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I nodded, but he wasn’t looking. “Yeah,” I breathed.
Kingpin had some sort of theory that if I could sing in front of him, I could sing in front of a crowd. And for the most part, he’d been right. After all, he was the one I feared the most around this biker clubhouse and for good reason. Even more than Leviathan, the biker I was told would want to kill me all because of my father’s ties to a rival gang, the Asphalt Gods’ MC, Kingpin held all the cards.
With his drink in hand, Prez went to his piano. He might play, or he might just rest his chin on his hand and stare me down as I performed. I was expected to look at him too, keep eye contact, and sing to him. I wouldn’t be allowed to look away as he undressed me with his eyes. Here all this time, I thought I needed to imagine the audience naked.
Silly me.
“If you could just find one person to focus on instead of the size of the crowd,” he’d said, like he’d struck oil.
It’d been exactly what had worked for me before at Bootsies, on the rare occasion I did get up and sing. Little did he know, the eyes I made contact with were the flat painted eyes of our mechanical bull. Come to find out, getting comfortable singing in front of a scary biker like Kingpin did make me more relaxed on stage. We’d been working for months like this. And it’d turned into more than just overcoming my nerves.
Kingpin knew a thing or two about music, so our practice sessions were actually good for me. He taught me how to warm up properly, work on my breath control and emote and enunciate. Kingpin told me that he and his brother both took professional lessons as children. We practiced scales and he taught me tongue drills. I’d simply sang in the church choir where they’d taught me none of this. Maybe if I’d joined the choir in school, it’d be a different story.
From the moment I stepped into the Big House, I felt I had so much to learn and someone who wanted to help me improve. Prez coached me when he wasn’t just saying shit to make me angry. He'd learned when I was mad, I didn’t care about the crowd. I'd never been able to rehearse like this before at home or at Gran’s, even back in the church choir in Flipping, Arkansas. Plus, I had a real studio to train in.
I’d become mighty grateful for it all.
Kingpin let me pick the songs. Hell, he’d even hired a band for me. He didn’t mind me practicing my own songs, either. Said I could sing whatever I thought appropriate at Royal Road. That really narrowed my choices, though. Nevertheless, he was giving me that responsibility. The biker thought I could eventually sing somewhere other than the clubhouse, but he wasn’t talking about Broadway in Nashville. He filled my head with loftier dreams.
Kingpin and I were finding my vocal range. He’d decide to make me sing something I didn’t think I could. Like something from an amazing vocalist, like Allison Krauss. I’d at least try it for him. “Sleep On”, was a hard one for me.
At one point I faltered, I broke his stare and looked to the ceiling.
“That was flat.” Kingpin didn’t care one bit to tell me.
“I know,” I complained.
“I’m losing my boner.”
“You’re disgusting,” I spat. My hands shot to my hips.
Kingpin smiled at my reaction.
“I think I’m done for the day. I ain’t here to be your entertainment.”
“The crowd’s disgusting too. All those men’s eyes on you. Keep your shoulders back. You’re slumping.” As demeaning as it sounded, he was right. I had slumped over like a potato sack.
Kingpin’s stare left my eyes to travel down my body. His look made me want to cover up. But that was the point. I was supposed to ignore it and sing anyway. Kingpin reminded me I was selling a product. A beautiful noise, out of a beautiful body, he’d say. Again, gross, but he was right. But at least he was no longer coming over to pull my shoulders himself. We’d developed some boundaries. Putting my shoulders back, I pushed out my girls. I knew he noticed.
I ignored him.
And it worked.
For two hours I forgot all about everything, about Hallow’s absence, about being late. I was 100% focused on music. And yes, Kingman, irked the hell out of me during it, critiquing every note I made at times. Pissed me off at every turn. Hell, at this rate, I’d never have stage fright again. The man nitpicked at everything. How could I possibly fail on stage when I had to overcome the likes of him?
Prez left the piano, a sure sign we were finished.
“How was that?” I asked him eagerly before I caught myself. I never usually sought his approval.
Crossing the room, he paced, “I think you're ready for a bigger crowd.”
My head went side to side as I continued to keep eye contact like before. I shook my head to break out of the hypnosis.
“You really think so?” I glanced at my feet.
“I do. This weekend,” Kingpin suggested, his voice excited.
So far, I’d never performed on the weekend. “I don't know. I'm still a nervous wreck.”
