by Tineka Brown
The first notes of her opening number kicked in, loud and strong and clear, and she took a deep breath, walked to her mark, faced out to the crowd and began to sing.
She knew as soon as those first notes sprang from her throat that she was going to be fine.
Singing hadn’t always come naturally to her, but she distinctly remembered a moment, when she was younger — seventeen. She’d sung at her high school’s winter dance, half on a dare from her best friend at the time and facilitated by her favorite teacher who had happened to overhear the conversation. As she belted out the lyrics on stage at Everett’s casino, she was transported back to that moment, standing on a little stage in front a small gathering of her classmates, all dressed up in gaudy and sometimes-ill-fitting formal wear.
She’d been nervous — terribly so. It wasn’t her first time singing in front of a crowd, but it was the first time singing in front of people she knew, or at least, people who she knew but that weren’t so familial that they’d hide their true opinion about her performance.
But the first note of the song — a slowed down version of a pop song that all her friends had been listening to at the time — had made everyone turn. Some people put down plates of snacks and walked over to the stage. The small crowd that had gathered grew, crushing against the edge of the apron.
And Olympia had sung, getting into it, moving with the rhythm of the music, losing track of anything other than the song. It had ended before she knew it, and she was barely aware of her own movements as she took a deep bow and grinned, running offstage to greet her friend, who was half-smug and half-flabbergasted.
It was the same feeling as she traveled and danced across the (much larger) stage in Everett’s casino. The music was loud and the lights bright enough that she had no perception of being in front of a crowd. In fact, it was rather like she was alone in her bedroom, putting on a show for her mirror and her cat. Olympia lost all concept of time, only following the rhythm of the songs, pausing for applause between numbers, occasionally heading backstage where Sally and two assistants dressed all in black would strip off her dress and pull her into a new one.
When the set finally ended, and the house lights came on, just enough for her to gaze out into the crowd and spot one or two faces, Olympia realized she was panting, exhausted, her face and chest flushed with heat.
She threw up her hands in a gesture of thanks and saw that the front two rows were standing.
Then more rows, behind them, began to stand, causing a mesmerizing ripple effect across the entire visible section of the audience.
Olympia was overcome, felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes all of a sudden — all her hard work and rehearsal, all the strife of the past few days, it had all been for this moment. And it had all been worth it. She took a deep bow, then another, then blew kisses out into the crowd, until finally the applause began to settle, and she took her leave, running off the stage with a silly grin plastered over her face.
She had barely rounded the corner to backstage proper when she ran into Valentine, headed for the wings.
She opened her mouth but said nothing. Valentine looked at her and sniffed. His eyes were still as wild as they’d been when he’d stopped by her dressing room, earlier.
“Are you alright?” She asked, regretting it almost immediately.
“I’m fine.” He said. There was an edge of something — maybe anger, agitation, maybe just nerves — in his voice. He sniffed again.
“Okay. Well, break a leg!” Olympia tried her best to put on an encouraging smile. “I’ll be watching.”
Valentine nodded and rushed through the door.
Olympia shook her head, trying to exorcise the uncomfortable feeling of that interaction. Everett had arranged a seat for her near the front of the stage, so she’d be able to watch Valentine’s performance from the audience. She quickly changed out of her stage dress and into a formal, but comfortable black number, before heading back out. There was five minutes left of intermission. Everett was chatting with his parents, but he flashed her a brilliant smile as she took her seat.
“You did great,” he whispered, leaning over to clap her on the shoulder as the house lights dimmed once again.
His parents seemed to pointedly avoid saying anything. Olympia tried to brush it off.
Valentine stepped out onto the stage, and Olympia could tell instantly that something was wrong. He had a curious wobble to his stride, and his movements seemed ever so slightly off-rhythm. She could almost feel Everett tensing up beside her.
Just as she had known how her set was going to go as soon as she hit that first note, Valentine’s first note spread out across the audience in a wave of vague discomfort. It seemed that the high-energy, excited atmosphere that Olympia herself had fostered was now dissipating, leaving in its wake something at best mediocre, and at worst, rather eerie.
Valentine, for his part, appeared to be making a valiant effort — he was sweating by the end of the first verse, and his eyes were only growing wilder. Olympia’s chest tightened as she watched him — as much as she’d felt like he needed to be taken down a peg or two, this isn’t how she would have wanted it to happen.
Not here, not in front of all these people — not when the show could count for so much.
But the show had to go on, and like so many others in the audience, Olympia pasted on a polite smile and watched.
