Chapter 6 Bianca
BIANCA
All these years later, I still get a little stage fright before I start performing.
It’s a good thing. I had a teacher at OCU tell me that if I’m not experiencing a little anxiety before going onstage, then I don’t care enough about the performance. If I don’t care enough, I won’t be focused. If I’m not focused, I’ll make careless mistakes.
Of course, I still make mistakes all the time onstage. They’re usually not noticeable.
Just imagine the amount of flubs I’d make if I didn’t have stage fright.
My pianist, Ewan, bows his head to me as he walks in and takes his seat at his pink baby grand.
Just like the waitstaff and the bartenders, he’s not allowed to talk while on Aces property. None of the musicians in my band are.
But I get drinks with them now and then outside the club, and I’ve gotten to know them.
They’re good people. There’s Ewan, of course, full name Ewan Corne.
He has two degrees in classical piano performance and a third in jazz.
He retained the personality from his classical degrees—he’s very stoic, quiet even when he’s off the clock, mysterious even.
Clean-shaven, perfectly coiffed dark hair.
But once he sits down at the piano bench, his fingers milk every color from the eighty-eight black and white keys.
He improvises a lot—that’s the jazz degree at work—and no two of his performances are the same, but he always provides a good musical base for the rest of the band.
Brooks Nash plays saxophone. Tall, thin, with a trimmed beard framing his face.
He brings a sharp sting to the instrument’s rich timbre when he plays.
Offstage, he can usually be seen with a book of crossword puzzles and a flask of honey bourbon.
The upright bassist is named Reid Wescott.
He’s the opposite of Brooks physically—heavyset with broad shoulders, always wearing a pink fedora and matching aviator sunglasses.
Unlike Ewan, he never improvises. Everything he plays is, as he says, come scritto, Italian for “as written.”
The band is rounded out by our newest member, Pierce Pons.
He’s young, fresh out of law school. Yeah, you heard me right.
He has a law degree and is a practicing attorney at a firm not far from Aces during the day.
He’s the only member of the band with a consistent day job, and he’s often late for rehearsals.
But he’s phenomenal on the drum set—Brooks thinks that he’s taking out all his stress from his law career on his instrument—and by far the best drummer I’ve worked with.
I walk up to the microphone at the edge of my stage and speak into it. “Good evening, everyone. How are you all doing?”
A few whoops from the dancefloor. And one from the Clubs section.
I squint and see that Harrison—the guy who is technically my guest for the evening—is sitting in one of the green leather wingback chairs in Clubs, casually smoking a cigar. I didn’t know he smoked. I didn’t smell any smoke on him when we were in the lobby together.
Knowing that he’s watching makes the butterflies in my stomach multiply.
“The band and I have a great set for you all tonight. Hit it, boys!”
The band starts out with a jazzy overture that Rouge composed herself.
I asked if she could find me a piece that wouldn’t require singing to allow me a few extra minutes at the top of each set to center myself, get into the groove of the music.
And Rouge, being the polymath that she is, decided to simply write one.
It’s pretty good music and fits in well with the genre of the pieces I have slated.
Once the overture has dwindled down, I approach the microphone and start to sing one of my old standbys.
The Etta James classic “At Last.” It’s a great starter.
From the moment I belt out the first two words of the song, the audience is hanging on.
They know this one, and they like it. Couples start pairing off to dance, while a lot of people just sway in place as they listen.
We kick things up a notch with “I Put a Spell on You.” That gets people moving.
“Cry Me a River” by Arthur Hamilton is next, which slows things back down just in time for “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” to liven the pace again.
I end the set with the Gershwins’ “The Man I Love.” One of my favorites, and I can’t help directing a few lines of that song to Harrison, whose eyes haven’t left me since I started singing.
I finish the song and the audience applauds.
It’s not an uproar or anything. It’s not that kind of show. I’m glorified background music.
But all the way in the Clubs section, Harrison jumps to his feet and claps.
I bow and then gesture to the instrumentalists. They nod back at me.
