” I beam. The whistles and catcalls make me grin. I’m not naïve, I know why Graham has me looking like I’ve stepped out of a Barbie dressing room. Sex sells. The mask I put on, the sexy Sky, has helped me. It’s a camouflage for my scarred and damaged heart. I shine on the surface to hide the darkness on the inside.
The things we do to survive.
The lyrics that come out of my mouth are nothing but words. To most people, music provokes thoughts and feelings. Not me. Not anymore. The words I sing are emotionless. All night I’ve tried to avoid Max’s eyes. Yet, I’ve sensed them on me, like they’re burning a hole right through the mask I wear. With a ten second break between songs, I’m thankful the lights go down so I can wipe the sweat dripping down my chest, between my boobs, and take a quick drink of water. They need to turn the air up.
“Is it me, or is it extra hot in here?” I ask the guys, fanning myself.
“Not any worse than normal,” Tug, my drummer, responds. He pulls his sweat soaked shirt away from his slender tattooed body. I laugh because he’s right, that is normal for him.
Taking my place in the front, we start our next song. We have three more songs in our set, so I hype up the crowd to finish strong. A grin spreads across Graham’s face in the front row, and I know he’s proud of me tonight. It’s not until my eyes catch Max’s that I know searching for him was a mistake.
I wanted him to see I’m doing better.
I wanted him to see I’m living.
I wanted to see if he was proud of me too.
What I didn’t expect was my mind to replay the last time he saw me sing. The intense need to sing a song I swore I’d never sing again burns deep inside of me. Maybe it’s proving to myself that I have moved on. Maybe it’s proving it to him.
“I’m doing something different tonight,” I say before starting my last song. My voice is on autopilot, my eyes pinned on Max. He quirks his head to the side. Even though I’ve stopped jumping and dancing, my heart picks up, beating erratically. It already knows it’ll be a turbulent ride, but my mind is determined.
The band waits for me to start, I’m sure confused. I squeeze the mic being held up by the stand and close my eyes. The lyrics come out tender and slow, silencing the crowd. I’m holding still, afraid if I move, I’ll fall to my knees. The fakeness is stripped from my voice, leaving behind naked honesty, and I’m taken back to the day I lost everything.
My heart is broken. The emotions I thought I would have are non-existent. Can someone feel nothing? I scan the church, filled with Damon’s friends and family. A sea of black wallows across the room, the soft sound of cries floats above.
Why can’t I cry? I love this man. I told him I would be his wife. And now he’s… gone.
The extra large gold-framed picture on the stage stares at me, waiting for my words. The pressure of his eyes bearing down on me brings guilt. I wring the Kleenex in my hands. The one I had brought with me just in case the tears came. I glance at the picture again and softly grin.
Clearing my throat, I step up to the mic. “I’m sorry. I’m struggling with what to say.” I stare down at the ring on my finger. I’ve only been wearing it for three weeks. “Um… Damon was an amazing man.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh, that was endearing.