This time around, Olympia was all-too aware of the time. Even without checking, she could feel the passage of every minute. When Valentine finally let out the last, slightly squeaky note of his ending number, Olympia could feel the entire audience relax momentarily, before tensing up again, realizing a round of applause would be in order.
And of course, they applauded. There were enough people in the room that even a mild smattering of applause was deafening compared to the small crowds that Valentine and Olympia were used to singing for, at the old lounge.
But there was no mistaking the fact that no one stood. Valentine was as painfully aware of that fact as anyone else — and he immediately took it to heart.
He bowed once, half-heartedly, the stared out into the audience, a storm brewing in his eyes. Olympia’s heart sank, and anxiety found its way into her chest. She glanced over at Everett as if for support, but he was totally focused on the stage, his jaw set as though he were grinding his teeth.
Valentine left the stage in short order and Olympia felt her throat tighten. She knew that stride. He was angry, and he was looking for someone to take it out on.
She made her way to the door to go look for him.
It didn’t take her long to find him. In fact, he burst through the front-of-house doors, nearly clocking her in the face with the heavy slab of wood.
Olympia jumped aside, but there was no avoiding him. He was livid — his face up close was ruddy and his eyes bloodshot. Olympia felt panic begin to course through her as she realized he was not only high, but in the midst of some sort of paranoid fit of rage.
“Why aren’t you clapping, Olympia, aren’t you proud?” His speech was quick, slightly slurred, as he walked toward her. She backed up and was quickly pinned against the wall.
“I clapped for you, Valentine, the show is over. Relax. You did great.”
“You did great.” He sneered at her. “You did gre-eat. I don’t have to take this. I’m an adult, and I know when I’m being lied to and treated like a child.”
Now Olympia truly didn’t know what to say. She stared at him, hoping her eyes didn’t betray her fear. “Valentine…” she began.
“Don’t.” He was half-shouting now. “Don’t start that with me. It’s that scumbag Everett’s fault. He invites me out here, then he starts trying to steal you from me. He throws me in jail — and now, the icing on the cake, he forces me to humiliate myself on stage in front of all his new patrons!” Now he truly was yelling, and his voice warbled between octaves, unsteady.
Olympia spotted Everett approaching from the corner of her eye, p
ushing aside throngs of onlookers who were gathering around the site of the altercation.
“Valentine…” Olympia tried again in a soft, comforting voice. It was a voice she’d often employed — too often, in retrospect — during her and Valentine’s relationship. When he’d been on a bender like this and something hadn’t gone his way, she’d do her best to try to smooth things over. Usually it worked, but back then, she’d have allowed him to take her to bed. “Everett didn’t throw you in jail. He had nothing to do with that.”
“Well of course you’d side with him.”
“Listen! I’m not siding with anyone. It was your decision to go out and get… or do whatever it was you did. And it was your decision to get high before the show. All of this has been your decision. No one else’s.”
“If you hadn’t been practically hanging off Everett’s arm at dinner the other night, maybe I wouldn’t have felt so inclined.”
“Oh! So that’s how it is.” Olympia now felt unchecked rage growing inside of her. She knew this could only end badly, but somehow her will to stop herself was evaporating under the heat of the stage lights. “Funny, but I thought we were no longer together. I thought you promised to leave me alone. I… pardon me-- I thought that you were capable of being an adult and looking out for yourself.”
Everett had appeared, emerging from the shadows like a supernatural force.
“Valentine,” he said gently, a diplomatic smile gracing his features. “Why don’t we go back stage and discuss this further, hm?”
“You!” Valentine spun to face Everett. Olympia tried to move but he quickly jerked his hand over to the wall, effectively pinning her in place. “You’re welcome to take this outside, but I’m staying right here.”
“Valentine please.” Everett’s smile was gone. “Be reasonable. People paid to have a nice time here, and you’re… you’re making things… a little awkward.”
“I’m making things awkward!” Valentine was yelling now, addressing the crowd. “I’m terribly sorry, folks, if I’ve made things awkward. Lord knows I should be a helpful little pawn, doing this rich idiot’s bidding while the rest of you watch me dance like a trained goddamned monkey!”
“Valen--” But Everett didn’t get to finish the word because Valentine was on him, shoving him to the floor, his hands around his throat. The singer wasn’t getting much traction — there was little control to his frenzy, and Everett had quickly parried with his hands, pushing his shoulders up and away from his body. But Valentine was fighting like a wild dog, snarling, looking as though he might bite Everett if he were just given the opening.
