By the time I’d made it through the curtains, I’d worked myself up to be nervous—I wasn’t supposed to be here, they were going to tell me that I wasn’t what they had been expecting, I should probably just go—and was ready to be tossed out without so much as a second glance.
But then Mr. Corsica spotted me and a smile broke out on his face.
“Miss Cassidy!” he exclaimed, coming towards me quickly. “Right on time. Please, this way. I’ll introduce you.”
“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Corsica. You won’t be disappointed,” I told him determinedly.
He waved off my thanks casually as though he hadn’t done a thing out of the ordinary. I didn’t bother to tell him that this was the classiest thing I’d ever sang at, much less gotten paid to sing at. Thankfully, he also didn’t ask.
He showed me around and introduced me to Damon, the attractive young man who played the piano. We shook hands and he said it was a pleasure to meet me, but there was something about his body language that suggested he was bored with the introduction. I was put off until I glanced over my shoulder and saw him flirting with one of the waiters.
Oh! I thought, feeling oddly relieved. He’s not into women.
Mr. Corsica showed me around the stage and told me that I’d have full use of it, but to keep my movements relatively calm. This wasn’t a concert or a dance club; this was an evening club, which he explained the difference as being that everyone wore a suit and tie and my voice was solely meant as light background entertainment for their meal.
It suited me just fine. I was hardly in the mood for an all-out concert and I’d picked a particularly morose song for the evening, so I likely wouldn’t be doing a lot of dancing.
“Damon’s been over the music?” I asked, feeling nervous that I would mess up or he would mess up or we both would and I’d never get a job again.
Mr. Corsica nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. He’s gone over it several times already and is well versed.” He leaned in closer to me, dropping his voice to a whisper. “And between you and me, he’s a bit of a prodigy. He’s probably had it memorized since the first ten minutes I gave it to him.”
My eyebrows rose, but I didn’t really know what to say about that. I hoped he was right and I smiled to show I had complete faith in him, but I didn’t. I was just shy of panicked and felt certain that everything was going to go horribly wrong, but there was no time to back out now. I had to do this. For my future.
Mr. Corsica looked me up and down quickly, frowning a little. He asked, “Is that what you’ll be wearing on stage?”
I could hear the worry in his voice and looked down at myself. I realized that I was still wearing my coat over my dress. Laughing a little, I quickly shook my head. “Oh, no!” I unbuttoned my coat and slipped it from my shoulders to show Mr. Corsica my dress. “It’s just been a little cold lately and I wasn’t sure where to put my coat.”
Apparently relieved by my revelation, he clapped his hands together and offered to take my coat. “Oh, good! I’ve got a place for this up towards the back room—you passed through it to get here—and can keep any of your other things there as well until you’ve finished your set.”
I nodded at him and he left me to it. I was scheduled to go on in a few minutes just as the real dinner rush was going to begin. Taking a minute to straighten myself out—fluffing out my curls as best I could and fixing my makeup as close to perfection as I could—I finally smoothed my hands down over my long dress. It was a pretty one, something I’d gotten from Cindy. The other woman insisted that I needed a nice dress, a slinky number to wear to all the hot parties I’d eventually be going to, and now I was grateful that I hadn’t made her take the thing back.
The dress was a deep burgundy color, almost black until it caught the light the right way and the red shone through. It was a sweetheart neckline, but not too low cut so that my breasts were covered, but the tops were definitely on display. The straps were so thin that they were practically invisible and up along the side of the dress was a slit that started from the hem and went up along the left side until just about mid-thigh.
It reminded me a little of Jessica Rabbit, but I was okay with that. So long as I didn’t look cartoony—which I was assured I wasn’t—then it worked for me.
I was given a cue from Damon as the lights dimmed, shifting to a blue color that was soft and melancholy. Perfect. As the curtains rose, Damon began to play a soft, lonesome tune that was all my own. I’d finished it just a year ago, but I’d been fine tuning it since I was fifteen or sixteen. Since it hadn’t been picked up by any recording studios or any other contracts, I was free to do with it as I pleased and as my life evolved, the music shifted and changed with me.
After Damon played several chords on the piano, the sound soft despite the booming volume the string instrument always had, I started to sing. I wasn’t sure anyone was actually watching me or listening at all, but I thought that maybe amidst the food and the polite dinner conversation, amidst the folks who sat at the bar sipping at champagne and gin and tonics, amidst the servers who flitted about in their best imitation of invisible, maybe someone was listening. Maybe the ears this song had been intended for in the first place were listening. Maybe, just maybe, he could hear me.
It wasn’t meant to be this way, I sang, my voice deeper than one might assume based on my looks, but sweet, too. Not manly, just full and rising up from somewhere deep within.
