Authors: Paulette Oakes
“Me?” she squeaked, completely panicked. “You’ve got to be
joking!”
The Amazonian Diana finally seemed to notice her for the
first time. Looking Billie over thoroughly up and down, she turned back to Daniel
and demanded, “Who is this?”
Walking across the room, he took Billie by the elbow and
guided her back over toward Diana. “This is Billie Jean Hardesty. I invited her
to the club to try and convince her to be my lounge singer even though she is
determined to turn me down.”
The manners her mother had drilled into her head kicked in
and Billie automatically put her hand out to shake Diana’s. Instead of shaking
her hand, however, Diana turned Billie’s hand over to inspect her short,
unpolished nails. “She needs some work done, but I could probably have her
ready in time. There’s some good raw material to work with here. And I think I
have a few dresses that might fit her with some minor alterations. I’ll call in
my team and we’ll get to work.”
Snatching her hand back, Billie exclaimed, “Excuse me? Did
you just refer to me as ‘raw material’? And who are you anyway?”
Daniel stepped into the breach seamlessly. “Billie, please
allow me to introduce you to Diana Lancaster. She’s a recent graduate of
business school here in Louisville with a specialty in theater. She’s in charge
of planning, coordinating, scheduling, and directing all of our live
entertainment and events. She has a keen eye for style and is one of the main
reasons our new club has been so successful. And I think your raw material is
just lovely,” he added with a teasing grin.
Diana raised her plucked and penciled eyebrow and cocked her
hip. “Don’t be offended, honey. We are all nothing more than blank slates just
waiting to be perfected. Even I do not roll out of bed looking this fabulous.
It takes a lot of time and effort to look this good, even with my high
cheekbones and bangin’ body. Especially since I start out each day as Darren
and not Diana.”
Her pronouncement had the intended effect on Billie by
distracting her from her panic. Even studying her closer, Billie still couldn’t
tell that Diana was a transgendered person. “I’m sure you’re very talented, but
I’m not getting on that stage to sing tonight.”
Daniel crossed his arms and studied her closely. “Why not?
You already told me that you don’t have your children this weekend, so there’s
no babysitter to worry about.”
“It’s not just that, Daniel! I can’t get up on that stage
and just order up some karaoke tunes. I don’t have a set list or any idea where
the music would come from and there hasn’t been any rehearsal time. You can’t
just throw me up there on a stage where Joss Stone sang three months ago and
expect me to sing a show!” she insisted, her voice rising with her hysteria.
Completely unruffled and unmoved, Daniel replied calmly, “I
have a house band that was set to play with our crooner, Johnny Bello, tonight.
They know all the classics. I’ll bring you their song list and you can choose
the songs you know well enough to sing comfortably. I think we can stretch it
out a bit with some instrumental sets, so you’ll only need to choose about
15-20 songs-“
“Oh! ONLY 15-20 songs, he says!” Billie repeated
hysterically to an amused Diana. “Is that all? Hell, why not just make it 30?!”
“Because it’s only a two-hour show. I’ll call in Marcus and
his band and you can rehearse for a few hours before show time. That should
still leave enough time for Diana and her crew to get you stage-ready.”
“You’ll be cutting it awful close, Daniel,” Diana said with
pursed lips. “This one needs the full work-over.”
“Then I suggest you get on the phone and start making some
calls. Bring in whoever you need to get this done and I’ll pay them overtime.
Call Marcus and tell him to get his band here ASAP,” he directed, snapping into
business mode.
Billie’s ears started to buzz and she was feeling a little
dizzy on her feet. Diana glanced her way as she replied, “Leave it to me, Boss
Man. And you better get your talent into a seat. She’s about to pass out.” With
that final comment, she sashayed out the door.
Taking her advice, Daniel put his arm around Billie’s waist
and pulled her in close to his body as he walked her across the room to sit on
the couch. He gently took her hand in his and covered it with his other one to
warm up her suddenly chilled skin. “Look at me, Billie,” he demanded softly.
When her pale green eyes met his brown ones, he said, “There’s nothing to be
afraid of. You are one of those rare people who have a natural talent on the
stage; I saw it every time you were up there last night. Everything will be
just fine, I promise you.”
Taking deep, steady breaths, she replied, “I’m glad you’re
so sure, because I’m not. There’s a world of difference between singing karaoke
in a bar full of drunks and singing live music in front of a crowd of rich and
powerful people. What if I make a fool of myself? What if I forget the words?”
