Page 4 of Petty's Crime

Roller takes over at eight am and is my companion for most of the day. I worry about how boring it must be. I don’t have a very interesting life. I attend rehearsals, shop and keep my house clean, just like any normal person, but he never complains, just follows me around stoically. He’s ever vigilant, his eyes scanning everywhere, and even at home, he takes regular turns around my yard.

Then, there’s Petty.

If I’ve any complaints, they are all about him. Unlike Sarge and Roller, he voices his opinions and quite loudly. He has no patience with anyone, including me. He’s pretty to look at, there’s no denying that, but what’s between his ears is twisted and dark. Earlier today, my gay hairdresser was trying to be friendly to him and Petty called him a pervert. Sure, he’d yanked his chain by suggesting they’d look good together, but there was no reason for Petty to respond as curtly as he had. It hadn’t surprised me. Around Bart, he acts as if my manager has something that could be catching, keeping his distance and any interaction to a minimum.

Bart clears his throat, the sound putting a stop to my mind’s ramblings. “If you’re really okay, RoseLyn, I’d better go and let you get ready. Petty’s right outside.” I’m not sure if he mentions the bodyguard’s presence to warn or to comfort me.

Shaking myself out of my reverie, I push myself up straight. “I’m fine, Bart. You go, and Kylie will work her magic and get me ready for the stage.”

After one last assessing look at me, as if to reassure himself that I’m really going to be fine to go out and earn us both some money tonight, with a mock salute, he goes to the door. Even with it closed, I can hear him issuing instructions to my bodyguard.

“Anyone standing outside will be able to hear anything we talk about,” Kylie reminds me with a smirk.

I shrug, knowing she’s alluding to my outburst when I’d entered the room. But Petty probably didn’t need to hear the opinion I spat out about him as I’ve left him in no ignorance to my views. I doubt he’ll be bothered, as he doesn’t seem to have any respect for me either.

I can’t, however, criticise his professionalism at his job. As long as he keeps me safe from Saul getting close enough to throw acid in my face, knife me or shoot me, then I won’t complain. And yes, those are some of the threats which Saul has so tactfully made. All preventable though, were I stupid enough to return to him. Yeah, right. If I did that, my week’s stint in the hospital would probably end up feeling like a short vacation once he got me in his clutches again.

A part of me feels sorry for Petty as he’s drawn the short straw, or perhaps it could be the long one if his preference is to be in with the greater chance of seeing some action. I’m most exposed during the times I’m between my dressing room and stage, when I’m performing, and at the end of my show when I stop to greet the few fans who are waiting for autographs.

I let Kylie dress me as though she’s clothing a dress-up doll, squeezing me into a spandex glittery gold sheath, and making sure my tits are securely taped and positioned to make the most of my cleavage. Standing stoically, I let her make sure everything’s secure, so when I shimmy and prance on the stage, I’ll have no wardrobe malfunction.

Kylie’s great, and since we’ve been together, I’ve had no slips of my boobs or anything else. As usual, I watch transfixed at my reflection in the mirror as the girl next door gradually transforms into someone I don’t recognise. When she applies my makeup and sweeps back my hair into yet another impressive style, I have to blink my eyes to make sure I am indeed still looking at myself.

“Don’t you ever go work for someone else, you hear me, Ky?”

“Aw, you love me.” She mock blows a kiss at my reflection.

“I mean it.” I do. Not in a girl crush way, but she’s got a magical touch in how she prepares me for the stage. As a result, I go out knowing I look the part of a star even when I may not be feeling it.

Kylie shakes her head. “Feeling’s mutual girl. Where else would I find someone so open to my ideas? I’ve worked for divas before, RoseLyn, and I much prefer working for someone like yourself.”

She’s my stylist, I trust her. Why would I try to override her opinions when I pay her to make me look good?

With makeup and hair done, my dress smoothed down and checked with Kylie’s expert eye, I slip my feet into the five-inch heels, which I know will make my feet ache later tonight.

“You’ll do,” she pronounces finally, then shoos me in the direction of the door. “Now go knock ‘em dead. Oh, and try not to kill your bodyguard.”

Grinning, I toss her a look that says I don’t promise anything, then step out into the corridor where Petty is waiting for me. His eyes take me in from head to toe, then he sneeringly looks away with a shake of his head.

I’m a confident woman. I don’t need approval from him. I content myself by smiling sweetly while gritting my teeth.

Petty’s right at my back as we walk through the hallways. When we approach backstage, he indicates I should stay back so he can check the area out first. Then he beckons me forward to where I greet my band. The instruments are all set up, ready but hidden from the audience by the glittery curtain.

“Ready?” the stage manager asks.

The band goes to their instruments while I position myself. I take my normal deep steadying breaths, then raise my chin and respond, “Ready.”

As the curtains start to part, a loud voice thunders over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present our very own RoseLyn.”

The announcement is my starting pistol. Despite the height of my shoes, I run out onto the stage, waving at the unseen crowd behind the spotlights. I go to the microphone and sweep it off its stand.

“Good evening, Vegas.”

I give them a moment as the greeting is returned to me. The number of voices raised suggests it’s going to be a good night, and I turn to see Bart looking out from the wings and giving a double thumbs-up. Then, I turn slightly and see Petty with a blank look of boredom on his face.

Fuck him.

As the first beats of the drum get my blood coursing through my veins and the rift of the guitar intro counts me in, I place my lips close to the microphone and let myself go.

---