No one was looking at me, I figured, but even if they were the spotlight was shining down on the stage directly where I was standing so that even amidst the soft blue tint, I couldn’t see anyone. I wouldn’t have known any better.
I begged you to look at me, and then you did, and then you did, I continued, the words flowing softly and I knew who they were for. I knew who I’d written them for when I was still just a kid and understood that they shifted because the way I saw things shifted. The words changed because I couldn’t hide the truth from myself, not even if I wanted to.
I saw silhouettes in the backdrop of the light, but they were faceless and nameless and might as well have been shadows. There was no one here I would know, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was here tonight. That I was singing to him, begging him to understand why things were so messed up and complicated. Why they could never be.
But we crumbled before we ever started, and I knew better, and I knew better. I sang as though my soul was on the tip of my tongue and if I could just get the words out, maybe it could fly away again. Maybe I’d be okay, if I could just make him understand.
I thought I saw a shadow move amidst the crowd. It was a tall shadow, male, with a stocky build and close cropped hair. I imagined that it was Danny and he was here to hear me sing. And once he did, he’d understand what was in my heart and he’d know then, why it was so wrong for us to be like I wanted us to be.
But maybe he’d let me back into his life and we could at least be family again.
And it’s always the best fall, the one into your arms, but it’s the farthest to go, so I’ll let you go.
I saw the shadow—Danny, I’d convinced myself—move towards the bar to my right and I followed him with my gaze, though I knew it couldn’t really be him. Danny was back to playing football which meant he was on a plane to Boston right now. They were set to play the Eagles the day after tomorrow and he’d made it pretty clear that he wasn’t about to sit the games out, injury or not.
But I sang to him anyway.
Until I can’t let go anymore, until I’m in your arms again, because this is the realest it’s ever been.
If I could just make him understand through my singing how much he meant to me and how it was tearing me up inside to know that we couldn’t be together. Maybe song was really the only way to even try to explain in the end that what I wanted was impossible and terrifying and beautiful all at once, no matter how wrong it really was.
Eventually, my song came to an end. I was drained in an unexpected way by it, but I fe
lt a little better, too. Even if no one understood who it was about or why I was singing it in the first place, I had been able to get things off my chest.
There was some polite applause which I soaked up, even though it wasn’t enthusiastic. Still, it felt good to have anyone acknowledge that I’d done a good job. It felt better because it had been my song.
I was set to take a break next, though Damon would play another song or two. I went behind the curtains and through the back to meet Mr. Corsica.
“That was brilliant!” he told me enthusiastically, though I had the feeling his enthusiasm had more to do with his personality than his opinion on my performance. Still, it was nice. “Absolutely lovely! You go ahead and take a break now. I’ve got you set for the second song in just over ten minutes, so be ready then.”
He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder then and promptly disappeared. I didn’t know what to make of him, but I was grateful for the gig and for the chance at getting paid. As part of my compensation, I’d been allowed a couple of free drinks at the bar. Not too many, because Mr. Corsica had informed me that he wouldn’t tolerate sloppiness and the first time I showed up appearing tipsy, I would be asked to leave. Still, I was allowed one an hour until my show was up (that was two hours from now), so I felt it was fine to take advantage of his offer.
The chances of two drinks getting me drunk given that I worked at a bar were pretty slim.
I headed over to the bar and got ahold of the tender. He was a younger man, somewhere around my age. Attractive, but with that same snooty demeanor as the lady from earlier. At least, he didn’t sneer entirely when he asked what I would like to drink.
“A bourbon please,” I told him.
He nodded and poured a small amount into a glass on the rocks. I hadn’t needed the ice, but it didn’t bother me either. I sipped at it and instantly remembered the night I’d gone back home. The night Danny and I had drank until we were both saying some very inappropriate things for siblings to be sharing with one another.
How had that flirting started anyway? Had it been me? I couldn’t even remember anymore.
I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on around me or the people that were there. They mostly ignored me anyway. It didn’t matter if they liked my performance or not; these were the ritzy people who didn’t socialize with the entertainment. Which suited me to the ground at the moment. The last thing I wanted was to talk to anyone.
I reached for my glass again, but before I could pick it up, a large, strong hand wrapped around my bare arm to grip me tightly. It jerked me around so that I was facing its owner and my initial surprise had jumped ten-fold when I saw who it was that had grabbed me.
“Danny!”
My eyes were wide with surprise and I was trying to take it in. What was he doing here? How could he be here in the first place? They were supposed to be playing in Boston the day after tomorrow—he shouldn’t be here. Unless my ranting had gotten to him and maybe he wasn’t going to play?
