Chapter Fifteen
Rosalie
The next few months are like living a life that isn't mine—it’s bizarre, unfamiliar territory, but welcoming nonetheless. I perform regularly at Varsity Vat and have drawn quite the crowd for my local shows.
The word crowd seems like an understatement. The bar has been so swamped that Damion had to hire nighttime security for my shifts. Apparently, I have fans.
Actual fans.
Charlie set up my social media accounts for me, claiming that I needed to make my online presence as large as my stage one. I got over 10,000 followers in two weeks, and it feels like everything is moving so quickly.
There’s been a constant argument among my coworkers about my stage presence.
I can no longer serve drinks at the bar because it takes away from the other servers trying to make ends meet.
My solution was to start disbursing my earnings from my gigs with the others on shift, and it was quickly shot down by my coworkers.
I’m thankful they want me to keep earning what I do for performing, but I feel bad that I'm taking away from them.
Damion seems to think everyone has gotten a pay increase with all of the new customers constantly coming in, but it doesn't stop that part of me that wants to give back as much as I get.
I’ve done little things, like come in early to roll silverware for the servers or work expo during rushes before I get on stage.
I’m always run off by someone clocking in for their shift, but I can't help it.
These people have been my biggest supporters in all of this, and I can't let their hard work go unnoticed.
“Rosalina!” Damion shouts across the kitchen as I’m pulling a plate of piping hot food from the expo line. “You’re on in ten! What are you doing?”
Beau, one of the line cooks, smirks through the baker's rack at me. “Little Miss Singer shouldn't be back here with us while her fans are waiting.”
I roll my eyes at him. “This is missing a veggie tray.”
He lifts his brows. “Yes, ma’am. I love a woman in charge.”
Heat spreads across my cheeks as he pushes a veggie tray towards me. I keep my head tucked so he can't see my blush.
Beau is attractive with his easy attitude and surly exterior. He’s large with wide shoulders and a face that could leave any woman swooning. Pair it with the ink climbing up his neck, and he's definitely quite the specimen to behold.
Desire isn't something I've had the time for, but as I get closer to the line cook, it’s slowly becoming something that I'm considering. I’ve never even had my first kiss, and I'm scared he’ll notice how inexperienced I am and decide I’m not worth the hassle.
It’s best if we just stay friends. Can't get rejected if I'm wrapped up in my safety net.
“Stop fraternizing, and get on stage!” Damion rushes me away from the line before doing a double-take at my clothes. “Where is your outfit? Why are you wearing your uniform?”
I cock my head at him as my lips thin. “Because I’m still working, Damion. And I’m not wearing what you picked out.”
Talk about a burlesque show mixed with a 1920s speakeasy. I’m not an object for my boss to flaunt around, but sometimes he sure does act like it.
“Was it too much?” He winces.
“Yes,” I deadpan. “I’m sticking with Charlie’s outfit.”
He groans. “Fine, fine. Just get dressed, please. The crowd is eating my wait staff alive.”
Realistically, Charlie’s outfit isn't much better, but as my self-appointed manager, she insists on creating an image for me. She’s taken the softer approach, keeping my clothes in lighter tones to match the serenades that flow from me.
She calls it my ‘good girl’ look, but I don't really care about the clothes.
I care about the feeling of being up on stage.
So, I can deal with the occasional wardrobe change-up. As I pull a white cropped vest out of my bag, my eyes light up at how cute it is.
Okay. Maybe I am a little excited about the clothes. It’s hard not to be when I've only ever worn hand-me-downs. Charlie has a great sense of style too, and she always connects with what’s fresh. I know I’ll never be underdressed with her running the operation.
She paired it with a cute plaid skirt and some knee-high white boots to bring it all together.
It’s something I would never pick for myself, but that's the wonder of it all. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone little by little, and every new thing is a first for me.
I originally banned any outfits that would show the old scars on my arms, but after talking with Mrs. Hartman, she felt that exposure therapy was the best way for me to move on from the past.
I've taken her exercises seriously, and every day I feel closer and closer to being normal. Well, as normal as a growing stage presence will allow.
It’s been a drastic change to go from the broken, tormented girl everyone despised to someone whom people push through the heavy crowd just to get close to. I’ve been swept up in it all, but the feeling is addictive. I can't stop, and I don't want to.
Not anytime soon.
I dress quickly, zipping up the white, knee-length boots with an appreciative smile at how they mold to my legs. Seeing myself in a different light has been a challenge, but every time I take in my dressed-up appearance, it’s like breaking away the old shell that once contained me.
I’m slowly breathing life back into myself.
As I step out onto the main floor, the crowd awaiting my arrival erupts into cheers and shouts. For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile tugs on my lips as Charlie ushers me on stage.
And I sing.
The pain and suffering fuel my voice, creating something beautiful from the broken fragments of my past. As I perform in front of hundreds of people, I remain unaware of the music producer Mr. Marcus tipped off sitting in the crowd, observing me with an astute eye.
Little did I know that it would be the start of a very long and successful career with Charlie by my side as my manager.