Page 2 of Carte

Except the last song of the concert. The last one was always a cover picked from a select few. The one I sang most often to wind the crowd down was Story by Brandi Carly, and I just finished that.

“HAR-LEY! HAR-LEY! HAR-LEY!”

I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. I was exhausted and ready to go soak in a tub before going to bed. I stepped up to the edge of the stage, my scuffed boots scraping the floor, and looked into the dark.

“You want one more?” I smiled into the mic.

The answering roar hit me like a massive tide wave. “Well, all right, then,” I muttered, and turned around, taking the mic stand with me.

I briefly looked at my band; the surprise was right there on their faces. I had never done this before. As I said, I only had one rule.

My songs, one cover as a finish, and that was it. The gig was done.

My band was at a loss. They didn’t know what to play.

I didn’t tell them, I didn’t signal anything. I put the mic down, tilted my chin to my chest, and put the pick to the strings.

At the first note the band knew what was coming, and I could hear them screaming in approval, right along with the crowd.

Tina’s Private Dancer. A song that spoke volumes.

During the whole number, I didn’t move from my spot. I barely even glanced out at the crowd. I was with them, but at the same time, I was all alone.

The moment the last note was played, I turned and walked off the stage without a single glance.

That was it.

I gave it my all.

Some might think it rude, some might resent me for it, but I couldn’t care less.

With everything I did, I poured every part of myself into it.

I was finally free to do as I wanted, not to be controlled.

I clawed my way from under the thumb of two people who thought of me as their property, not their child, not even a human being. Afterwards, there were contracts, forced compromises, and men in suits and big offices demanding stuff from me in exchange for a big career. And I walked away from it all.

I wasn’t interested in being an international star. I was completely content with working the bar at Elite, my friend Alina’s club, and playing the stage at some dive bar. I didn’t need anything else.

But then, Alina asked me to play at her club, and the rest was history.

The second I climbed the last step and stopped in the total darkness right in the corner off the stage, that’s when it came.

A feeling of complete triumph.

“I’ve done it,” I muttered to myself. I could feel a small, victorious smile tilting the corners of my lips up.

They said I would never amount to anything. That day, as I was walking away from them, my parents screamed behind my back that I would end up in a ditch somewhere, or working a corner.

But damn it, I did it.

No matter how much time had passed since, I still needed a moment to process the feeling of proving them wrong. Still, I took a second after every gig to remind myself that I was worthy.

After I breathed a big, cleansing breath, waiting for a brief second for that memory to enter my brain, I walked out into the light.

Crew members moved this way and that. The urgency was evident, but it wasn’t overpowering. Just the men and women doing their job of dismantling the show and getting everything ready to hit the road, and be on our way to our next stop on this tour.

I passed the crew as they moved this way and that, giving them small smiles of gratuities. My guitarist, Milo, was already in his post-gig element. Laughing about a missed cue that no one in the crowd noticed, he had a half-finished beer in his hand and his arm around a girl.