1
Aria
Who the hell wears bold, garish sequins in this day and age?
Me, apparently.
Large, bright green sequins, courtesy of my latest employer’s sketchy closet.
The strapless dress is one size too small, the neckline way too low for my liking.
It barely skims the tops of my thighs and every time I tug it down, the bartender and owner of the seedy joint I’m performing at glares at me.
Every cell in my body wants to scream at him to stick his job up his ass, but the paltry pay and tips I’m counting on—despite the pathetic crowd tonight—are necessary to keep me off the streets for another few nights.
Then I need to move on.
Staying too long in one place isn’t an option.
Weariness made me sloppy in Miami and I nearly got caught.
Hightailing it across the country to LA and then to San Diego has taken almost every cent I have. I need the equivalent of two weeks’ decent pay plus tips before I can make the final push across the border to Mexico.
Beyond that…
I try not to think about what my hazy, precarious future looks like, just like I block the leering eyes of the customers in the dive bar and belt out the chorus of the ballad I’m singing.
Music has always been my comfort.
Getting lost in the lyrics of a cheesy love song makes me happy.
In the past, immersing myself in a Broadway musical soundtrack meant a good hour and a half of ignoring what my mother and her latest boyfriend were up to in our tiny Brooklyn apartment.
But that was before she threw me out.
Before a foolish decision to take a shortcut through a back alley to the homeless shelter a week later flung me headlong into danger.
The memory of that awful night threatens to throw me off, but I force myself to stay in the present, to imagine I’m singing to a stadium full of adoring fans instead of mostly drunk, lascivious men with eyes full of filthy intentions.
I finish the song to wolf whistles and a smattering of applause.
I’m launching into the next song when he enters.
As usual he sticks to the background.
The harsh spotlights trained on me prevent me from seeing him clearly but I catch glimpses of leather, a baseball cap and jeans. Of towering height and mouthwatering musculature. But above all that, it’s hispresencethat overwhelms and makes my heart skip several, essential beats.
Ifeelhim from across the room.
God, just looking in his direction makes my body tingle. And yes, he also makes me feel safe. Which was weird considering the danger I’m in and the fact that I haven’t even seen this mysterious stranger’s face yet.
Maybe it’s because he stopped that drunk douchebag from touching me last night like he managed to a few nights ago when I wasn’t paying proper attention.
And the night before that, I saw him follow that sleazy salesman who kept trying to look under my skirt outside. The one Barry shrugged and told me to “suck it up and get on with it” when I complained. Sleazy Guy hasn’t been in since and I get the feeling Mysterious Guy is responsible for ensuring my unwanted admirer won’t return anytime soon.
I know I’m being naïve for getting the warm and fuzzies about my mysterious knight in shining armor, but it sure beats the hell out of living in terror the whole time.
So I stare in the direction of the shadowy stranger and pour all my emotions into my next song, my gaze pinned in the corner where he lounges like a coiled snake.