Page 62 of Phantom
A shy smile creeps across her face, and I begin to eat my own gumbo, satisfied that she’s not embarrassed anymore. When I’ve finished, I promptly reach for my drink and take a cool sip of my Sazerac.
“Can I have a taste?” Scarlett asks.
I frown over the lip of my drink. “Are you sure? I thought—”
She waves away my concern. “It’s just a theory I’m testing.”
I nod once and slide it to her. She gingerly takes the tiniest of sips, making a sour face before smiling wide.
“I can’t tell if you love it or hate it.” I chuckle.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter since I don’t drink. But if I did…” She smiles at me and meets my eyes. “I’ve already come to crave the smell. I definitely think I could grow to love the taste.”
Her words send a curious jolt of hope in me, but she doesn’t linger on them, instead adjusting her position to better watch the party. I bite back the urge to question her about any possible hidden meaning, not wanting to confront the crushing disappointment if I’m wrong. So rather than face my fears, I take advantage of her preoccupation and study her wistful look.
Madam G chose the best band on Frenchmen Street for the event. The songs are a blend of pop and R&B, modified to have a blues and jazz rhythm. The singer croons into the microphone like he’s holding a lover and there’s no escaping the sensual energy coming from the music. The dancers on the floor grind and ride against each other in unison, like a damn orgy in the middle of the room. I hope to Christ Scarlett doesn’t want to dance. I will if she wants to, but if anyone so much as breathes in her direction, I’ll send them to form a line outside my dungeon to deal with tomorrow.
“I used to dream about singing at places like this.”
I turn to Scarlett to see her eyes twinkling and focused solely on the band. I knew she loved to write lyrics, but I also thought she loved theater. Earlier in the car, she’d surprised me when she’d mentioned going solo, revealing to me that for once, Idon’tknow everything there is to know about this woman. Not yet.
“Yeah? Why don’t you? Like I said, you’re certainly made for it.”
She opens her mouth but clamps it shut. Her alabaster cheeks redden. “I’m… I’m afraid.”
I frown. “Of what? You go on stage all the time for your shows. What’s different?”
She sighs and her eyes dip away from the band to the candle on the table.
“In theater, I either am the understudy, or I have one. The show must and can go on because there’s always backup… Even if I, you know, go utterly batshit crazy.”
I scowl at her phrasing, but I know better than most that masquerading your own problems with humor is an easy coping mechanism, so I bite my tongue about it this time and confront the topic at hand.
“And you’re afraid that if the show or performance only revolved around you, that you’d what? Let people down?”
She nods.
“So let me get this straight. You’re willing to hold back on living your dream because you’re afraid of letting people down?”
She huffs a good-natured laugh and begins to rip her drink napkin into small pieces. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds silly.”
A small smile lifts the left side of my face and I can feel the skin on the right side tingle and tighten at the movement. “Is that the only reason?”
“No. What if I fail? Or people hate it? What if I try this new thing and I’m totally bad at the songs I’ve written—”
“I’ve heard the song lyrics you’ve written, Scarlett. That should be the least of your concerns. So what is it, really?”
She blinks at me and huddles away like prey to a predator, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest. I fucking hate it. “Answer me. Don’t hide yourself,ma petit muse,” I murmur.
I wrap around her tighter and reach for her with my free hand to tug her away from the corner. She sighs and unfolds from her cocoon. My chest expands with pride that I’ve coaxed her from her shell.
“The reason why I freaked out recently is because of how good I felt as the lead the other night. I haven’t felt that…euphoricsince my first full-blown manic episode a year ago. It terrified me that I could’ve sparked another one. Even though I’ve been doing everything right, I could still get thrown for a loop and the last one nearly ruined my life.”
The look of defeat on her face twists my heart, but I won’t stand for her beating herself up over something she’s controlled as well as she can.
“Did you?”
She stops shredding her napkin and looks up. “Did I, what?”
