Page 17 of On the Power Play

Delia shrugged off the jacket and handed it back to Tony. It was pretty enough, she was tempted to wear it post-show, but she already had a particular outfit for that. Crew neck, black long-sleeve cotton shirt and straight-leg jeans. Nothing primpy or flirty. Plain. Professional. She couldn’t let a pretty blouse and butter jacket knock her off course for the evening.

Delia mentally ran through her pre-show routine. An hour before showtime, she'd put on her blouse and start doing her makeup while Mary curled her hair. Then, thirty minutes before, they'd do a meditation along with stretches and a vocal warm-up. At fifteen minutes to, she'd put on the rest of her outfit, including her show jewelry, a gold locket from her mother and simple gold hoops, then Mary would do a last look, and they'd head to the wings to catch the end of the warm-up band. Tonight, it was a country singer who had gained popularity after performing at the Youth Talent Showdown at the Stampede the previous summer.

Having Tony there was an anomaly but a welcome one. His stories always made the time fly by. This time, he regaled them with a tale about a woman who tried to use a clipped coupon at the register of the boutique. "It wasn't even for the same store!" Then he showed them pictures of the line down the street and wrapping around the corner for the show. By the time Kels finished with how they didn’t know they’d parked in a staff space until a homeless guy yelled at them for taking “Pete's spot,” it was time to get moving.

Delia turned on her playlist, and she and Mary got to work. She applied foundation and bronzer, then blush and a smoky eyeliner. She darkened her eyebrows and applied the only lip stain she'd found that didn't make her feel like she was wearing a mud mask halfway through her set. For all her normal anxieties, this part was seamless. It felt like being strapped into a roller coaster—she knew the process and the eventual walk on stage was inevitable. The ride was going to start, and she could either be ready for it or get whiplash.

Tony and Kels left before they started their meditation, stating he was going to wait for Jack and make sure he found their reserved table. The Jukebox had a broad dance floor that was standing room only, but raised up around the periphery of the room were high-top tables and chairs. It was first-come first-served, and those spots were coveted. She hoped their selfie friends staking out the box office were smart enough to snag one when the doors opened.

Before Delia knew it, she was standing in her maroon trousers, the floral blouse, and suede jacket in the wings, listening to a woman sing her rendition of I've Got Friends in Low Places. She had a decent voice, even if it was a bit twangy for Delia’s taste.

As the final chords resolved, her heart picked up speed. No matter how many times she prepared herself for this, her insides flipped like she was about to dive headlong off the edge of a cliff. It was a love-hate relationship. She adored filling any venue with music. Hated that initial step on stage, especially on nights like this when she was walking into the spotlight alone.

Strapped in, Delia reminded herself. She placed her earpiece as Mary flipped up her shirt to ensure the receiver for her in-ear monitors still had full battery strength.

The warm-up act thanked the crowd, then shouted, "Who's ready to hear Delia Melise?" The cheers and applause were deafening even there in the wings. Mary rubbed Delia’s shoulders.

Delia clenched and unclenched her fists, whispered a silent prayer, then took that dreaded first step into the light. She smiled and waved, scanning the shadowed, faceless blobs in the crowd until her eyes adjusted. She pulled her guitar off the stand and slipped her head under the strap, then plugged in the cord connecting it to the amp.

"How are you tonight?" she asked, getting another roar in response. “Can we raise the house lights a bit? I’d love to see your faces before we start.” The cheers grew louder as the lighting crew did as she asked. People lifted their drinks into the air, and she spotted the two girls they'd met out front earlier. She winked, and Messy Bun Girl's face went slack.

Then Delia found Tony and her heart skipped a beat. Kels sat next to him and?—

Nobody.

There was nobody else sitting at the table with them.

Chapter Five

Jack parked nearly five blocks from the Jukebox after circling around the area twice. He'd been there once before to watch a band Clara was into when he first moved back to Calgary, but it hadn't been even close to that packed.

He waited for Clara to hop down from the passenger seat, then locked the Chevy and shoved his door closed. The icy air stung his cheeks. March in Calgary meant the weather had a perpetual mood disorder. Earlier that week, it had been nearly fifteen degrees, and now they were back at minus twenty with a bonus biting wind that had kicked up on the drive over. Jack pulled up his collar and buried his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat.

For the first time in months he'd put thought into what he was going to wear. Clara had insisted he don a Henley. She said buttons made a shirt look way more upscale than a plain tee, and though that made zero sense to him, he'd trusted her. She'd approved of his decision to pair the dark blue shirt with a pair of natural wash jeans, but then balked at his choice of shoes. "Slip-ons or loafers, no laces please."

When she found the pair of burgundy slip-on Vans in his closet, she looked physically pained that she'd never seen them on his feet before. They were an inside joke between him and a few friends in Toronto after he found them on clearance for fifteen dollars. Otherwise, he would’ve donated them years ago. Clara said they were perfect, and now here he was, walking down the frozen sidewalk in clown shoes.

"I can't believe we're doing this!" Clara fell into step next to him, burying the bottom half of her face behind her coat collar.

"I love how you're pretending we're in this together."

Clara scoffed. "We are in this together. I've got your back."

If she meant a hand on the back shoving him toward Delia so she could meet her pop idol, then yes. That statement was true. Jack winced as Clara bumped into his arm, pressing his newly tattooed skin against the rough hem of his coat.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re delicate right now.” Clara moved further to the left. “Is it doing okay?”

Jack nodded. “It’s great. I just have to be careful with it for the next few days.”

“It’s going to scab, right? Peel?”

“This one was small, so it won’t be too bad.” He’d gotten the Blizzard logo in silver and blue that morning, and Brett was one-hundred-percent correct. It hurt like hell on that sensitive skin on the inside of his arm. But the burn had been worth it. He’d waited twenty-nine years to fill that spot. Now the ink was permanent. He only needed to make the ink on his contract match.

Downtown Calgary buzzed with activity despite the hour. People wrapped in layers, scarves, and toques moved between restaurants and bars, their breath creating transient clouds in the air.

Jack kept his head down. In the dark, it was less likely that anyone would recognize him, but the frequency of people asking him for photos or autographs lately made him twitchy. He'd never considered himself an introvert, but he'd found himself seeking out alone time more in the past three weeks than ever in his life.

The neon sign for the Jukebox buzzed ahead and the windows were already steamed up. As he approached Will Call, a large “Sold Out” sign was posted on the glass. The woman in the booth shoved a bite of poutine into her mouth with a fork, then reached for a napkin and hurried back to her stool.

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