by Gow, Kailin
As usual, I arrived at the hotel two hours before the club opened to set up and practice. I was in the middle of my second practice song when the hotel general manager stopped in and asked me to come to his office for a quick meeting. My gut wrenched and I was sure that I was going to be fired for my lackluster performances.
Lyle Coughlin, the hotel manager, was a thirty-something yuppie wannabe who might have been cute if he wasn’t so damn full of himself. He wore expensive suits and shiny shoes and treated most of the employees like they were his servants. I had heard from one of the barmaids that he only had the job because he was related to the Heston family through marriage. I knocked at his door and he yelled for me to enter. “Come in, Sydney, have a seat.” He motioned to one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk.
He came around the desk and lifted one leg to sit on the edge of the corner of the desk close to me, folding his hands into his lap. I was sure that before I arrived at his office, Lyle had thoroughly deliberated on the exact position that he should sit while we spoke in order for him to look as authoritative as possible during our talk. It was just the kind of pompous ass he was. “So, Sydney, how do you like it here at the Heston?”
Why couldn’t the asshole just fire me and get it over with instead of dragging it out? I plastered on my best fake smile and said, “Oh, I love it here. The clientele is very posh and I enjoy performing in the Overture Club.” I didn’t really think the clientele was posh; in fact, I hated the freaking word posh. But I knew it would be what the arrogant asshole wanted to hear, so I had to try to salvage my job.
“Good, good. I’m glad to hear it. Well, you must be doing something right. Mr. Heston has informed me that he will be coming to your show tonight. He mentioned that he has heard many good things about you and wanted to see for himself.” Lyle stood, leaning against the desk with his ankles crossed and arms folded across his chest, posturing himself as a parent would when they were giving a child a reward for good behavior. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the asshole patted me on the head. “So, Sydney, I don’t have to tell you how important tonight’s show is. Mr. Heston is a busy man and this hotel is a reflection on him, so everything needs to be perfect tonight.”
Ummm, not too much pressure.
Lyle walked back around the desk and motioned his arm that he was finished. I was a minion who was being dismissed. “I’ll be at your performance tonight also. Break a leg, Sydney.”
Great, I thought, now I have to change up my performance for the old rich guy. What does one sing to a wealthy old man? I suddenly had pictures of myself dressing up in the infamous white Marilyn Monroe dress and softly singing Happy Birthday, Mr. President to a seventy-five year old crotchety hotel mogul sitting with a twenty year old ditzy buxom blonde clinging to his arm.
As if she was reading my mind, my phone buzzed with a text from Sienna. Hey rock chick, plans for tonight? Let’s go to that Piano Bar on 55th when you get off for a few? I’m having Syd withdrawals. U up for it? XO Si
Her texts always brightened my day. When I was with Michael he would get annoyed at how often we would text back in forth, but it never stopped us. Sounds good. BTW what do I perform for an old rich hotel mogul that is coming to see my show tonight?
Two seconds later. Oral sex, man’s favorite performance at any age.
I’d walked right into that one. While that’s tempting, I was thinking more along the lines of a singing performance than a humming one. LOL.
He’s old huh? Since you’ve been gone … Aretha baby. Your voice kicks that song’s ass! XOXO Meet you at midnight?
Perfect, thanks! TTYL Xo Syd
I went about my routine and did a few practice songs when the band arrived. They were impressed with my rendition of Since You’ve Been Gone, so I was glad that Sienna has suggested it. I wasn’t really nervous about singing in front of Mr. Heston, I had sang in front of large crowds and I didn’t often get stage fright. But the reality was that I was broke, and his opinion mattered because I needed my job. I had been an idiot about my finances when I left Michael. I’d left him everything, even our joint savings account. At the time, it was a pride thing; I didn’t want to admit that I needed anything from him or us, so I left with just my clothes. Now I was starting to think that taking half the savings and some of the furniture would have been the smarter thing to do. But it was too late now, and I was determined to make it on my own one way or another.
