Page 219 of Sinful Desires
?Amy Tan
Scarlett
The velvet curtain grazed my nose as I leaned in, peeking through the slit.
Celebrities glittered beneath the house lights, lined up like polished trophies on display.
On stage, Pedro Lopez, the night’s host and resident comic, wrapped up the last awards with flailing hands and overblown theatrics.
Then he paused. The lights shifted. The teleprompter changed.
It was time.
I pulled back. Someone placed the purple diamond microphone into my hands.
I closed my eyes.
One last breath, shaky and uneven, slipped past my lips.
Pedro’s voice cut through the air. “The internet’s been one giant therapy session recently. We’ve seen the grainy videos, the blurry close-ups, the bodyguard rumors, the lip readers decoding every glance, the fan theories. Someone even did a twelve-minute YouTube breakdown of a single look she gave. But she’s here.”
The crowd erupted. Gasps. Applause. A few rose to their feet, stunned, uncertain whether to cheer or watch in silence.
“They said she was done. That she lost the plot. But the thing about superstars? They don’t disappear. They wait. And when they come back, they light the whole place on fire. Performing here tonight her new song ‘Lavender Light,’ give it up for the one and only, the myth, the legend, the woman half of you secretly wish you were?…?the Red Queen herself, Scarlett Harper!”
The curtain opened.
I stepped into the light, the soft weight of the gown hugging my hips as the applause hit, loud through my earpiece, louder in my chest.
The lights made everything glow. My dress. The diamonds. Even the fear clinging to my ribs.
The piano started, and I closed my eyes and let the song find my mouth.
I wore a crown of neon lies
A thousand eyes carved into my skin
Danced for cheers that turned to knives
In a palace I was never let in
Cameras fed on all my grief
Turned my tears into a trend
Every smile I faked onstage
Was a quiet way to beg for it to end
I’d written it in France. After our night on the cliff.
That morning, I’d sat by the sea for hours, not thinking, not even feeling much?…?just listening. The waves, the wind, the quiet. It had helped.
And then the words came.
It wasn’t planned. I didn’t sit down to write a goodbye.
But I think my heart already knew.
