Page 62 of Lovely Venom

With the crack of the whip, the power reversal is complete, and the music resumes.

As I walk slowly downstage, the ensemble reorganizes, waiting for my cues. I glance at each formation and set them into motion for the final twenty seconds.

The volume increases, the lights pulse, and the choreography takes a dramatic turn. By the final beat, I’m standing at the edge of the stage, whip slung over my shoulder as I stare out into the crowd. But just before the stage lights go dark and the curtain falls, I catch a glimpse of six familiar faces.

Not only is Cristian here…but so are five of my friends.

13

CHANTEL

My break between the opening ensemble and my mid-show solo is forty minutes. Normally, while the other acts are on stage, I’d be hydrating, catching my breath, and touching up my makeup before a costume change.

Right now, all I can think about is the fact that Cristian is out there, and he’ll be watching me perform.

An entirely new set of stage nerves takes over as I try to prepare myself.

I’m tempted to text Abella and ask her how they all showed up here together, but it will have to wait. I still need to do my vocal warm-ups, and I’ve wasted too much time as it is.

Other dancers spill into the dressing room after they wrap up their performance, which means I have about fifteen minutes left to hustle.

“Hey.” Kenzie grabs her water bottle, eyeing me as I shimmy into my cheeky shorts. “You okay? You look frazzled.”

“Totally good.” I nod a little too enthusiastically.

“You need a hand? It looks like you’re running behind.”

“Can you help me with this?” I gesture to my corset that still needs tightening in the back.

“Sure.” She gets to work on it, and I clip my garter straps to my pantyhose.

The entire costume for this act is black, which is meant to be a symbolic rebellion to the lyrics. I usually have fun with this one because I get to sing, but it’s completely different when people you know are watching.

“You want to do some warm-ups together?” Kenzie asks.

I nod, and we start with lip trills, only to end up laughing at each other in typical fashion. There’s never a time when it isn’t at least a little bit funny. After that, we hum a gradual progression of scales as I pull on my opera gloves, then we move on to sirens.

Kenzie drapes the long, layered strands of pearls over my head and adjusts them for me while I finish with some diaphragm breathing.

“You’re going to kill it out there.” She helps me into the silk robe with feathered cuffs. “You always do.”

“You sure you don’t want to go on for me?” I joke.

“There can only be one good girl around here.” She smirks. “It definitely isn’t me.”

“Chantel!” Meredith bellows from the hallway. “You’re up.”

I release a shaky breath and tell her I’m on my way.

“Knock ’em dead,” Kenzie sings as I leave the dressing room.

I approach the stage as the other dancers filter out into the hallway and the stagehands prepare the set. The entire process is surprisingly efficient, and within a minute, they’ve fitted me with a discreet ear-set mic.

This act opens with me sitting at a prop vanity, kitten heels crossed, the silk robe draped behind me as I show a little leg. I get into position, and Meredith checks everything over before she gives me a thumbs-up.

As the curtain rises, I gaze at my reflection, dabbing perfume onto my wrists while silence fills the stage.

The first few lines of “But I Am A Good Girl” spill softly from my lips, as if I’m alone, lost in introspection. Then I glance at the audience in the mirror, pausing as the opening notes filter through the speakers.