I dared to hope for about two and a half seconds. Just long enough to take in his handsome face and features—the mere sight of him did strange things to my body that I knew weren’t right, but that I just couldn’t seem to deny. His strong jaw was set, his teeth clenched together, and there was a tightness around his warm eyes.
My breath caught and I had to force it back out so that I could ask, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you,” he told me, his tone low and gruff. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or something else, but his voice sent a sudden rush of heat through me.
I tried to shake it off; I needed to shake it off, but I couldn’t figure out how. I had left home to come back to New York to get away from Danny. The whole point was trying to forget him and put some distance between us so that we could both move on and get over this strange, twisted romance between us.
It was a lot harder to do when he went around following me.
I jerked my arm out of his grip. Or tried to, anyway. He held fast and made it pretty clear that he had no intention of letting me go before he said his peace. I frowned. “Danny, I’m working.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need this place. You’ll do way better whether you stop and talk to me or not.”
My frown deepened even as a blush touched my cheeks. On the one hand, I was incredibly flattered by his words. It meant the world to me that he thought so highly of my talent that he wasn’t concerned about whether or not I completely bombed this job. On the other hand, I thought it was pretty presumptuous and a little conceited to expect me to just drop everything to go and talk to him, possibly risking my future in the process, only so that he could get whatever he needed to off his chest.
Choosing to focus on the anger, I shook my head. “No. I’m working and I’m not going to just duck out so that you can—”
He stepped closer to me, so far into my personal space that I could feel his heat pressing against my body, tempting me, calling to me. It made me lose my train of thought and struggle to remember why I was so upset with him in the first place.
“Damn it, Ashley!” he said in a hushed, but aggravated whisper. “Can’t you just fucking talk to me? Don’t you owe me that at the very least?”
I wanted to tell him no, that I didn’t owe him anything, but guilt swirled around in my stomach. I’d left so abruptly that I hadn’t really talked to Danny before leaving. More than that, I’d deliberately left abruptly so that I could avoid talking to him in the first place. I didn’t want to give him the chance of making me reconsider everything. I didn’t want him to be able to talk me into staying and trying to work things out between us. And he would have. I knew that if I gave him half a chance to talk to me, to reason through things, he’d convince me to stay and continue with this thing between us.
And I just couldn’t afford to do that. So I ran.
But it made him right now. I did owe him a conversation and maybe an explanation, though I thought my letter to him had pretty thoroughly covered most of that.
Sighing, I glanced at the clock on the hall and relented. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes.” Danny opened his mouth to start talking—probably ready to explode by the looks of things—but I hurriedly shook my head, my gaze darting around us to the classy crowd that was most definitely not going to like the argument I knew was coming. “Not here. Outside. There’s a back door that leads to the alley. We can talk there.”
Danny snapped his mouth closed again and nodded. He released my arm to let me lead the way, but he stuck close to me, as though I might try to run or something.
What an asinine idea. He was a damn football player. What were the odds of me being able to outrun him?
I lead him around the back of the room to the door, passing Damon who was on break now, too, and spent it flirting with that same waiter from earlier. I gave him a wave and mouthed that I was going outside. Damon glanced over at Danny, raising his eyebrows and giving him a look that said he thought Danny was a tasty morsel, but didn’t try to stop us. He just winked at me and went back to the waiter.
We went through the back door and as soon as it closed behind Danny, I turned back to him and asked again, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a game in Boston.” I couldn’t help the way I emphasized “game.” I was still pissed that he was going to put himself at risk like that by playing when he knew the doctor hadn’t given him the all clear.
He rolled his eyes at me, irritation clear on his features. “You know what, I did what I had to do. My head is fine and I’m fine.”
I let out a loud huff. He could be so stupid! He thought he was invincible, but he wasn’t. And when that finally got proved, then the people who would pay for his stupidity were me and dad. “You’re a total jerk!” I told him, shoving at his shoulder. “You think that you can do whatever you want with no consequences, but you could really get hurt out there!”
“I’m fine,” he argued, shaking his head at me. “I’m not going to get hurt
.”
“You already have!” I argued, thinking about the collision and the way he’d landed, his time in the hospital and how worried both dad and I had been. How could he be so careless, so unconcerned? At the very least, couldn’t he think about us even if he wouldn’t think about himself and his own well-being? “God, think of how dad would feel if something happened to you!”
“Dad, huh?” he demanded, catching on a thread of something that I wasn’t sure I quite followed. “What about you?” He took a step towards me and I backed up. “How would you feel? Would you care at all?” He stepped closer. I stepped back.
My back hit the cold brick wall and I remembered suddenly the dress I was wearing with the back that dipped low towards my rear. I swallowed harshly but tried to stay angry, to pretend as though his nearness wasn’t affecting me. But it was.
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