I could do anything for four songs. Even the Christmas song that made me famous rolled off my tongue without real effort.
I’d played with the flu for fuck’s sake.
I rolled my head along my shoulders slowly, easing the tension living there, then I wiggled out of the yards of tulle and taffeta. I waved for my stage manager.
Harried and forever one second away from her own heart attack, Stevie ran over to me. “What’s going on?”
“Breathe. I’m about to ruin your night.”
“Oh, God. Don’t do this to me.” She had her ever trusty iPad clutched against her chest.
I put my hand over hers. “I wouldn’t change things up if I didn’t have to.”
Stevie’s gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s fine. I’m just a little...off. I can’t do the big number. I’ll end up on my face.” I quickly gave her the rundown of my idea. “I just need you to find me whatever shirt isn’t selling at the stands and get me the biggest size.”
“We can end the show early. Just do one encore song.”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. We’re going to make this work. I just need this couch to get through it.”
“Ambrose—“
I quickly grabbed her hand. “Get me the shirt. The rest of the girls are covered.”
“Fine.” She hurried off the side of the stage.
The quick change happened only because my people were amazingly good at what they did. I didn’t often ask them to pivot, and the finale was the worst time to do it, but they would.
I could trust in my team.
The floor moved and my head swam.
But this time, it was supposed to move.
The mechanism under the floor pushed me to the center of the stage and my dancers came out laughing.
The instruments were happy and the vibe was immaculate. I rolled onto my knees and a dozen dancers and backup singerssurrounded me, hiding me with their bodies so I could do a quick change. Cindy had the T-shirt from Stevie.
It was Barbie pink and a glitter bomb of my face. My boy shorts and bare feet were instantly intimate.
Also helped me cool down and the spins immediately receded.
This was exactly what I needed to finish strong.
Because it was my job to entertain. And I was damn good at my job. And because it was the last night of the tour, I had to singthesong too.
I peeked out from the dancers, my smile massive on the screen behind me. “Guys, what do you think about a little slumber party with fifty thousand of my closest friends?”
It was a little over the top with the reaction, but the crowd ate it up.
One of my dancers ran backstage and came out with a huge bowl of popcorn. I pretended to pop one in my mouth. No way I could handle a kernel of popcorn in my throat with the song I needed to sing.
The four songs I chose told a story, as many of my songs did. But the combination would make for a memorable end-of-tour moment. If I’d been less exhausted I could have refined this to be amazing.
But for now, this would have to do.
The first song was a conversational song about the golden parts of a relationship. It had been one of my first hits that wasn’t attached to Christmas. But the last two albums had been so overwhelmingly huge that my older songs had been pushed to the back of the line.
