4 - Cabaret

~Pearl’s Point of View~

Fuck I have no time, I knew they’d run late. I gotta find a better place than this shithole. 

In time Pearl, in time.

I tossed one of my guitar cases over my shoulder and yanked the handle of the other. The crowd was way too drunk and getting out of hand. I looked at my phone quickly, shit! Gonna be late! Daphne will kill me. 

My eyes panicked, looking out through my ridiculous glasses at the crowd. There wasn’t an easy way outta here and my only solace was that I demanded to get paid up front. The owner is a sleeze who always tries to take me home and talks my ear off. I just had to make it to the door and hope like hell my ride is out there.

“Excuse me,” I shouted, but it wasn’t like anyone could hear me. The music was cranked, people were just being sloppy.

I just started shoving at the sweaty bodies but when you’re short nobody gives a damn what you do. Really I’d probably just get tossed around like a ping-pong ball until eventually I hit a wall. That literally happened one night last week. 

“Need help,” I heard, and I looked up straight into the eyes of Corey Piece. That asshole!

“Not from you,” I snapped, and attempted to shove through in a different direction. Didn’t get anywhere though. 

“Come on, I’ve got a car right outside,” he said, just in my ear. He smelled like beer and weed. 

Classy.

“You’re drunk I’m not letting you drive me,” I said, attempting again to move and getting nowhere. 

“Back the fuck up,” a deep voice yelled, and suddenly there was a massive biker guy next to Corey.

The crowd parted a bit and I nodded at the biker, then wasted no time moving. I nearly made it to the door when I felt a tug on my guitar case. I ignored it and kept moving, I was already so late for my next gig.

“Let me help you,” I heard, Corey again.

“I don’t need your help,” I shouted, as I finally stumbled outside. 

My ride wasn’t there and I cursed under my breath as I pulled out my phone. I got bumped a few times by people walking past. Some people are just douches. 

Gigi: Can’t make it babe, picked up a date, so sorry.

Aw fuck. Don’t rely on strippers!!

I sighed and tried to see if there was a cab. I didn’t have money to waste on one but I couldn’t afford to lose my next job. It was also personal, something I loved doing and Daphne was already taking a chance on me. I could potentially be out of a gig and homeless if I pissed her off.

“I’m not drunk, I promise. Let me take you home,” I heard, and I turned around to meet the biker’s chest. But he wasn’t the one talking.

“I’d take you but you can’t carry those on my bike,” the big guy said.

“Appreciate that,” I said, as I began to book an Uber. I didn’t have any beef with him, but I still didn’t know why he was here.

Before I knew it Corey was pulling in front of me with some sort of 1970’s black muscle car. I didn’t know cars, didn’t care. I sighed and quickly swiped to cancel the Uber.

“Only cause I’m absolutely desperate and in a serious hurry,” I said, reluctantly going around the side to get in. Also because it was saving me about $60 I didn’t have to waste.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad. Where to beautiful,” he said, clapping his hands together.

I made a face. I knew he’d want to come in and watch my show, and I wasn’t happy about that. Didn’t have a choice at the moment. I heard the rumble of a bike behind us and pointed for him to make the next right. I was still learning my way around but I’d taken this ride a couple times now and I had it down pat.

“Is that your boyfriend,” I asked, putting on my seatbelt.

“Bodyguard, a necessity I’m afraid,” he said, as he shifted gears.

I made a face but then reality set in. I was in Corey Pierce’s car. A Feisty guy. Right there, literally a breath away. He’d followed me, stalked me really. Did they actually want me? This is LA for christ sake, surely they had a hundred good candidates to replace Jude.

We were quiet except for me telling him where to go, I just had to hope once he realized I was taking him to a drag bar he’d ditch. I was 97% sure his shadow wouldn’t follow at any rate. Definitely an image killer. I hadn’t gotten a look at the back of his cut but he was scary enough to probably be in one of the bigger MC’s. Seemed to mean business.

“You’re shitting me,” he said, when he finally pulled in front. 

“It’s been real,” I said, throwing the door open. I had nothing else to say. As far as I was concerned he was a total dick, but I might actually call his manager back and see if there’s an offer. Doesn’t hurt to have a conversation, but only with the adult in the room. Corey was not that, it was obvious. Him and his annoying ass girlfriend could kiss my ass. 

“Whoa, whoa. What’s this? You live here or…” he trailed off.

Sorta, basically yeah. Wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“I’m a working girl, I don’t discriminate,” I said, and hurled myself out of the car. Hell I couldn’t be picky about much of anything anymore. 

He shouted something but I had no time. The opening number was in 20 minutes and getting ready usually takes thirty. 

The bouncer, Damo, opened the rope for me with a wink. Several people made angry comments about me cutting the line. I ignored them and moved as fast as my little legs could take me.