“Billie, you’re overthinking this. These people have no idea
who you are and are here for a good time, great music, and drinks. So what if you
forget the words? So what if you make a mistake? Do you think no one else has
ever done that before? You will be fabulous, Billie. And if, at the end of the
night, you feel like it isn’t for you, we will part as friends and you will
never have any regrets. You will leave $1,000 richer and have a great story to
tell your kids someday. What’s there to lose?” he asked, rubbing his thumb
along the back of her hand.
The feeling of him sitting so close to her almost distracted
her from what he was saying until the last part penetrated her foggy brain.
“Wait a minute. Did you just say $1,000?” she repeated incredulously.
He nodded his head with a smile. “Yes, that’s what we would
have paid Johnny. He gets $500 an hour. Since this is a two-hour set, that
makes $1,000. And since you will be taking over his set, that will make it
your
$1,000.”
Billie did some lightning fast calculations. If she was
really careful, that would be enough to pay for Christmas gifts, groceries,
getting her car tuned up, plus still have enough left over to pay on the
hospital bills. She needed that money and here was a way to earn it honestly.
Steeling her resolve and spine, she lifted her eyes to his and said, “Okay.
I’ll do it.”
*****************************************************************
Forty-five miles away, Sam Garrett was running his hands
through his hair in frustration. “You are out of your mind! What do you
possibly need $1,000 for?” he demanded of the woman crying noisily on the sofa
next to him.
Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Renata Venetti somehow
managed to cry without smearing her makeup or even producing tears from her
exotically slanted eyes. “Sam, why are you being so cruel to me? We’re going to
have a baby together. Why can’t we just go back to the way we were? We can be a
happy little family,” she pouted, snaking her hand up his muscled thigh.
Arresting her progress, he firmly set her hand back on her
own lap before answering. “Because I’ve already told you, Renata, I don’t love
you, I don’t believe that you love me, and I really don’t believe that’s my
baby. Unless someone went through my condoms and poked holes through them with
a needle, the odds of that being my baby are less than the odds of me winning
the lottery.”
Magically, her tears dried up as she turned a hateful glare
his way. “What more do you want from me, Sam? You’re the only one I’ve been
with for months! I took your stupid pregnancy test to prove I wasn’t lying
about being pregnant and you know damn well that I’ve never had an opportunity
to poke holes in your condoms. They have a 12 percent failure rate, for God’s
sake. These things happen!”
“That actually drops to 2-3 percent if it’s
perfect
condom use. That means used correctly every single time, which I do. My dad made
damn sure I knew how they worked and how to use them before I turned 14 years
old so this kind of thing would never happen. I’m sorry that I’m being so
suspicious about all this, but I find it hard to believe that this could happen
to me. This isn’t the way I had wanted to do this,” he confessed, rubbing the
bridge of his nose tiredly.
Renata, who had been studying her reflection in a compact,
snapped the case closed angrily. “Of course it isn’t how you imagined it would
be! I’m not your precious Billie Jean with her adorable little kids and her
insufferable pride that you find so endearing. Get over yourself, Sam. Better
yet, get over her.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed as his temper flared up. “What did you
just say?” he said, warning dripping off the words.
Renata shot up from the couch to face him down squarely,
even though she only reached a few inches over five feet. Half Italian and half
Korean, she inherited her temper from her father and height from her mother.
“You heard me. I know all about your little crush on your best friend’s
ex-wife. God, it was so obvious from the way you looked at her like she was
Grade-A prime rib and you were a poor, homeless beggar. It’s amazing to me that
Chad never picked up on your little infatuation, because it was painfully
obvious to me from the beginning. I knew I never had a real shot with you from
the first time I met her. You never looked at me the way you looked at her. But
once I found out that I was pregnant, I thought things might be different and
maybe you would start to care about me, too. I guess I was wrong,” she spat
bitterly.
Sam felt a little flare of panic at the realization that he
hadn’t been as careful to hide his feelings as he thought he had. The fact that
Renata had picked up on it was even worse. He had to put out that fire before
she ran to Chad with her tale. “You’re just imaging things, Renata. Billie and
I have been friends since high school and there’s never been anything more
between us than that. As for me and you, we just aren’t compatible.”