The crowd started to roll in slowly during my first set. I wasn’t sure what Mr. Heston looked like, but I didn’t see anyone that could be him. I knew Lyle would be making a big fuss over him and the staff was all on high alert to attend to his every need.
Two songs into my second set, I spotted Lyle sitting at a table set in the front, a little bit off to the side. He must have come in on my break, because I hadn’t noticed him earlier. He was sitting with a man older than him, but not quite the definition of a crotchety old hotel mogul that I had in my head. The man was probably in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and masculine strong features. He was distinguished and handsome and his face was vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t place where I knew him. I thought perhaps that the two men were still waiting for Mr. Heston and the other gentleman was also an employee of Heston Hotels.
A few songs later I was near the end of my set and there was still no sign of Mr. Heston. I belted out the Aretha song that I had added for the old man and said goodnight to the crowd. On the weekends the band had to stay to play for another hour, but after my singing ended they took the volume down and stuck to background music.
Lyle called from his table as I was leaving the stage. The man truly had no manners. How difficult would it have been to walk a few steps over and ask me over to his table? Pushing my thoughts of the pompous ass aside, I put on my best fake smile and walked to his table. The gentleman that he was seated with stood as I approached, forcing Lyle to follow suit, which I secretly enjoyed. Lyle would never have thought to stand when a woman approached on his own.
“Sydney, this is Mr. Heston.” I looked to the gentleman and tried to hide my surprise. Damn, the old guy was even better up close. He had light green eyes that stood out against his tan skin, which I hadn’t noticed earlier because of the light glare on stage.
“Hello, nice to meet you, Mr. Heston.” We shook hands and Lyle invited me to sit with them.
“What can I get you to drink, Sydney?” Mr. Heston ignored Lyle’s empty glass in front of him when the waitress approached.
“Just a water, please. My throat needs to cool down after I perform and adding alcohol has the opposite effect.” I felt the need to give an explanation so I wouldn’t insult the man who stood between me and paying my rent next month.
He nodded and gave his order for scotch to the waitress. Lyle began talking about the upcoming annual Heston shareholder meeting and how honored I should be that Mr. Heston had taken time out of his busy schedule to come see me sing. I nodded and smiled and did my best to look interested as he spoke. But I found the way that Mr. Heston was looking at me to be distracting. It wasn’t lewd or improper; rather I got the feeling he was looking for something in me, watching me, observing.
At some point, Mr. Heston got bored of Lyle talking too and I was grateful when he interrupted him mid-sentence. “I really enjoyed your show, Sydney. How would you like to perform at our annual shareholder meeting next week? We were supposed to have some famous boy band, but I hate that crap and I find you to be captivating when you sing. I know it’s short notice, but if you are free next weekend, I’ll messenger over a contract tomorrow and let my assistant know about the change.”
“Wow, that sounds great. I have a few things lined up for next weekend, but I’m sure I can rearrange them.” Damn it, I’d have to rearrange that bubble bath I was planning on taking next weekend. No one wants an artist that isn’t in demand.
He smiled at me and threw back his drink. He stood, giving me a glimpse of the rest of him, and I couldn�
��t help but notice the whole package was pretty damn good. Tall, fit and broad shouldered, he wore low-hanging navy blue trousers and a French blue tailored dress shirt that looked as if he had recently opened the collar and removed the tie. If only I was a few years older….
“It was very nice to meet you, Sydney. He leaned in close as he shook my hand and lowered his voice. “And I’m a big Aretha fan, so let’s keep that one for next week, shall we?” He winked and released my hand. I watched as he left, and the view was as good going as it was coming.
Sienna was sitting at the piano playing and singing when I walked into our agreed-upon bar. A crowd sat around her at the piano; some of them probably thought that she worked there. I had no idea what she had done with the pianist, but it was typical Sienna. “Do I need to look for the pianist tied and gagged somewhere?” I raised one eyebrow in question.
