Page 8 of This Side of Beautiful

March 8

After a successful showing atthe gala last night, I was feeling myself. I’d stayed until the event was almost over because fans wanted to talk, take selfies, and tell me they still loved and supported me. My decision to attend was the best I had made in a very long time. The most important part was that no one, except for the stage production crew, knew that I was slated to perform. The reception at the gala eased my nerves on what to expect tonight.

I’d slept in and had a fantastic breakfast with my new team and the two cameramen following me on my journey back to the top. Del was the executive producer of the reality series that would begin airing a month after my last show, which would be in L.A., where I’d lived for the past seven years.

We’d finally made it to the dressing room of the smaller arena where rehearsal would take place. Tonight, we would be at the much larger stadium. The cameras were on and would remain filming until I needed privacy to change or when I had any personal time with people who hadn’t approved of being recorded.

GloRilla blasted while I readied for the rehearsal. Her similar brand of bravado and femininity always pumped me up.

“Thank God for a traveling glam squad.” I smiled as Frankie, the hair and makeup artist, applied my face, and Jeri, my stylist, reviewed my attire for the day. Three very different fits. A cropped hoodie and camouflage cargo pants for the rehearsal. A sparkly red pantsuit that fit like a second skin with a pearl-white Stetson for the show. A flowy, thin, yellow-strapped dress that barely draped my thighs for the after-party. And I’d be rocking a long red wig for rehearsal and the performance. I would be more subdued and sexy, slicking my hair back for the after-party.

“Are you sure you don’t want a variation on the red wig for the after-party? Maybe a short cut or a bob?” Frankie asked. She was a thirty-year-old, no-nonsense woman whom I’d clicked with during our interview via Zoom. She was professional yet friendly. I secretly hoped that we could be friends, too. Dr. K had told me I had to stop seeing women as the enemy if I wanted to develop stronger relationships with others. “I’ll probably wear the hat again, which is hot enough without a wig.” I checked my face in the mirror. “Girl, you’re talented. I almost don’t recognize myself.”

Del rushed into the staging area, dressed in his customary tailored suit with a cell permanently attached to his ear. He constantly frowned as if he expected only trouble, though he usually believed in the best of his clients. “Janae, we have little time to do the rehearsal. You were supposed to be on stage an hour ago.”

“Cash is the only guest for The Hollow Bones, and I don’t come on until forty minutes into the show.” I closed my eyes as Frankie added a gold, sparkly shadow. “They can’t possibly be ready for me yet.”

“Janae, they need you there for the entire rehearsal. I sent you the schedule. You’ve never rehearsed with Cash or The Hollow Bones.” His worried gaze traveled up and down. “You’re not even dressed?”

“I am literally on stage for ten minutes. I sing the hook for his latest hit, and then I go straight into ‘A Lonely Woman.’ Besides, no one told me I needed to be there the whole time.”

“If you read your actual schedule, then you would know,” he pointed out.

“Where did you send my schedule, Del? If it was my email, you know I never check it.” I stared at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“I also texted it to you.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t see it.”

My twenty-three-year-old stylist, Jeri, who already had one hundred thousand followers on IG, squealed as she passed me my first outfit. “You’re singing ‘A Lonely Woman’? That’s my jam. It was my anthem after my boyfriend cheated on me. That song got me through it.”

I dapped her hand. “Good way to kiss up to the boss.”

Del warned me, “Five minutes, Janae. That’s it.”

I winked at the cameraman who observed unobtrusively in the back of the small room. “Did you get that? I guarantee I will walk out there and stand around for the next two hours waiting for my spot. These things always take much longer than they plan for.”

I was so very wrong. When I approached the stage with Del and the cameraman, I heard raised, angry voices. I scanned the small area, and all the band members were in place, rehearsing. Landon held his electric guitar, Charles — I’d learned all their names after my unfortunate run-in with Landon the night before — played with the keys on his sax, Brian sat behind the drums, and Santiago tightened the strings on his acoustic guitar while everyone watched Cash and Cedrick argue.

Cedrick explained, “It’s not that big of a deal that she’s not here yet. Her part is so small and we need to practice after Janae leaves the stage anyway.”

“Small? This is motherfucking MILA, the kind of artist who turns a stage into a damn spectacle.”

Cedrick rubbed his temples. “Del swears this stripped-down set will work for her comeback. No dancers, no background vocals. Just her and the music.”

“She’s not even bringing background singers? Or dancers? This is a stadium show, not open mic night. She better hope her little comeback moment is enough.” Cash pointed at Cedrick. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t keep her in line.”

Cedrick slapped his hand. “It wasn’t my idea to ask her to perform. This is what she does. That’s all you and Del, bruh.”

Cash took a step back. “I didn’t think the bitch would be almost two hours late.”

Cedrick’s head jerked. “Wait…”

The camera captured their words and my reaction — hurt and embarrassment that quickly turned to anger. I stepped forward from the shadows. “Who the fuck you calling a bitch?”

Cash looked me up and down with disdain. “You.”

“The fuck.” I walked right up to him. “Don’t call me that.”

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