Walking slowly over to where he was sitting, she pushed his
shoulder roughly until he was leaning against the back of his couch. “There was
one area we were compatible in,” she purred, changing her tactics as she
straddled his lap so that her bottom was flush with his crotch. Running her
hand up into his thick, silky black hair, she gripped a handful and pulled his
head to the side, exposing his neck. Leaning down, she nibbled and kissed her
way up his jugular to his ear where she sucked his earlobe into her mouth and
gently bit down.
Sam cursed his body for responding to her manipulation, but
he had to admit that she was right about that, at least. The only reason their
“relationship” had even lasted as long as it had was because of the sex. Even
now, his hands slid along her thighs of their own accord until he was gripping
her tight, firm behind in the palms of his hands. With a moan of victory,
Renata ground herself against the hardness of his arousal as she moved in to
steal a long, passionate kiss.
And that’s where she lost him. Even as his mouth kissed hers
back, his mind was busily comparing her kiss to the nirvana that was Billie’s
lips. Billie Jean’s kiss had rocked him to his soul and turned him inside out.
After experiencing that, Renata’s kiss just left him feeling cold and doused
his desire more effectively than a freezing shower. Breaking away from her, he
moved his hands to her tiny waist and gently removed her from his lap and set
her back on the couch. Her expression was comically disbelieving, but Sam was
in no mood to laugh.
Standing to his full 6 foot, 3 inches of height, he walked
resolutely to the kitchen table and retrieved his checkbook. He scribbled
furiously for a moment and ripped the check out and walked back into the living
room to face the furious, scorned woman.
Handing her the check, he said wearily, “Here’s a check for
$1,000. You’re not getting another dime until the paternity test is completed.
If it turns out that it is my baby, I’ll take care of both of you. Until then,
I don’t want to talk to you or see you again. Do I make myself clear?”
Snatching the check out of his hand, she sneered, “Crystal,”
as she stuffed it in her purse and stomped out of the house and slammed the
door.
True to her word, Diana called in a veritable army of people
to work on Billie. The first to arrive was the nail technician that explained
that she normally worked in the adjoining spa, so she escorted Billie to one of
the plush, heated leather chairs with the foot bath and set her feet to
soaking. Jennifer the nail tech was one of those naturally cheerful people that
talked nonstop as she worked over Billie’s nails. Even as she was placing
French tips with acrylic overlay on her fingers, Jennifer prattled on
ceaselessly without seeming to take a breath. She gossiped about all the rich
ladies, without revealing names, which came into the spa and laughed about the
ridiculous demands that some of them made such as one lady who insisted that
they give a mani/pedi to her Chihuahua at the same time as she received hers.
Billie was actually quite thankful for Jennifer’s mindless conversation as it
distracted her from her fear and worry.
After Jennifer had completed her nails and had moved on to
her feet, another woman showed up with an armful of colorful dresses draped
over her arms, a flexible measuring tape around her neck like a snake, and
silver-framed square glasses perched on the end of her nose and held in place
by a thin circle chain. Her hair was a wiry, dirt brown mixed with steel gray
and pulled back from her weathered face in a haphazard bun.
“Hello, dear, my name is Inga Braxton,” she introduced
herself with a noticeable German accent. “I have been given less than two hours
to outfit you in an evening gown.” Looking her over with a practiced eye, she
pronounced, “Size 8, yes?”
Billie nodded dumbly and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ha! I knew it. Diana, that stupid cow, said you were at
least a 10. She should keep her nose where it belongs,” Inga muttered
distractedly as she tossed her armload into an unused chair and whipped the
measuring tape out from around her neck.
Billie traded alarmed looks with Jennifer as Inga continued
to vilify Diana under her breath between sharp commands such as, “Arms straight
out to the side!” and “Now, you must stand!” as she measured Billie’s bust,
waist, and hips. “The Cow says white dress, but she knows nothing about
your skin color. I will be glad to tell her she is wrong, as usual. I will be
back in one hour for fitting, yes?” she said, before exiting out the door in a
flurry without waiting for a reply.
Jennifer giggled at the alarmed look on Billie’s face.
Picking her foot up out the water and drying it, she went to work trimming the
nails and cuticles. “Don’t worry about Inga,” she admonished Billie with a flip
of her curly blonde hair, “She grumbles about Diana all the time.”
Nervously tapping her new nails against the armrest, Billie
asked, “Is it because Diana is transgendered or because she’s black?”
“Oh, neither one! Diana is a just a raving bitch and loves
to try to boss around the spa employees and the wardrobe people. We don’t
report to Diana and we have our own managers, but that doesn’t stop her from
trying to tell all of us what to do. She and Inga have had some epic showdowns,
for sure!” she gossiped happily.
