Page 2 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

"Angie." My reply was barely louder than a whisper.

"Angie," he repeated, and there was something about the way he said it—a reverence, a promise—that made my breath catch.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," I said, the edge of panic returning. "I'll just go back to mopping…"

"Trouble?" He tilted his head back, raising an eyebrow. "Why would you be in trouble? For having talent?"

"Because I'm not supposed to be singing," I pointed out, feeling the absurdity of the situation settle around us like dust after a storm. "I'm supposed to be cleaning."

"Ah," he said, a knowing glint in his eye. "But sometimes, we find beauty in the most unexpected places. And when we do, we must acknowledge it."

"Is that what you do?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite myself. "Acknowledge beauty?"

He smiled cryptically. "Tell me, Angie, have you ever considered doing something more with that voice of yours?"

"More?" I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "Like what? Singing in the shower is one thing. But beyond these walls?" I shook my head. "No, that's just a pipe dream. "

"Actually," he said, still smiling, "sometimes dreams have a way of becoming reality."

The air seemed charged with electricity, with the impossible potential of his words. My heart hammered with the thrill of it, and I sensed that whether I wanted it or not, this encounter would be pivotal in my life.

"Angie," he repeated, louder this time, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the cavernous room, echoing off the polished marble floors and high ceilings. "I'm going to make you a star."

Chapter One

Angel

The lights dimmed, and the opening chords of the song reverberated across the outdoor arena, a powerful surge of sound that hit me like a wave. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices blending into a deafening roar that reverberated through my chest. My pulse quickened, and the familiar rush of adrenaline surged through me, momentarily eclipsing the exhaustion that clung to my bones. My stage persona—Angel—came to life under the spotlight, her aura eclipsing my fatigue, and the demands of the night melted away as the music swelled around me.

The black wig on my head felt heavier than usual in the heat of the California summer evening, and the mask that covered the right half of my face—an ornate piece reminiscent of the Phantom of the Opera—pressed uncomfortably against my skin. Sweat trickled down my temples, making the mask slip slightly, but I didn’t dare adjust it. Instead, I focused on the sea of faces before me, their collective energy pulling me forward like a magnet.

This was my third straight performance in as many days, and my body was on the verge of giving out. My throat was raw from singing, my limbs heavy from dancing, and each breath I took felt like it was being drawn through a straw. But none of that mattered when I was on stage when I was Angel. Then I was doing what I had been born to do, and the joy of the music coming from around and within me carried me, lifting me up like a wave. The arena pulsed with the rhythm of the crowd’s excitement, and I gave them everything I had.

As the final note of the song echoed through the air, concertgoers surged forward, their screams filling the space between us. “We love you, Angel!” someone cried out, their voice rising above the din. The words struck me like a bolt of lightning, sending a shiver down my spine. Other voices joined in, the chant growing louder, more fervent.

“I love you, Angel!” another voice screamed, and soon it was an entire chorus of declarations, a cacophony of adoration that filled every corner of the massive arena.

“I love you too!” I shouted into the microphone, my voice cracking slightly, but the crowd didn’t seem to care. They roared their approval, the sound washing over me like a tsunami. I flashed them a wide ruby-lipped smile, the one Angel was known for, and waved, giving them one last glimpse of the star they adored before I turned and hurried off the stage, the cheers still ringing in my ears.

The moment I was out of the spotlight, the weight of my exhaustion returned tenfold. My legs felt like they might give out beneath me as I walked down the long corridor leading to my dressing room. Even though my heart was still pounding from the performance, I felt a wave of relief now it was over.

Fans lined the path, their hands reaching out, eager for autographs, photos, anything to take home…a piece of Angel. I paused, forcing my hand to remain steady as I signed a few items.

“You were amazing, Angel!” one of them gushed, their eyes wide with awe.

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice hardly audible above the myriad shouts and screams for attention. I smiled for a few pictures, but the fatigue was pulling at me, making it hard to maintain the facade.

“I love you, Angel!” a young girl cried out, her face beaming with pure joy as she held out a poster for me to sign. Her excitement was palpable, her eyes sparkling with admiration. It reminded me why I did this, why I pushed myself beyond my limits night after night.

“I love you too,” I said softly, signing the poster with a flourish before handing it back to her. The way her face lit up was worth every ounce of effort.

Finally, I reached the door to my dressing room and slipped inside, closing the door behind me. The muffled sounds of the crowd outside were a distant echo now, and I allowed myself a moment to lean against the door, eyes closed, taking deep breaths to steady myself. The cool air of the room was a welcome relief against my sweat-slicked skin.

“You did well tonight,” came a familiar voice, and I opened my eyes to see Miles DiMarco standing near the mirror, arms crossed, his expression one of approval.

“Thanks, Miles,” I murmured, making my way to the vanity. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror was a strange one—wig slightly askew, mask gleaming under the bright lights, makeup smudged but still vibrant. It was Angel, but at the same time, it wasn’t.

“You need to rest, Angie,” Miles said, his voice firm. He was always the voice of reason, the one who reminded me when it was time to step back. “Go to the hotel, get some sleep. I’ll send in your decoy to handle the rest.”

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