Part of that is being an artist. I sell my services as a singer, a performer, an actress.
As a singer, I sell my throat to hundreds of patrons every night at Aces.
Is selling my pussy all that different?
I sigh.
One thing is for certain. I’m going to see this thing with Harrison—whatever it is—through to the end.
I need to see if it has any legs.
I may have fucked him the first time we met, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pursue something real with him.
I feel something real with him. Something I’ve never felt before.
It can’t be love already. That’s fairy tale nonsense. In the real world, it takes two people months to fall in love.
We’ve been on a single date.
We’ve fucked twice, and I stifle a laugh as I realize. We’ve never had sex in one of our actual beds. First we were in the grand suite bed, and then we were in the Brassica Rex courtyard.
But we’re going out again tomorrow. Checking out some of my sister’s other clubs.
It’s a date with a purpose behind it, but it’s still a date. He didn’t have to ask me to join him.
Maybe I’ll try to abstain from anything physical. Get to know Harrison outside of his prowess in the bedroom.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist him if he makes a move. But if I do have sex with him a third time, it’ll be because he’s a man that I see a future with. The kind of future involving two and a half kids with a white picket fence. It won’t be because I want my existence as a woman to be validated.
I’ve finally finished my makeup, and it’s time for my set. I open the door to my dressing room and am about to walk toward the stage when I’m waylaid by Rouge.
I blink. “Yes?”
She points at the piece of paper I’m holding in my gloved right hand. “Your set. Let me see it.”
I bite my lip. “I promise there won’t be any unauthorized pieces tonight.”
“I already assumed that to be the case. Still, let me see it.”
“Of course.” I hand her the piece of paper.
She reaches into her bosom and pulls out a red ballpoint pen. She scans the list and crosses a few pieces off before handing me the piece of paper back. “There’s the approved list for tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow as I look at the rejected songs on the list. “But why’d you cross these pieces off? I’ve sung each of them a hundred times before, to great acclaim.”
Rouge’s eyelids twitch slightly. “All those pieces I crossed out showcase the percussionist. And I’m afraid that Mr. Pons won’t be able to join you this evening.”
I cock my head. “Is he sick?”
“He didn’t say. But rest assured that the rest of the songs on the list will be fine without a drummer.” She purses her lips. “The show must go on, as they say.”
A fist closes on my heart. Something isn’t right about this. In all my years of performing, I’ve never had a member of my band call in sick. Sometimes one of them will take a leave of absence for a vacation or to attend to a family emergency, but the musicians have never dropped out at the last minute before. Last Christmas we all had a nasty flu, yet we still took shots of DayQuil and went on for the show, collapsing in a heap on the couch in my dressing room between sets.
But Pierce is the newest member of the band. He’s only played with us for a year or so. Maybe he doesn’t realize how big a deal this is. He’s also working full-time as an attorney, so he might have other things to attend to.
Still… I feel the familiar twitch in my eyebrow that tells me that things aren’t lining up the way they should be.
There’s something my sister isn’t telling me.
