Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I just did a set, and Julie was one of my dancers. I’m a singer, and I love it. I went to school for singing, and manage to make a living from it. While I haven’t hit it big, I earn more than most within the industry, especially living in New York.
Glancing back up at the guy with the shaved head, I see he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still watching me. Intently, I might add.
“Lena, you sang beautifully.” I’m grateful for the distraction as the head of the off-Broadway theater, Matthew, approaches me. He stops, and when I look up, all I can see is his large belly hanging over his pants. He adjusts his belt, and as he does, his belly moves. Yes, I’m grateful to see him, but perhaps not from this angle.
“Thank you. I was a little nervous but loved every moment,” I say, surprised by his generosity. Tonight was my third night performing on stage in front of an audience. My gaze darts back to where the gloved man stood only a moment ago. He’s gone now. How did he even get backstage? Only those who work here or are a part of the show have access. Unless maybe he’s an employee and I haven’t seen him before?
He definitely didn’t look like someone who works here, though. I go to ask, but Matthew cuts me off.
“You did splendid. If you wouldn’t mind, I have a few big paying clients here looking forward to meeting you.”
“Oh.” I look down at my bare feet and then my heels lying in front of me. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone, and I’ve already changed into basic long, loose pants and a yellow crop top with a smiley face on it. “I may need to change.”
He waves me off. “No, you look perfect. They may want to invest more.”
I stand at his urging and grab my shoes. Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have worn the smiley crop top today. But I didn’t have many other options because I haven’t done my washing in over a week.
“Just remember to smile, no matter how tired you are, and give them what they pay for. It’s clients like them who pay our bills here.” I nod, still not feeling a professional vibe from my crop top, but I do as he says anyway.
We aren’t a large theater troupe like those on Broadway, but this place has people from all over the world. Dancers and singers try their hardest to get in here. It took me a good two years of auditioning twice a year after graduating and receiving my bachelor’s degree to get in. And I managed to snag a lead role.
I’ve been here now for six months, rehearsing and working my ass off, but tonight is only my third time on stage. We’ve gone through so many dancers and singers that I wasn’t sure I would get a solo shot at first. But now that I have it, I want to keep it. It’s my best-paying job so far. I’ll be able to give up the bar job in a few months and start living off what I make here, which has always been the plan.
“This way,” he says, and I follow him past the line of dancers heading back out to entertain those still mingling and drinking.
We stop at a private room, where several wealthy-looking people are seated and talking. I feel underdressed for this, but considering I was literally about two minutes from heading home, I must make the most of the opportunity. Why the fuck would Matthew let me come here dressed like this?
“Lena Love,” my boss says, introducing me to the roomful of people. Heads turn toward me, and a bunch of flowers are given to me by an older lady. It feels more intense than the night of my debut.
“Your voice was truly magical,” the lady gushes, and my cheeks redden at her praise as I step forward to the next person who tells me he hasn’t heard a voice like mine for quite some time. It’s always flattering to hear these things. But I have years of rejections, of “not yet good enough,” “we have someone better,” and “you’re just not ready yet” to negate all of the compliments I receive. But I suppose it’s the highs and lows of being an artist of any kind.
After I speak to a few others, I feel the sensation of someone staring at me again. Glancing to the corner of the room, I see the man from earlier sitting on a sofa, watching me.
I suppose it now makes sense as to why he might’ve been backstage, but even then, clients such as these aren’t usually allowed back there. They’re in a room such as this, where they can mingle, and they usually choose to focus more on each other than the cast and performance itself.