Page 3 of Blue Moon

“I’ve changed a lot in the past several months. Reevaluated my priorities. Having half the world mutter about cocaine addiction every time I sneeze wears me down, you know? I’m tired of being public property.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” Aisha announced. “I mean, I love being on stage, but having people watch me twenty-four-seven?” She shuddered, and her golden headdress shimmered under the lights. “No way.”

“So why don’t we go to the Rock?” Venus suggested. “They have a strict ‘no cameras’ policy. Reservations only, but I bet they’d give Luna a table.”

No cameras, no phones, no electronic devices whatsoever. I’d never been there, for precisely that reason. Until I took a trip to San Gallicano, I’d never eaten a meal without a picture of either me or my food appearing on the internet.

“That’s one of the restaurants at the Black Diamond?” I asked, just to check. When I slunk back to Las Vegas at the beginning of April with my tail between my legs, I’d stayed at the Black Diamond for a week while Ryder’s boss helped me to find a new place to live. I think she felt sorry for me. Pity wasn’t something I enjoyed, but I also knew nothing about renting an apartment, so I’d sucked it up and accepted the help. The suite at the Black Diamond had been a sanctuary. The staff probably thought I was a weirdo because I didn’t leave for seven whole days, but they’d been friendly and, more importantly, discreet. My whereabouts hadn’t leaked. Even Mom hadn’t been able to find me.

“The fusion restaurant. Food to die for and prices to match, but this is a special occasion. My credit card can just cry quietly.”

Could I afford to buy them all dinner? I was almost sure I could, but math wasn’t my strong point. Why study from books when I was already making lots of money, Mom always used to say. The university of life would provide a better education than some Ivy League college full of stuck-up bookworms. Officially, she’d home-schooled me, but in reality, she’d only cared about the subjects necessary to win pageants. Ask me about my proudest accomplishment (the journey of self-discovery and personal growth that has brought me to this stage today), or what society could do to encourage civic engagement in my generation (promote open dialogue and help young people to find their passions), or if I could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be (Zainab Abbasi, because her unwavering dedication to education and gender equality is truly inspiring), and I could give the perfect answer. But multiplication? If I couldn’t use the calculator on my phone, I struggled. And I’d rather dress up like a cowgirl stripper and do a photoshoot on a ranch—again—than try to split the check after dinner.

A stagehand approached, wide eyed and hesitant. “Tiana says can y’all get changed? She needs to clean your costumes.”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” I told her, and she scurried off.

Paul checked his watch and began walking toward the dressing rooms. “If we’re going to get dinner, we should go soon.”

“Luna?” Venus asked.

“Okay, make the reservation.”

“What time should I ask for?”

“Ten thirty?”

Late, but the Rock was open twenty-four-seven, whether you wanted a midnight snack or brunch with friends. Welcome to Vegas, land of neon lights and messed-up body clocks.

“Uh-uh,” Luis told her. “Make it eleven. Have you seen the pile of gifts on Luna’s dressing table? And there’s a crowd waiting by the stage door, baying for blood and selfies.”

My stomach dropped. So much for keeping a low profile. I liked the idea of the gifts, but not the people, not all the cameras. It was as if a switch had been flipped during my time in San Gallicano. What had once fuelled me now made me sick. Like water, I guess. A little was essential for life, but swallow too much and you drowned.

“Is there another way we can sneak out?”

The theatre manager materialised behind me. “These people have waited for hours to see you. Remember your contract? You have to interact with the fans.”

Right. Promote the show, use my experience with social media to spread the word. Hashtag LunaMaara. Hashtag LunaAtThePalace.

My life was just one long infomercial.

2

LUNA

On any other day, I would have had the gifts packed up and delivered to my apartment, but today, I changed into street clothes, removed the heavy make-up I wore on stage, and began sorting through the boxes. Anything to avoid going outside. Anything to avoid the reporters and their questions. There were so many I didn’t want to answer.

Why had I fired my mom?

Where was my cousin?

Had my topless dip in the Caribbean Sea been planned, or was it just a dumb, spur-of-the-moment decision that had led to me losing my record deal with Sonic Flare?

Who was the man I’d been caught on camera with in a restaurant looking oh-so cosy?

“Ooh, are those truffles?” Luis asked. “Are you sharing?”

“Help yourself.”

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