Page 26 of House of Desire

People in the wings usher us out onto the stage with little care for the panic attack I’m actively having. When I turn to look at the audience, I almost have to sit down and put my head between my legs.

“Everyone, please welcome the ladies vying for Parker’s heart! Lucy! Isabella! Emily! Anastasia! Leslie! And Mia!” the MC announces from the middle of the stage.

Easily two hundred people roar a welcome, the sweltering heat of a thousand suns raining down on me from the lights. Sitting in the fourth row with a table in front of them, are the judges who look very familiar.

And Parker.

Who dares to look calm as a cucumber.

I want to wring his neck until his eyes pop out of their sockets. The violent desire would shock me if I wasn’t in such an intense state of fight or flight.

The host of the evening begins introducing the judges and I realize why they look familiar.

They are the judges of the ever-popular Star Search reality TV show that has singers audition for a chance to win a recording contract and to work with some of the biggest names in the industry. So not only am I about to embarrass myself, they are going to tell me exactly how bad of a singer I am.

A dream come true.

My nervous system understands there’s nothing else to do and so, to protect myself, my brain shuts off.

Other than Lucy, the women all look to be in various states of distress at the activity for this date. But Anastasia, in particular, looks like she’s having an out-of-body experience. All color has washed from her face and I’m almost afraid she’s going to collapse. The desire to take her away from from all of this makes me antsy. But I know that’s not an option.

The fact none of them have quit on me is truly astonishing. I would have walked away by now.

Granted, I never would have filled out the application to be a contestant in the first place, and yet, here we are.

The crowd cheers for my girls and the judges as the host of the show introduces everyone. I stand when my name is called and wave, wondering what would drive someone to want to come to an evening like this.

Karaoke is not my thing. There’s something about the experience that has always put me off. I never intend to be critical, but the sound of an off-pitch note has always grated on my nerves. Brittany would purposefully sing off key in the car, knowing it drove me crazy, even though she was the star of our school’s choir.

While I would rather hang out at the mansion and get to know all of these women, that’s not an option when you’re on House of Desire.

Everyone shuffles off the stage except for Mia, who will be singing first. The beautiful blonde is dressed in a rocker outfit. Tight, ripped, black jeans. Spiked heel boots with studs all over them. A black t-shirt is cut so low I can see the lace of her bright pink bra peeking over the neckline.

She steps up to the microphone. After a slight pause, music begins pumping over the speakers. Down low and pressed against the stage are three monitors with, I’m assuming, the lyrics of the song so she can see them no matter where she moves.

Her first notes are unsure and shaky, nerves coating her tone. But the crowd encourages her when she hits a high note and with a smile, she smashes out of her shell. My eyes follow her as she shimmies and shakes across the stage.

The final notes of the song play around the theater. I clap along with the crowd as the judges write down their notes.

“Mia, that was such a fun performance. You really had great energy,” the judge, Lennon, says. Their long hair is dyed a neon pink that shines even in the dim room.

“I appreciate that,” Mia says, her breathing heavy in the microphone after the intensity of her performance.

The bald judge, Hank, is next. “While a little pitchy in places, you did a great job. Going first on something like this is always hard. I applaud you for staying calm under pressure.”

“Thank you,” Mia says.

The third judge is a man named Steven that I know, despite not watching the show they judge, is a jerk to contestants. “Mia. That was possibly the worst performance I’ve seen. The audience was applauding so you’d get through it, not because it was good. If I were you, I would stick with whatever your career is.”

Even from where I’m seated, I can see her chin tremble with the threatening tears. Boo’s echo around the stadium and I want to hit him for making her listen to that diatribe.

“Mia, I loved your performance,” I say in a controlled tone, pulling her tearful gaze to me. I smile at her and her lips tilt in response. “It can be hard to receive negative feedback, especially from someone who’s never done what you just tried.” I glare at Steven and he scowls at me. “Don’t let those people tell you jack shit because I thought you were mesmerizing.”

I don’t care that my face is going to end up on magazines for calling out this asshole when this airs. I will always stand up for the women who are trusting me with their hearts.

She mumbles a thank you into the mic while swiping at a tear. The host comes back onto the stage, thanking her.

“Next up, we have Anastasia,” the host announces and everyone claps politely.

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