She shakes her head. “Actually, they’re a very well-known school. They have lots of successful alumni. You’ve probably heard of Kristin Chenoweth.”
I scratch my head. “She was the original Glinda in Wicked, right?”
“Correct. And she’s done a host of other stuff. She’s a graduate of OCU. She still comes back every so often to give the students master classes.”
“That’s wonderful.” I reach across the table and cradle her hand in mine. “Truly remarkable that you get to live your dream career.”
She bites her lip. “I mean, I’m not exactly living the dream. But I’m working full-time as a singer, so I can’t complain.”
“Did you live in New York?”
She nods. “For ten years after graduating. Took every audition I could, landed a few gigs with regional companies across the country.” She frowns. “But I never landed Broadway. Not even off-Broadway.”
“Their loss.”
She sighs. “There are a million girls just like me in New York City, all chasing the same dream I was. My story is hardly uncommon.” She fiddles with her napkin. “I had hit… I guess you’d call it a low point when Rouge took control of the club and offered me the position of the singer in Hearts.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Five years this summer. And it was a godsend.” She offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Like I said, it’s not exactly the dream I had in mind, but it’s close enough, and it’s steady.”
I return her smile. “And you’re the best singer I’ve ever heard.”
She blushes. “You’re very kind to say that.”
“Bianca, I don’t give people compliments to make them feel good. I only say what’s true. You were fantastic last night. Truly a transcendent performance. I wish I could have stuck around for your later sets.”
“It was just more of the same.” She looks down.
“I’d gladly listen to more of what I heard earlier in the evening.”
She blushes. “Thank you, Harrison.”
“My pleasure.”
I do the math in my head. If she went to New York right after college and then lived there for ten years, and she’s been singing at the club for five years after that, she’s in her late thirties at least.
Damn, she’s older than I am. I’m thirty-five. She’s at least thirty-seven, if not older.
She looks twenty-five. If that.
I know Rouge is her older sister. She’s probably three or four years her senior. I have no difficulty believing Rouge is in her forties. She’s gorgeous, but she carries herself with the austerity that comes with middle age. Not at all the case with Bianca. She’s elegant, almost ageless in her perfect beauty.
“But that’s enough about me,” Bianca says quickly. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Yeah. I grew up with six brothers.”
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her head. “Six?”
“Yeah. My parents were like jackrabbits. I was the second youngest. Harold, Harrow, Harvey, Harker, me, and Harlan.”
She blinks. “How…alliterative.”
“Our babysitters had their work cut out for them.” I lean back in my chair. “I come from an Irish Catholic family. My parents were encouraged by the church to reproduce as much as humanly possible, and they took that command to heart like no other.”
“They must have had their hands full.”
“They did.” I swallow. “We didn’t exactly grow up in a mansion. Money was pretty tight my entire childhood, and my parents drank quite a lot.”