I swallow and return to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be back for more after a while. In the meantime, please put your hands together for the magical fingers of Ewan Corne!”
Ewan begins noodling on the piano. He’s making stuff up, intermingling motifs from the five songs I just performed with some themes of his own.
I don’t know what kind of diet he’s on, but he has a crazy amount of energy and usually plays the whole night through while the rest of us take our breaks in my dressing room.
At least, that’s usually where I end up in between sets. Brooks, Reid, and Pierce shuffle inside, tilting their heads to me as if questioning why I’m not following them.
Tonight, I’m going to spend my break over at Clubs.
Harrison’s eyes widen as I approach him. He removes the cigar from his mouth and sets it down on a jade ashtray on the side table next to his leather chair.
He smiles. “You sound fantastic tonight.”
My cheeks warm. “You’re too kind.”
“Do you have a moment to sit?” He gestures to the seat next to me.
I bite my lip. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a smoker.”
He grins. “Neither am I. But I was told I had to smoke to sit here. I’m not much of a dancer, but I wanted to hear your set.”
I take the chair next to him—Mr. Night won’t bother the sister of Rouge Montrose—and smile. “I hope you enjoyed it.”
“Are you kidding?” He beams. “You have a wonderful voice. And you’re so expressive. You’re not just singing the song, you’re…performing. Each of those pieces you sang had a different character, and you melted into each of them perfectly.”
My cheeks are on fire now. “My background is in musical theatre. I try to bring some of my acting training into my performances. But most people don’t really notice. I’m really more of a vibe than a performer to most of the people in Hearts.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “That makes perfect sense, your theatrical training. Were you ever on Broadway?”
A fist clenches around my heart at his words, but I paste a smile on. “I…got close.”
Not technically a lie. I’ll spare Harrison the sordid details.
A pregnant pause. Harrison isn’t sure what to say to that. Most people don’t when I tell them that I didn’t achieve the success I’d hoped for in New York.
Finally, “Aces is certainly lucky to have you now.”
I suppress an eye roll. Luck had nothing to do with it. I never auditioned. Rouge happened to call me when I was at my lowest, and I jumped at the opportunity.
But again, I’ll leave that detail out of the conversation.
“Thank you, Harrison.” I lean in. “So I have to ask, why were you so determined to get into the club this evening?”
He frowns. “I’ve…come here with a friend before.”
That’s not exactly an answer to my question. But I can tell by the cadence of his voice that he doesn’t want to disclose anything further.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Not prying at all.” He takes another puff on his cigar. “I love going to the theater now and then. Will you be adding any Broadway songs to your set?”
I bite my lip. “I’m limited to the jazz standards from the thirties and forties. There is some Broadway rep in there, but not anything that I sang when I was running the audition circuit.”
He cocks his head. “That’s a shame. I’d love to hear your bread-and-butter pieces sometime.”
“Maybe I can twist my sister’s arm.” I shrug nonchalantly.
What a crock. No one twists Rouge’s arm, except maybe Chet on a rare occasion.
Then again… She isn’t here tonight.
I check my watch. “I should probably start getting ready for the next set.”
He nods. “Of course. I’ll look forward to hearing it.”
“It’ll just be the same songs.”
He shrugs. “I enjoyed them the first time. I’m sure I’ll enjoy them again.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” I stand. “But please don’t feel an obligation.”
“On the contrary. I can’t wait to see and hear more of you.” He rises and touches my exposed shoulder.
A spark of static electricity jolts me at his touch. No doubt due to the green Turkish rugs that carpet the entire Clubs section.
But it’s not just the rugs. It wasn’t just electricity. A chill courses through me and blood rushes to my extremities. Then warmth replaces the chill, starting at my shoulders and arrowing right between my legs.
I want to be touched by this man.
I want to be loved by this man.
I want to be fucked by this man.
“Bianca?”
I blink a few times. “Sorry. Just got a little lost in thought.”
He smiles. “Me too.” He looks toward the stage in Hearts. “Looks like the musicians are getting ready. Guess you’d better get going.”