The next little bit was a blur as the ultimate glam squad descended on me, and the shitty part was I only got to see it if I wore my glasses. Which there was no chance in hell I could do. Yesterday I started calling the airline five times a day instead of three. I might have to make it eight. If they don’t find my fucking bags I’m going to have my tenth nervous break down. My twentieth pity party. I NEED my contacts!!

I had literally just bought four boxes before I left Pennsylvania. Six months worth! My prescription was expired and if I didn’t get them I’d have to cough up the cash to see an eye doctor without insurance. Something not too expensive for your average person. Well that’s hardly me anymore.

“My masterpiece,” Violet said, as she twirled my chair around.

There in front of me stood Daphne, literally a few inches from my face. She was the club owner and my sort of landlord. She wagged her finger. She was mad but she was never too mad. I mean, I’d only known her for about two weeks but it was all I could do to stay in her good graces. She'd literally gotten me off the street when I ran out of money to stay at the hotel that I’d been calling home. Thank god she had a thing for me. She was trans but liked girls, boys, anyone that caught her eye. I may have drunkenly kissed her one night and it was … awkward. 

“You gotta get here on time! You’re making us sweat and sweat is not our friend honey,” she said, grabbing my hand and jerking me out of the chair. No shit, she kept it like 40 degrees backstage. I loved it though.

“Couldn’t be helped, seriously. I know, I know I need to have less gigs but I can’t crash on your couch forever,” I said, as someone helped stuff me into the corset that held me so damn tight I could barely breathe. 

“You worry too much! You’re gonna get wrinkles and then where will we be? Now get your ass out there and sing for me sexy blind girl,” she said, shoving my butt.

I’d been a theater major in college, with a minor in business administration. My dream was to own a Cabaret club in Philly. But sometimes dreams are just that, dreams. I really loved to sing and play guitar, even piano … I thought I was pretty damn good. Between the tattoos and shows I played in college and just after, it got me laid a whole lot certainly. I got to play with a ton of bands that came through town, but no one ever took me on permanently. I recorded some studio tracks for cash too but it never led anywhere. It wasn’t like I got royalties from it, I hadn’t written the music.

Then … I met Devin fucking Howard. The guy who was supposed to get me my big break. But in reality, he thought my talents were better served in other ways. Being his mindless slave apparently. Fetching his dry cleaning. Walking his prized dog constantly that died last year and it was somehow my fault. Because you know, I was supposed to figure out how to make him live forever.

I was just his arm candy, he’d brag to his friends about my talents but never help get me in anywhere. Get me heard by someone who mattered.

I gave up on all my dreams and supported his, look where it got me. I’d never been the type of woman to let a man lead her around, tell her what to do. But he had that power over me, for so fucking long and I have no idea why. How I let it get so bad.

I believed him for years when he said he’d make me famous. That he’d get me signed to his label. Never happened. Just one constant let down after another. When he went out of town on business I snuck in gigs here and there, just to keep myself sharp. I even kept getting tattoos which he didn’t like. Wasting “his” money he’d say … nevermind that I worked 40-50 hours a week too.

But really, if I couldn’t play I’d die. It didn’t matter if no one heard me I supposed. After a few years I stopped singing so much, but I kept playing. Seemed that people had more use for me as a guitarist than as a singer. Singers are a dime a dozen.

But then Devin fucked me over and in a crazy moment of real hopelessness … Daphne happened. My sort of break. She literally picked me up off the sidewalk and desperately tried to slap some sense into me. Wake me up.

Once I warmed to her, we hit it off in all the best ways. She didn’t believe me that I was obsessed with musicals, that I knew like everything front and back. So I sang some Liza for her, some Barbara, some Cher … and she made me do it again. And again. It was … freeing. Liberating. Someone who appreciated me, someone who stood front and center screaming and fangirling out … over me. 

I hadn’t had someone be so encouraging and uplifting in so long. My soul needed it. 

But that was just singing for her, not for a packed club.

“Don’t forget the mole,” someone shouted, and stuck it to my face. I’d gotten in a daze, like I had been feeling before performing. I get in my head, freak myself out. 

“So get ‘em Sally,” Daphne said, as she smacked my butt.

Dang! That hurt, but I wasn’t going to complain. I drew a deep breath as the “master of ceremonies” did his best Joel Grey impression. Hardly anything close to German but what can you do.

“Blind girl escort is here,” someone said, as they took my arm. I snickered to myself as someone hooked on my microphone.

Someone put my hands on the curtain’s opening and I took a deep breath. I then blew through as the house band hit. 

Thank god for silver linings! 

Without my glasses I could only see blurs of color. Unless you were directly in front of me, I wouldn’t know you from anybody until you spoke or I recognized your scent. Literally, I couldn’t see past my hand without my glasses on. Yeah it was humbling, but weirdly freeing in a way.

It definitely helped my nerves, and knowing this was one of the biggest crowds I’d ever been in front of, here at the Red Velvet Club, for once not being able to see was what it took to get my ass singing again.