Page 126 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

Marcus—

I walk into the theater in my black slacks and a white button down. My ink is peeking out from under my rolled sleeves.

Moving into the entryway, I see Green’s ol’ lady, Sara.

“Marcus! Come, come. I’ll show you to your seat.” She smiles.

We walk down the red carpeted aisle that leads to the matching velvet-covered chairs. The opera house is ornate with intricate carvings gilded in gold leaf and from the ceiling hangs an enormous chandelier. The curtains hang closed in long draping gold fabric. This place is something else. It’s exactly where my Brandy belongs.

As we approach, I see Brandy’s father and mother sitting dressed to the nines. In the past three months, we’ve really not seen them. One awkward time at a party and later when they invited us over for dinner, but Brandy’s been busy and honestly, I think avoiding them.

Sara leans over. “I have to make sure everything runs smoothly with the costumes.”

“No worries. I’ll be fine.” I assure her with a smile. I take a breath and slide into my seat. “Gerald, Patricia.”

He turns, noticing me. “Oh, Marcus. Good to see you.”

“You too.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but a crowd of MC family come weaving down the aisle.

“Marcus!” Melissa calls, waving as she approaches. She’s followed by Harley, Crash, Shannon, Angel, Green, Crystal, and Wolf.

“Hey guys! It’s awesome you all came.”

“Well, we had to show Brandy our support.” Shannon makes a face as if that was obvious.

“I always make it to one of the performances where Sara managed the fashion. Figured I might as well make it the one where our prospect’s girl was showing off her new show.” Green squeezes my shoulder.

“Thank you all for coming. I know it’ll mean a lot to her, and it means the world to me.” The corner of my mouth pulls up.

“All right, all right. You don’t have to get all mushy,” Wolf teases, and glances around. “When’s this thing start, anyway?”

“About”—I glance down at my watch—“five minutes.”

***

Brandy—

Backstage is all hustle and bustle. I move forward to assist a singer in donning their elaborate gown when a flower delivery boy walks in front of me.

“I’m looking for Brandy Arrington.” He reads the name off the delivery ticket. I can barely see his face peeking around the edge of a huge vase of what must be two dozen red roses.

My mouth drops open. “That’s me.”

“Oh, good. Because these are big, and it’s hard to see where I’m going.”

I grab the card from the little plastic stick that protrudes out of the top.

Brandy—

I am so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. Take a moment. Take a breath. Soak it all in. This is your dream. And you’re living it. I love you, and I know your opera is going to kill it tonight.

—Marcus

“Oh my gosh. Who sent you flowers?” Sara leans forward to smell their intoxicating scent.

“Marcus.” I grin like a schoolgirl.

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