Page 3 of Inglorious
“Okay, break a leg,” Lila said, grinning.
“Yeah, babe, one day I’ll do that!” I laughed.
Lila offered a wink as I headed backstage, where I was due in two minutes.
I rolled my eyes as the emcee introduced me as the headline act.
Slowly walking to the harp on stage, I sat and stared out at the audience. A soft smile crossed my face, and I began toplay. This wasn’t what anyone expected, and while I couldn’t see beyond the first few tables, I spotted their puzzlement.
I strummed for a minute and a half before I switched from the classical tune I was playing toWe Will Rock You. Confused faces warped into grins; I’d bet money nobody had ever heard that song played by a harp. With a final strum, I leapt up and bent, dropping my head down, and shook it. The pins fell out easily, releasing my long silver hair with its striking black widow’s peak.
Saucily, I flipped my head up as the curls tumbled down my back and, in a smooth move, ripped the Greek gown off.
Dressed in silver hot pants, a white tank top with a red star and black lightning streaking through it. The audience cheered as I sang the opening lyrics forThese Boots Were Made for Walking. My cowboy boots danced across the stage as the crowd roared approval. All except for one man. Thank fuck, I was the consummate professional, otherwise Drake Michaelson would have stopped me in my tracks.
Astute eyes watched me while Drake’s face remained expressionless. There’s only one reason why the President of Rage MC was here, and I didn’t need the grief Drake was about to bring. However, I danced and sang my ass off, refusing to let Drake affect me. Eventually, I finished the forty-minute set and headed off stage.
Drake moved as well, and I shook my head.
“Nanci, you okay?” Dan from security asked.
“If anyone wants to see me, I’ve only got twenty minutes before my next act, and I’m busy tonight,” I replied.
Dan sent me a curious look, but nodded as he radioed the guard on the backstage doors. “No probs, Nanci. Do you need an escort to your car?”
“If someone could bring it round to the side kitchen door, I’ll leave through that,” I said.
Dan stayed on my heels as I headed for my dressing room. Being the headline meant I didn’t have to share a changing room with the other acts. My act was broken down into three forty-minute sessions with a twenty-minute break between each.
Dan followed me as I grabbed the next outfit and darted behind my dressing screen.
“Are you in trouble?” Dan asked as I stripped and pulled on a short dress with cut-out sides.
“No. Dan, remember my brother’s death six months ago? Someone from an allied club is here, and I don’t want to deal with them,” I answered honestly.
The pain hit hard and threatened to derail me. But I was focussed. I had an act to perform, and people had paid to see me. A professional pushed aside outside influences and concentrated on the performance. That was me. A real pro and headliner. Nobody headlined in Las Vegas unless you were damned fuckin’ good—and I was the best.
I came out from behind the screen and checked my makeup before drinking a bottle of water. Under the bright lights, it was easy to get dehydrated.
“Nanci, I’ll move your car,” Dan offered.
“Thanks, Dan. Appreciate it. And when I escape, call Drake Michaelson to the front desk and tell him I said go away. Because I’m not interested,” I replied.
Dan nodded.
???
I didn’t go home. No doubt Drake had my address, so instead I headed to my friend Linc’s place. Linc was out of town, but I had the keys to his apartment. Long ago, I’d left some of myclothes there, which was great because I was working the next day.
In addition to my headline act in one of the biggest and most expensive hotels in Vegas, I also ran a dance school. A classically trained ballet and tap dancer, I had evolved to street and modern dancing. The school covered those genres, plus ballroom and Latin, and we showed ladies how to work a pole. A smile crossed my face as I parked at Linc’s apartment and headed up. I rarely taught anymore, as I was caught up in the running of the school.
My parents had great expectations for me, however, and I wondered if my current career was what they’d desired. Somehow, I doubted it. At an early age, I’d been instructed in how to play the piano, violin, clarinet, and harp. Out of spite, I’d taught myself the guitar. My parents didn’t think the guitar was suitable for the young lady they were raising.
In addition to those classes—three hours at a time per instrument once every week—there were the dance lessons. Sadly, I didn’t go to parties my peers held. No, not Nanci Rosky. God forbid I wear a pair of jeans, a tee, let my hair down and relax. The kids at school called me Fancy Nanci, and not in a nice way. Mom and Dad made my childhood so structured and miserable, they ensured my rebellion at eighteen.
Even as a young child, I wore skirts, blouses, tights, and sensible shoes. Tragically, I was an old lady in a child’s body. My peers had no idea how much I envied their jeans and shorts. My parents moulded me and my brother, Seth, into rigid little images of themselves. No wonder we both rebelled.
Just like Seth, I escaped their suffocating rules and ran away. Hell, I danced in a strip club for eighteen months, making bank. Not once had I shown my face. I always wore a mask and built up the persona of Miss Mysteria. Now, I could walk past those patrons today and they’d never know the girl shaking her ass had been me.