Her painted red lips and glossy white teeth smiled up at me in sharp contrast to her pale skin. “Get your skinny ass over here and join me, babe.” Sienna scooted her butt over to make room for me at the piano bench. It didn’t take long before we had the entire bar singing I Will Survive along with us. My mom had always said that Sienna and I were contagious. We were always able to get lost in the moment and have fun when we were together, and somehow, others always joined in.
Sienna stood up after we ended the song and took a dramatic bow, her unruly curls flopping all over as she flipped her head up and down. “Cover for me for a while, Lenny.” She turned and spoke to the regular piano player as if she was the employee and he was helping her out. I was also pretty sure his name wasn’t even Lenny.
We laughed our way up to the bar and ordered our usual tequila shots. I told her about Mr. Heston coming to see me sing and his offer for me to sing at their shareholder meeting instead of the previously booked boy band. She was excited and told me about a potential gig that she was working on for us to sing together at the wedding of one of the NY Yankees.
A tall dark haired man approached as we spoke and stood next to me. He was polite enough to wait until a break in our conversation before he interrupted. “You ladies were great. Can I buy you both a drink?” His question was directed at both of us, but he spoke to me directly.
“Thank you, but not tonight. We are having a girls night.”
He pretended to clutch his heart in pain. “That’s too bad. But you ladies have a good one anyway.” He politely excused himself and walked away. Most men didn’t take rejection well, especially in a bar after a few drinks when their friends were nearby, so I never knew what to expect.
“So, Syd, are you still lusting after Jack so much that you didn’t even notice that one was cute?” Trust Sienna to always be direct.
I sighed. “I’m trying to move on, but it’s not that easy. When I left Michael I felt a loss for the routine, the normalcy, but not really for him as a man. I didn’t crave his touch or wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming I was still with him.”
Sienna looked at me wide-eyed. “Shit, Syd, you got it bad. I thought it was just emotional because he was your first after Michael. Are you in love with him?”
I thought about our night under the stars, lying on our backs holding hands and talking. I thought about our sweaty bodies slapping against each other as we furiously tried to get closer as we came together. A dazed smile crept across my mouth as I stared at the mental images burned into my brain, but I didn’t give her an answer.
Sienna took a cigarette from the pack in front of the man sitting next to her and smiled. He turned and flicked a lighter, flaming the cigarette that she’d bummed without asking.
I leaned over Sienna to the man next to her. “Can I have one of those please?” I extended my two fingers to him to place the cigarette between.
“You don’t smoke,” Sienna stated matter-of-factly with one eyebrow arched quizzically.
The man lit my cigarette and I took a deep inhale, letting out a long puff of smoke on a deep exhale. “Neither do you.” We both smiled at each other.
Chapter 13
The Heston annual shareholder meeting was being held in the main ballroom of the five stars Heston Grand in Times Square. I had expected gaudy and extravagant, but was pleasantly surprised to find eloquent and understated. Lyle had told me that presidents usually stayed at the hotel when they were in town, as it often hosted fundraisers for wealthy donors. The contract had come earlier in the week, as Mr. Heston had promised, and I was pleasantly surprised at the generous fee that I was being paid for my services. It was more than three months pay for my regular job singing at the Heston hotel, but I wasn’t going to complain even though I did think it was excessive for the three songs that I’d been hired to sing.
The event coordinator had contacted me the week before and informed me that the gala was black tie and that I was expected to wear an evening gown. I was relieved to find out that the cost of the gown was borne by Heston Hotels, because although I had some really nice dresses, I had nothing that could be classified as an evening gown.
I still had a light tan from our trip to Hawaii, so I picked a light blue sequin dress that was form fitting. The front was simple and had a V-neck that showed some cleavage, but couldn’t be described as plunging. The back, however, was the showstopper. It plunged deep into my back, barely covering the top of the crack of my ass. It was beautiful and sexy, yet elegant and classy. The sales clerk had assured me that the sequins would reflect the stage lights and dazzle the audience. The color reminded me of the strapless dress that I’d worn in Hawaii and I smiled, thinking back to Jack’s reaction when he’d seen me in it.