“Right, yes.” I swallow. “Thanks for keeping me company on my break.”
“Bianca,” he says on a husky breath, “the pleasure was all mine.”
More chills. More warmth. More electricity.
I walk back to the stage and close my eyes for a few seconds. I have to sweep all thought of Harrison to the back of my brain so I can refocus on the notes and rhythms of my songs.
He’ll be waiting for me when I return.
I give the nod to Ewan and we start. The second set of the evening is usually one of my weaker ones, but tonight I feel the music flowing through me in a way it never has before. The nostalgia of “At Last,” the mystique of “I Put a Spell on You…” It’s all tripled in intensity from the first set.
The audience erupts into applause as I finish my reprise of “The Man I Love.” Again, Harrison gets to his feet in the Clubs section, and I can see the gleam of his smile from the stage.
He asked if I would be adding any songs to my set from my days living in New York City.
There’s one song in particular that I really would like to share with him. One I haven’t sung since I was doing auditions in cramped studios in Midtown Manhattan.
The audience is still applauding as I walk over toward the members of my band. “Do you guys know ‘Somewhere’ from West Side Story?”
Ewan’s eyebrows nearly fly off his head. I’ve asked him and the rest of the band to do the unthinkable. Perform a song that wasn’t on Rouge’s preapproved set.
Brooks and Reid don’t look too keen on the idea either. They’re exchanging nervous glances from behind the piano.
“Yes, yes, I know. Rouge didn’t approve the number. But she’s not here tonight. She’ll never know.”
Ewan shakes his head.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” I draw a line across my lips and lock it with a key.
Brooks shifts his gaze back and forth. Reid rubs at the back of his neck.
I get it. My sister casts a long shadow, and just because she’s not physically present doesn’t mean news of this diversion won’t get back to her.
But you know what? I don’t care if it does gets back to her. She’s not my keeper. And she doesn’t control everything that goes on here. Why, this very night, I broke the rules and brought a man—a handsome, charming man—as my guest for the evening, even though I’m not technically a member.
I lower my voice. “I’ve begun to think that Rouge isn’t as in control here as she likes to think. I promise, I won’t let any of you get into any trouble for this. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Ewan, Brooks, and Nash still look unconvinced, but Pierce gets to his feet, pointing his drumsticks at the other bandmembers. He then shrugs as if to say, “Come on, guys. One extra song won’t kill us.”
Reid is the first to nod, and then Brooks. I walk over to Ewan. “I can sing with just them if you’d like. I can plunk out a few chords on the piano myself.”
Ewan takes a deep breath in, looks over his shoulder, and then finally bows his head. He sits back down at the piano.
I return to my microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to go a little off program tonight.
A lot of you know that, before I was the full-time singer here at Aces, I was pursuing a career in musical theatre in New York City.
I’d like to share with you one of my most cherished songs from that time of my life. ”
I nod to the band, and they start playing.
The music is sweet yet haunting. The lyrics are bittersweet yet hopeful. And just so there’s no confusion in my intentions, I direct the entire song toward the Clubs section, where Harrison is taking it in.
I start the song singing softly, almost breathy, and let it gain strength until the final note, which I let ring out into the entirety of the club. People from Spades put down their drinks, Diamonds their cards. For the first time in my life, I’ve brought every eye in Aces Underground on me.
It’s intoxicating.
I forgot what it felt like to perform to a captive audience.
I release the final note and applause roars through the entire club.
I take a bow and then gesture to my bandmembers to do the same. A single tear runs down my cheek and lands with a tiny splash on the stage.
I look up, directing my focus back to Harrison in the Clubs section. He’s on his feet again, his cigar completely forgotten in the ashtray on the table next to him.
I place a hand over my heart and mouth the words “thank you” to the audience. I scan through the crowd, trying to make eye contact with as many people as I can.
My heart is soaring…until it drops into the pit of my stomach.
Because there’s one person who isn’t applauding. One person whose lips are fused into a straight line, her arms crossed, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against a nearby table.
My sister has come back to Aces early.