Twenty minutes later, as her freshly painted toes were
drying under a glowing ultraviolet light, Daniel appeared carrying a narrow
plastic binder and leading a young man who followed behind like an eager puppy.
Appearing to be in his early twenties, the young man was sharply dressed in
black suit pants, a button-down lavender shirt open at the throat, and black
dress shoes polished to a high shine. In his hands, he carried a netbook, a
cell phone, and a bottle of Evian water. His smile was eager-to-please as he
waited for Daniel to take the lead.
“How was your first ever pedicure?” Daniel asked her warmly.
“Surprisingly, I really loved it. I didn’t think I would
like someone touching my feet, but Jennifer made the whole experience fun and
enjoyable. I’m still not too sure about these things, though,” she confessed,
tapping the fake nails against the chair rail.
His dimples deepened with his laugh. “Just gilding the lily,
that’s all,” he assured her. Stepping to the side, he indicated his human
shadow. “Billie, let me introduce you to my personal assistant, Connor. I have
some urgent business to attend to before the show, so he will be at your beck
and call for the next several hours.”
Impulsively sticking his hand out, Connor gushed, “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, ma’am!”
Billie tried to hide an amused smile as she shook his hand
back and replied, “Likewise, Connor. Please call me Billie.”
Clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder, Daniel explained, “I’m
giving Connor the song list that Marcus gave me months ago and he is going to
review it with you while you get your hair and makeup done. He’s very organized
and has some ideas on how to alleviate your fear about forgetting the lyrics.
If you need anything at all, just let him know and he’ll take care of it,
alright?”
Billie nodded agreeably and waved Daniel off to go about his
business. Excited to begin, Connor claimed a seat next to her and handed her
the bottle of water while he began to show her the contents of the binder. “I
took the liberty of compiling the songs alphabetically by title and by artist,
as well as by genre. Marcus has quite an extensive list of songs that he and
his band can play from the 40’s all the way up to current music. Daniel had
stated that you might be more comfortable with jazz or blues music, so why
don’t we start there?”
Billie took a deep drink of the cold water and nodded her
head eagerly. “Let’s start by looking at the artists first. There are several
songs that I know backwards and forwards, so I would feel better about starting
with some of those.”
He nodded eagerly and opened his netbook to take notes of
which songs she chose. “We’ll make two lists: one for definitely and one for
maybe. That way if Marcus can’t do one of them on the definitely list, we can
replace it with one from the other list. It pays to anticipate every
contingency!” he announced, in his best teacher voice.
For the next fifteen minutes, they poured over the songbook
and Billie was shocked by how fast each of the two lists filled up. In no time,
she had well over 25 songs on the “definitely” list and almost as many on the
“maybe” list. Just this exercise with Connor did more to alleviate her anxiety
than anything else, but she would still feel better after rehearsing with
Marcus and his band for a few hours.
At this point, Diana strode into the spa and announced that
the band had arrived and they were setting up. Connor proclaimed that he had
sent the list to a wireless printer and would run and take it to Marcus for
them to look over while the makeup artist worked on Billie. He edged around
Diana skittishly as he took off for the door, and left Billie alone with the
woman Inga called “The Cow.”
Diana escorted Billie back to the dressing room where she
would get her makeup done. Admiring Billie’s nails, she remarked, “Already
looking much improved. Has Inga been to see you yet?”
“Oh, yes. She was quite the character,” Billie responded
diplomatically.
Diana laughed lightly. “How many different names did she
call me? I bet she was fit to be tied after our little discussion earlier.”
A shocked chuckle escaped Billie’s lips. “You know about
that? I have to say she was pretty torn up about you. She reminded me a little
of a wet cat,” she confided.
“That’s Inga for you. I found out early on that I get better
and faster results out of her when I make her angry. And nothing makes her
madder than when I try to tell her how to do her job. Girl, you should see that
hot-blooded
hausfrau
go into a full-on hissy fit. It’s something to
behold. Some people work better under stress, some work better at night or in
the morning, but Inga works better when she’s pissed off at me. I don’t mind
taking one for the team if it gets the results I want,” Diana confessed as they
paused outside the dressing room door.
Billie regarded the tall black woman with new respect. “That
is both evil and genius. I think I’m going to like you.”
“You pull off this show like Daniel thinks you can, honey,
and you’ll be my new best friend,” she promised with an arched brow before
spinning and walking away.