I watched from the side of the stage as the ballroom filled up with men in tuxedos and women in beautiful ball gowns. It struck me as odd that an annual shareholder meeting would be so formal, but the fancy clothing gave the ballroom a magical feeling and the celebration was, after all, for a high-end hotel group.
When the MC announced my name, I suddenly thought it might have been a mistake to pair the dress with five-inch stilettos, but I made it to the microphone unscathed. I knew the ballroom was packed, but the size of the crowd never bothered me. The lighting usually blinded the audience from me anyway. Something about being unable to see people’s faces made it easy for me to get lost in a song and allow myself to feel the music through my body.
I performed two songs at the beginning of the meeting and then the final song was a repeat of the Aretha song that Mr. Heston had requested, and it closed the meeting. The crowd was gracious enough to give me a standing ovation, but I figured they were also anxious to get up from such a long conference.
Backstage, the conference producer looked way more relieved than she had a few hours earlier. She was laughing and smiling and finally had that awful headset unglued from her head. All of the stage crew and the MC gathered backstage and opened a few bottles of champagne to celebrate the success of the conference. I was mingling with some of the lighting crew, enjoying my post-show high with a glass of good champagne, when I felt a hand on my bare back.
“Sydney, you were fantastic tonight. Thank you for putting on such a great show on such short notice.” Mr. Heston spoke with impeccable grammar that screamed expensive private schooling, and it made me stand a bit straighter.
“Mr. Heston, thank you very much, that is very kind of you. I had a great time and it looks as though your conference was a rousing success.” The hand holding my champagne motioned to the crew, happily celebrating.
“What. The. Fuck?” The growl came from behind me and sent my body into an instant frenzy. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Jack, but I was suddenly desperate to catch a glimpse of him again. I turned and saw the beautiful creature stalking towards us. At first I didn’t even notice the woman following behind him, struggling to keep up.
Mr. Heston turned with me, his hand still on my bare back. For a second I thought Jack might leap forward and attack the poor man. Jack came to a screeching halt before us and his eyes shot daggers at Mr. Heston, tracing
the hand now pressing harder on my bare skin. Was he jealous? The man had made no attempt to contact me for almost three weeks and now was showing up where I was working to make a scene like a raving lunatic.
“I’ll ask one more time. What the fuck are you doing?” Jack spoke directly to Mr. Heston and his tone made me nervous about what was about to happen.
I finally found my voice and it was more than a little angry. “Jack, this is Mr. Heston. He owns this hotel and hired me to sing tonight.”
His eyes never left Mr. Heston’s when he spoke. “He owns HALF of the voting stock of the hotel. And I don’t know what kind of game you are playing, but maybe you should remember who owns 51% and who owns 49%, Dad.” Jack uttered Dad with so much hatred and disdain, it was as if a blow had physically been thrown.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, son.” Mr. Heston spoke low in a cool as ice voice. He was obviously concerned with people hearing, as Jack’s tirade had already caught the attention of most of the crew backstage.
Their words took a moment, but finally registered in my stunned brain. “This is your father?” My voice trembled as I spoke.
Jack took one step forward and spoke in Mr. Heston’s face. “Get your filthy fucking hands off her now.”
Mr. Heston immediately removed his hand from my back, which I had forgotten was even still there. The two men stared at each other for a moment in silence, unspoken threats passing. Then Jack put out his hand to me. I looked at his face and knew I didn’t have a choice, even if he was scaring me. I put my hand in his and he clamped his long fingers around my hand and turned to walk.
He said nothing as I trailed behind him, my hand cupped so tightly in his that my fingers began to get numb. When we passed the woman that had followed him backstage, he spat at her, “Go home, Jenna.” I eyed her as we passed. She was wearing a red dress that was incredibly revealing and her huge obviously fake breasts looked as if they might burst out at any second. She was attractive, but in an odd, overly made-up sort of way, the kind of look that is done on purpose to stand out and scream that you aren’t the girl next door.
