Charlie frowned and waved off the attention. “No, not really,” she said, shooting Stassi a look.
“What? You do,” Stassi whispered.
“Stassi, stop,” Charlie said.
Charlie hated to be put on the spot. This event was full of important people. They were going live all-over social media. Charlie wanted to be as far from the stage as possible.
“I’m saying, though, gorgeous? I’m always in the mood to hear some heat if you got it,” Day said, his lazy drawl making Stassi swoon. “Or are you one of them studio singers? The kind that need a production and the auto-tune and shit, cuz if that’s the case, don’t waste my time. I got enough of them.”
“She’s not some fad singer, Day. She can really sing,” Stassi defended.
“I tell you what,” Day said. “Your sister get up there and blow it down and I’ll contract you for our quarterly showcases. If she fuck up, you got to let a nigga slide for the night.”
Charlie couldn’t even contain the laugh that came from her.
“Bet,” Stassi said.
“Bitch, you putting your pussy on the pass line?” Charlie asked, eyes widening. “Stass!”
“What?!” Stassi defended. “I’m going to win; and I mean, if I lose, I ain’t mad at it!”
The snicker that left Day’s lips infected the table.
Day lifted his hand and motioned for a man that stood by the stage. It was like he was a puppeteer. He and Demi. The grand orchestrators of every other man around him. Demi said walk, niggas walked. Day said come, niggas came.
I wish I had a brain-ass nigga, Charlie thought.
Salutations in the form of handshakes like they were exchanging something on the sly.
“Add Charlie here to the program. She up next,” Day said.
“You want to just slide her in? What about the DJ or the band? They ain’t...”
“I pay you to figure it out,” Day said. “If I figure it out for you, I no longer need you, do I, bruh?”
“She up next. What’s your name, sweetheart?” the man asked.
“Charlie,” she answered. Her nerves were immediately on edge. She didn’t want this. It was one thing singing in a lowkey bar to ease the weight on her soul, but to do it like this... In front of all these important people… These industry tastemakers? Charlie was too exposed, but she didn’t want to let Stassi down.
“It’s showtime, baby girl,” the man said.
Day grabbed the champagne bottle out of the bucket and popped the cork, pouring a flute for Charlie. “Liquid courage,” he said.
Charlie took the glass up with her on the stage.
“Why did I do this? I swear I’m going to kill her,” she said
The guy handed Charlie a microphone as she climbed onto the stage. The lights were hot, or maybe she was just hot, maybe she was melting under the microscope that was the cameras that flashed before her as the room looked at her through the lens of their phones. Nobody was really watching her live. They were watching their screens. Filters. They were filtering life and getting it secondhand instead of just being in the moment and watching her. It was kind of sad.
“I’m going to need a stand,” she said into the mic.”
Mr. Figure It Out looked like he wanted to say no, but he moved to get it and handed it to Charlie.
“Hi, everybody,” she said, her nerves ate her alive, and her voice shook. She was better at singing in public than speaking.
She shook her hands at her side. “My name is Charlie,” she introduced. She didn’t know why she had done that. Her name was the last thing these people wanted to know. None of the other showcase artists had bothered, but then again, they had been properly introduced.
“What song to sing?” she asked herself aloud as she adjusted the microphone stand, lowering it to fit her body.
