MIA
Four weeks later,I hang up my last telemarketing call—technically, I got hung up on, but potato, potahto—and walk out of the building a free, unemployed woman. I asked Kevin if I could take the three weeks off and return after the tour, but he put his foot down. That’s what happens when you work at a place where you’re totally expendable. And to be honest, I’m not mad he said no. Odds are high I’ll end up working an equally awful job in a few weeks, but I’m going to enjoy this little respite.
The last couple weeks have been wild, working all day, then spending my evenings learning music and going to rehearsals. Austin was right about me getting along with Kelly and Rose. They’re nice and fun—way more fun than I am—and, obviously, crazy talented. Rooming with them for three weeks will be easy peasy.
As for Austin… I can’t decide what to think of him. Sometimes, I roll my eyes at his cocky antics. Other times, like some moments at Mama Choo’s, I find him likable. Maybe too likable.
Which is why I’m a bit relieved anytime his Casanova side comes out and reminds me who I’m dealing with: a man withwomen of all ages ready to shred their vocal chords to bits at the mere sight of him.
When I walk in the door at home, Gemma’s at the sink, rinsing out her cup. She hurries to set it down, then picks up two pot lids on the counter and bangs them together again and again. “You did it!” she yells, walking over to me. “You’re all done!”
I take a sweeping bow, but I cut it short to stop the clanging pots. “Thank you. Really. But I need my hearing intact for the tour.”
She sets down the lids. “Get used to the noise. Those concert audiences don’t mess around.”
A bundle of nerves bubbles in my stomach. I don’t know why. It’s not like they’ll be cheering forme.
“I can’t believe how soon you’re leaving,” Gemma says. “I’m trying to figure out if I can come see at least one of your shows while you’re there, but the airfare is crazy expensive.”
“Save your money,” I say. “I’m just a backup singer, Gem.” A text comes through from Kelly, and I squeeze Gemma’s shoulder. “Okay, I’ve got to run! I’ve got a fitting tonight.”
Rose and Kellyare already changing when I get to the nondescript building where our fitting is happening. There are multiple clothing racks in the room and a man and a woman standing near them. The woman is scribbling on a clipboard while the man Kelly tells me is named Victor fiddles with the measuring tape draped around his neck.
Rose shimmies into a silver sequin mini dress, pulling it over her bare torso and bra. My stomach tightens. Do I have to wear that? I don’t do tight. I’m very much a flowy linen, loose-fit girl.
She smiles widely at me. “There you are!” Her gaze flits to my outfit—wide leg pants and a tucked graphic tee. She givesme a significant look, a little twinkle of amusement in her eye. The second time she saw me, she asked when I was going to introduce her to my (non-existent) brother. She thought I liked to borrow his clothes. “Get ready to shedthose.”
I give a nervous laugh as the woman pulls a matching sequin dress from the rack and brings it over to me. “Go ahead and put that on,” she says, barely sparing me a glance.
I take in a big breath and look around for a place with a bit of privacy.
“We have forty-five minutes and ten outfits,” Victor says.
“Gotcha,” I say. “Is there somewhere I can change?” Ornot? I really don’t want to put on this skin-tight disco ball.
Victor tilts his head, as if to sayare you serious right now? He walks over to a space a few feet away from Rose and Kelly, plants his feet there, and stares at me. “How about right here?”
I smile but hesitate. I’m not a total prude, but I’m also not used to stripping in front of strangers. Especially of the male variety.
“Better get used to it,” the clipboard woman says unapologetically. “You’ll have quick costume changes just off-stage at every performance.”
“Right.” I move to the spot on the floor assigned to me.
“Zip me up?” Kelly asks, taking a few steps toward me.
I pull up on the zipper, which sticks in the middle until Kelly sucks in.
Yikes. I’m not used to sucking in. And definitely not when I need all my lung capacity for singing.
They took our measurements a couple of weeks ago, so I know these dresses were tailored to us, but they look like they were intentionally sewn a size too small. Or for Barbie dolls.
I hold up my dress and instinctively suck in, then glance at the costume designer, who’s watching me without a sliver of amusement or sympathy.
“This doesn’t come in, like, a pantsuit, does it?” I ask with asmile full of clenched teeth. I know it’s a useless question even before Victor’s brow cocks.
“Come on, Mia,” Kelly says. “You’ll look amazing in it.”
“I’m more worried about being able to breathe.” Just wearing that thing is likely to trigger my hiccups.