Oh my god. “Call the police!” Olympia shouted. She’d left all her belongings in the dressing room. “Someone call the police! Now!”
*****
Olympia found a step-stool that someone had abandoned in the shadowy left wing of the stage, and sat there, head in her hands, until the entire house had cleared out. She’d answered all the questions from the police, and now they were busy ushering Valentine into a squad car. She and Everett would follow, later, once the cops were finished questioning witnesses.
For a simple assault, it certainly was a tedious process. She wondered if perhaps the police were being more thorough because they’d only just released Valentine. They’d probably have something to say about it if Everett tried to bail him out again — hell, Everett would probably refuse. She tried not to think about how long Valentine might be behind bars this time.
“Olympia?”
She looked up, squinting in the dark, wiping tears off cheeks with heavy, childlike strokes.
It was Everett, or at least his silhouette, coming toward her from the main stage.
“Olympia, are you there?”
“Yeah,” she responded, in a wobbly voice.
“The police need to talk to us. Are you ready to go? Do you need to pick anything up?”
“I should go get my purse. It’s in the dressing room.”
“I’ll walk you.”
Olympia would have preferred to be alone at the moment, but she wasn’t about to refuse Everett’s attempts to make peace. She stood, stumbled, and vengefully kicked off her heels, leaving them on the floor and pulling up the hem of her dress to accommodate her bare feet.
Everett gave her a sad smile. He wasn’t alone, Olympia realized, noticing his parents standing awkwardly a few feet away. She glanced up at Everett and immediately made a beeline toward the older couple, ignoring the small noise of protest that Everett made.
“Mr. and Mrs. LeBlanc?” She said, timidly, approaching. They seemed surprised that she was talking to them and didn’t respond.
“Um… I’m Olympia.”
“We saw your show,” said Mrs. LeBlanc passively.
“Right. Um… I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. This isn’t how Everett wanted the night to go.”
Mr. LeBlanc puffed his chest slightly and said, “well, I don’t know what the boy was expecting, hiring you people.”
Olympia swallowed, frowning. “Um… wha-- what do you mean? What people?”
The LeBlancs stared at her like she’d just said something in a foreign language.
“Don’t tell me that Valentine’s never acted like that before. Violent, and entitled.”
“Well… I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.”
“Typical black guy,” said Mrs. LeBlanc, rolling her eyes.
Olympia’s face suddenly burned with a volatile mix of anger and embarrassment. She felt Everett approaching and suddenly understood. “Excuse me?”
“Mom, dad, please.” Everett had a hand on Olympia’s shoulder. She shook it off, roughly, wanting to spin around and admonish him. Something stopped her, though. It’s not his fault. No wonder he never bothered to introduce me.
Everett didn’t replace his hand but shoved forward. “You can’t do this, mom, dad. Don’t even start. This is my casino, and my event, and I’m not going to let you come in here and intimidate my star performer.”
Mrs. LeBlanc’s face had gone an interesting shade of red, though she stood her ground, glancing between Olympia and her son. Suddenly, a sort of understanding seemed to bloom across her features. “You’re… oh, I see. You and this one are… Everett. How could you?”
Everett’s eyes widened. Olympia was overtaken by some urge to make Mrs. LeBlanc. She grabbed Everett’s arm and threaded her own through it, pulling her body up close to his and planting a too-long kiss on his cheek.
“Yes, Mrs. LeBlanc. I was surprised your son hadn’t mentioned it, but now… well, now I understand.”
Both the LeBlancs fumed visibly. It was Everett’s father who spoke first. “Everett,” he said, slowly and cautiously, keeping a lid on his anger for the moment. “Have some sense. There are so many women in this world, and with your money, you can have any of them. You really want to go with some trashy down-home lounge singer? Come on!”
Olympia bit her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood.
Everett was shouting now. “Enough!” He bellowed.
At that moment they were interrupted by one of the cops, who had returned to gather witnesses. She cleared her throat roughly as everyone turned to watch her come through the door.
“If you’ll all come with me, we need to get you to fill out some statements.”
*****
The ride to the police station was too long. All stuffed into the back of a six-seater police SUV, the LeBlancs and Olympia dared not speak. Olympia wouldn’t even know where to begin; there seemed to be no reasoning with Everett’s parents. As they rounded the corner to the station driveway, all she wanted was to go back home, far away from any of this. What a disaster this night had been.