Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“I’ll miss you too. Send me the itinerary, and maybe I can come to one of the shows.”
“I would love that,” I gush. “I’ll have Jesse send it to me, and I’ll forward it to you.”
“Sounds good. I have to go, Rory. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“I understand. I love you, Brock.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Always.”
The call ends.
Okay.
I’ve made a commitment. I head back into the house and find Jesse on the phone in the kitchen. He gestures for me to be quiet.
“Sounds good. Thanks, guys. Rory and I both appreciate this.” He ends the call.
“What was that?” I ask.
“It was a quick FaceTime chat with the band. They’re all happy you’re going to join us, and they’re good with the room situation. You and I will share, and the three of them will share.”
“Okay, good. I don’t want the band to go to any more expense on my account. This is supposed to be a moneymaking deal after all, right?”
“God, I hope so.” Jesse runs his fingers through his unruly dark hair. “We could all use some. But honestly, Ror, we’re usually lucky to break even on these little gigs. The real value is in someone hearing us. Someone important.”
“Which one is the venue where agents hang out?”
“The two outside Salt Lake City.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I know. Salt Lake. Weird. But it’s true. I checked it all out.”
“Okay. I will be at my best.”
“You’re a selling point for us, Rory. I’m really glad you’re going. So is the rest of the band.”
“I am too, Jesse. It’ll be good to just make music for a week. To try not to think about…other things.”
“I know. What did you and Callie end up doing with those photos?”
“We burned them.”
He nods. “Let’s hope that those were all Pat had.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s hope.”
“You’d better get packed up. Take the sexiest clothes you’ve got.” He shakes his head. “God, that feels like fifty shades of wrong to me, telling my sister to look sexy.”
“Don’t worry. I know the drill. Besides, you and the band need to look pretty hot too. How we look is nearly as important as how we sound.”
“True enough.” Jesse heads to his room.
I head to mine then and begin to pack.
Thigh-high boots studded with silver. Lacy skintight tank tops that show a lot of cleavage. Black leather pants and black jeans. And then my black and silver jewelry that I only wear when I’m performing with Jesse. I’m pawing through my closet when my fingers brush across soft satin.
I sigh.
One of my old cocktail dresses that I wore on auditions in New York. Several more hang in the back of my closet. Funny. I didn’t even think about them when Brock broached the idea of a recital. I told him I would need a dress. In truth? I have several. Of course they’re probably all out-of-date. I don’t exactly keep up with runway fashion.
I pull out the dress. It’s dark-red satin with a fitted bodice. Mom and Dad spent a mint on these dresses. Because of my large chest, I had to have all my dresses professionally tailored. Mom and Dad never complained about the expense. In fact, they gladly paid it, even though I came home from New York in tears each time.
This dress is gorgeous, as are the others. I close my eyes and try to recapture the feelings I used to have when I wore this dress. Being onstage, singing my heart out, knowing I looked beautiful in my perfectly fitted gown…
I open my eyes quickly.
This isn’t me. Not anymore. I won’t wear this or any of these other dresses when I sing at the recital Brock and I are planning.
I’ll wear…
Well, I don’t know what I’ll wear—only that it won’t be an old audition outfit. Maybe all those expensive dresses were bad luck. Bad juju.
I chuckle out loud. Right. A dress has bad luck. I don’t believe it, and I never did. I just wasn’t good enough.
Not good enough.
And that’s okay.
I got over my failed opera career long ago.
I’m no longer an operatic mezzo.
But what am I, exactly? A teacher, for sure, but my first love is and always will be singing. I need to sing.
But if I’m not an opera singer, what am I?
I’m not a rocker, even though I enjoy my time with the band.
I fall somewhere in between.
I won’t wear a cocktail dress for this recital. I won’t be in spiky thigh-high boots either.
I’ll have to find my own style. Maybe black leggings and a tunic. Or jeans and a camisole.
Maybe this recital will help me figure out exactly who I am now as a performer.
Because here’s the truth—I don’t want to be just a teacher anymore. I love teaching, and I’m good at it. I’ll continue doing it, but I need to do something else. Something for me.