Page 20 of Four More The Merrier

"Exactly like Beau. Man's got the right idea. Though usually it's Hemingway, not Steinbeck."

A burst of laughter erupts from Jarron's corner, followed by the distinct sound of lips meeting skin. I close my eyes and start humming my first song under my breath, determined to prove I belong here - even if "here" feels like a frat party gone wrong.

A woman with bright pink hair bursts into the green room, wielding a makeup brush like a weapon. "Quinn Dupree? Honey, we needed you in hair and makeup like yesterday."

I scramble up from my chair, nearly dropping my setlist. "Sorry, I didn't know-"

"Course you didn't." She grabs my arm, steering me away from the party corner. "First timer written all over you. I'm Cori"

The next hour becomes a blur of hairspray and powder brushes. Cori chatters away while transforming my face, telling me about every opener she's worked with over the past decade.

"Hold still," she mutters, wielding an eyelash curler. "Unless you want to go on stage looking like you lost a fight."

"Can't look any worse than I feel," I say, trying not to flinch.

A rack of sparkly dresses appears, wheeled in by a tall woman who introduces herself as Sabine from wardrobe. She eyes me up and down, then pulls out a brown sequined number that catches the light like liquid copper.

"This'll work with your coloring," she says, thrusting it at me.

I emerge from behind the changing screen, tugging at the hem. The dress hugs every curve I've got, which is more than I'm used to showing off. At least the cowboy boots make me feel somewhat like myself.

"Well?" I do an awkward twirl. "How bad is it?"

Cori steps back, studying me with narrowed eyes. "Actually, you clean up nice, girl."

"I look like a glam turkey." I smooth down the sparkling brown fabric. "Very seasonal, I guess. Think Jarron will stuff me if I mess up my set?"

Sabine snorts. "Honey, in that dress? He might try to stuff you either way."

"Sabine!" Cori swats her with a makeup brush.

"What? I've worked with them for three years. I know how those boys operate." She adjusts the fall of the dress across my hips. "Though Beau's been awful quiet lately. Maybe he needs someone to ruffle his feathers."

"I'm not here to ruffle anyone's anything," I say firmly, even as my cheeks heat up. "I'm here to sing."

The stage manager appears out of nowhere, "You're up, Miss Dupree."

My hands tremble as I adjust the guitar strap as I walk towards the noise. The sequins on my dress catch the backstage lights, throwing copper sparkles across the black curtain. Behind me, I hear whispers and shuffling feet.

I take a deep breath and step out into the lights. The crowd stretches before me, a sea of faces I can barely make out. My copper dress feels too tight, too bright, too everything.

"Hi everyone." My voice echoes through the arena. "I'm Quinn Dupree."

A few scattered claps, mostly polite silence.

"I'm going to start with an original of mine first, then I'm going to get you prepped and in the holiday spirit for Just South of Mason! Let's hear it for them!" That gets the crowd roaring.

I close my eyes for a moment, fingers finding their place on the frets. This is just another Tuesday night at the local bar. Just another set of songs that kept me going when my bank account hit zero and my parents stopped taking my calls.

My fingers start moving before my brain catches up, and the first notes of "Lonesome Lane," pour out. The melody wraps around me like an old friend, and suddenly the sequins don't feel so foreign anymore.

11

AUSTEN

Irun my hand through my hair, following Jarron down the hallway to spy on our new opening act. "Hope Larry has a mop bucket for when she tosses her cookies," I say, matching his stride.

"I bet she's crying, and now she probably looks like a raccoon on one of my trailcams," Jarron snickers.

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