Page 2 of This Side of Beautiful

They’d lied and said they would be here for me when needed. Now, I needed their comforting guidance, and neither had answered their phone or responded to my frantic texts for help. I had to do something to settle myself as more people walked inside the doors wearing expectant smiles and cowboy hats.

Purpose. I had to have a reason for standing outside and talking to myself like the crazy person I felt most days. Okay. I couldn’t keep calling myself crazy… maybe unbalanced was a better description.

Does that really sound better?

Or should I just call it what it is?

Except that wouldn’t feel any better.

People don’t know what it’s like when your mind won’t slow down for days, when you’re wired at three a.m. with a million ideas that all feel like genius. Or when the world dulls overnight, and suddenly every step feels like moving through wet concrete.

When it’s not just being up or down. It’s being at war with yourself.

The air felt too thick, pressing down on me. My breaths came shallow and quick, my pulse pounding in my ears. I needed something. Someone. Anything.

Instead, I lifted my phone higher and turned on the camera.

Pretend.Pretend you’re live. Pretend you’re okay.

The oval face staring back at me wasn’t wild or crazed, no matter what the voice in my head whispered. My honeyed brown skin was smooth, my lips glossed, my eyes dark and wide. Only I could see the storm brewing beneath. The deep burgundy barrel-curled waves of my wig framed my face, bold and defiant like armor.

I forced a smile. Wide.Girl-next-doorwide. The kind that had disarmed teachers when I was a kid, softened angry producers when I was late, charmed interviewers when I was high. I’d had hits. Multi-platinum hits. I’d grown up in this city, not one known for music, yet it had produced Beyoncé, Meg Thee Stallion, Bobby “Blue” Bland, Paul Wall, ZZ Top, Bun B, and my personal fave, Geto Boys. H-Town both haunted and inspired me.

I used torunthis town.

And I would again.

I lifted my chin.Yep. I’m that queen.

“You’ve got this,” I whispered to my reflection. “You’ve got this.”

I clicked record.

“I see you,” I said to myself, my voice low and steady, even though my heart thundered. “You deserve this. All that noise in your head? That’s just trolls. Trolls who never thought you’d make it. Trolls who don’t matter. But you do. You’re here. You’re going to walk through those doors and show them exactly who you are. You can have it all. Being on top again is just around the bend.”

I jabbed at my reflection like I was reaching through the screen, shaking myself awake.

“Youcanand youwillwalk into this party solo. No entourage. No crew. No man. And you willnotfall apart. Three years sober. Three years of work. You’re ready.Youare Janae. The dopest baddie making a grand entrance. You don’t need anyone but yourself.”

That’s all you’ve ever really had anyway.

I pushed out a slow exhale and drew in a deeper breath, steadying the thrum in my chest. The wildness in my eyes shrank into a glint, the fear settling just beneath the surface but no longer controlling me.

I clicked stop, slid my phone into my bag, and tilted my hat. Squaring my shoulders, I gripped one of the massive double doors of the convention center and pulled it open, ready to step inside. Clad in a vintage, all-black tailored pantsuit, I let my newfound confidence and just enough cleavage lead the way.

This wasn’t about applause. Wasn’t about cameras or fans or the industry.

This was about me.

I exhaled again, slower this time. My pulse still raced, but the storm inside me quieted just enough.

I could do this.

I had to.

My courage blew away a few seconds later when I stepped into the huge ballroom and observed the dimly lit banquet setup. I’d imagined more of a dark, crowded club scene with people dancing or milling around so that my solo appearance didn’t seem so… well, lonely. Most of the denim- and diamond-clad guests sat at western-themed decorated tables that filled every corner of the room, sans a small dance area in front of a live band and DJ booth. Guests hugged, laughed, and greeted each other like they were at a family reunion. The waitstaff, dressed in black and white, smiled as they served guests hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

I checked my pulse on my laced-out smartwatch. One thirty-five was too high. I took long breaths, trying to decrease my heart rate. I closed my eyes briefly and murmured, “Just stay on the edge so if you have to run, you can.”

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