Backstage, there is a buzz of anticipation. It's the first night of the tour, so everyone is feeling uncertain. We've practiced hard, but things can still go wrong. Adella, my makeup artist, puts the finishing touches on my scarlet lipstick. With dark smoky eyes, the look is strong and intense, which it needs to be to create an impact all the way to the back of the stadium. I'm laced into a corset that feels too tight. I've raised concerns about it but the costume designer for the tour assures me that it's going to be fine for me to sing and dance in. Apparently it fits with the whole tour aesthetic.
And who am I to question their judgment?
Only the poor woman who has to struggle to wear it.
My eyes find Elijah's in the mirror. He's standing close by as though he can feel my nerves and wants to provide me with some reassurance. His strong presence is enough to settle the butterflies a little, and his pretty blue eyes are soft and encouraging. I can still remember what it felt like to have my arms around him, to breathe in his scent. It was instinct to rush over to him when I got the dance right. Instinct to share my happiness and success, and it felt right to be in his arms.
I felt protected and cared for.
But I'm stupid because the way he is with me isn't personal. It's not about him being my friend. It's certainly not about more. He is my bodyguard. Protecting me is his job.
"You're done," Adella says, lowering her brush. "Break a leg." Her smile is broad, her own fuchsia pink lipstick perfectly in place.
Rising from the chair, I smooth the tiny, ruffled skirt over my red net tights. The look is punky and alternative, which suits me and fits with the image that Blueday Records have been cultivating for me.
Innocent with a sexy edge.
It's kind of gross, but who am I to question them when they've propelled me so high, so fast.
"I need to warm up my voice," I tell Elijah. "Can you clear the room?"
"Sure."
As I make my way to the corner of my dressing room, I can hear his low, husky voice urging everyone to leave.
When it's quiet, I shake out my arms, facing the wall while I loosen my lips and jaw muscles. None of this is attractive: not the sticking out of my tongue as far as it goes or the rhythmic blowing of breath through my O-shaped mouth.
I never knew that any of this was important until my vocal coach walked me through a routine. Nurturing and preserving my voice takes priority over appearance. These exercises are a must. I begin to sigh, allowing my voice to gradually build, letting it wander up and down the full range of notes that I can sing. When I'm confident that I've hit the highest and lowest notes, I begin to hum and finish with some gentle lip roles and tongue trills.
When I've finished and shaken my arms and legs out some more, I'm feeling looser and ready for the exertion tonight's performance is going to take.
The door to my dressing room opens, and Angelica yells, “Ten minutes!” before disappearing as quickly as she arrives. My eyes meet Elijah's, and he smiles softly.
"You have such a pretty voice," he tells me. "Like a friggin' angel."
"An angel dressed as a devil," I say, glancing down at the lace-up leather boots that complete my outfit.
"Don't you like the clothes?" he asks.
"They're not really me. Just the fantasy of some sick fuck at the record company."
Elijah's smile drops from his face. Maybe he thought I chose all this. Maybe he thought that this is who I am. From the frown playing between his brows, the thought that I've been dressed up this way doesn't sit well with him. "Can you choose to wear something else?" he asks.
"No one is interested in my choices." I shrug, feeling the weight of my own statement. I thought becoming famous would give me more power but that definitely isn't the case. All that fame has brought is higher stakes to everything I do. It's all just a greater weight on my shoulders.
"You're going to blow them away," he says. "You could do that in a potato sack. Just remember what it is about doing this that you love. The rest doesn't count for shit."
"That sounds like really good advice," I say. "If I could actually breathe properly, maybe I could." Grabbing the top of the corset, I try and tug it up, but it's tighter than a second skin.
"You can't breathe?" Elijah steps forward.
"I can't get a full breath in. I told them that I'm worried that I'm not going to be able to dance and sing in this thing, but nobody will listen."