Halia: Daughter of Cinderella

by Armitage, J. A

  I stared at him blankly. I had never sung on a stage, into a microphone, let alone with anyone to accompany me.

  “But you don’t know the song. I don’t have sheet music or anything like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. There’s no one here. This is the time to make mistakes.”

  I turned to the empty bar and focused my eyes on Queen Ella’s statue. “This is for you,” I whispered and sang the first note.

  Through the darkness, I must go; through the darkness, I must go. Find a way to reach the lights, find a way to reach the lights.

  Behind me, Lorenzo strummed the guitar and hit a G chord.

  I thought I was on my way, I thought I’d found my path, but now, I’m more confused than ever.

  My voice grew fuller as I realized that singing on stage wasn’t all that different from singing in the boarding house.

  This life, it ain’t easy, ain’t easy. How do I know which path is right? How do I know the light is real? Through the darkness, I must go; through the darkness, I must go.

  I sang the full song without stopping, and Lorenzo kept up. When I was done, I turned to him, bracing myself for his critique only to be met with a smile.

  “Your friend was right. You, Halia, are a singer.”

  Before I could reply, a group of giggling girls stumbled into the bar. “Are you open yet?” one squeaked.

  Lorenzo nodded. “We are.” He jumped off the stage to serve them while I put the microphone back into the stand and hurried toward Tia.

  “You were great,” she said, pausing her cocktail mixing.

  “Really?”

  She squeezed my hand. “Really.”

  “I still don’t want to sing in front of an audience.” I sat down on the barstool, busying myself with smoothing my silk dress.

  Tia took a sip of one of her concoctions and wrinkled her nose. “What do you think is missing?” She pushed the drink over to me, and I took a sip.

  “Too syrupy. But aren’t you supposed to figure that out on your own?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not all of us have been practicing their talent for years. No one has ever given me access to a bar until today.”

  “I didn’t mean to discourage you.”

  She used a shaker, making conversation impossible. At the other end of the bar, Lorenzo was serving the still giggling girls who had ordered fancy umbrella drinks that equaled probably half of my weekly salary.

  With a loud sigh, Tia put down her latest creation. “Maybe we’re both not ready.” She stepped from behind the bar to my side. “Maybe we should just stick to girl’s night out, instead of trying to get jobs.”

  I bit my lip. As much as I didn’t want to sing in front of a large group of people, I couldn’t just watch Tia’s dreams wither. “I can entertain myself. You don’t have to worry about me. If being a bartender is what you want to do, I think you should keep on trying until you get it right. Maybe ask Lorenzo for some guidance.”

  She turned to watch him. “He’s a bit busy at the moment, but I appreciate your support.”

  “I’ll always be there for you.” I swallowed the rock in my throat. “Even if I’m not ready for you to move on.”

  She hugged me sideways. “I’m not leaving you. Even if I worked here, and you stayed at the boarding house, we’d see each other daily.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. We wouldn’t be working together or sharing a room.”

  “Guess, you’ll need to quit too and really give this singing thing a go.”

  I chuckled, imagining Madam’s flared nostrils if Tia and I quit on the same day.

  “Just imagine, you could become Arcadia’s newest star, and I’d win the cocktail of the year award,” Tia said her eyes shiny with hope.

  I liked the sound of that, but I was afraid to let myself imagine what life would be like if I could leave Madam and the boarding house and make it as a singer. Hope was a treacherous thing. It lifted one up, but it also meant that one was open to being crushed. Optimism made one temporarily stronger but also weaker. If I stayed realistic and accepted the life I had been given, my potential pain would be much smaller.

  As if we had made a pact not to talk about the future, Tia and I both began people watching as more patrons streamed into the bar.

  “Who do you think they are?” she pointed at three girls decked out in leather and velvet.

  I shrugged. “Probably some merchants’ daughters who snuck out of their piano lessons.” We broke down in hysterical giggles.

  The bar grew crowded. A switch had been flipped, and within minutes, Daydream had gone from empty to full capacity. Even though Lorenzo had several employees, he never stood still or simply yelled orders, but was always tending his bar. He seemed to enjoy the work and didn’t appear to have bought the establishment to boss people around or squeeze customers dry, but because he truly appreciated bars.

  Tia studied him and the other employees. Lorenzo hadn’t asked to taste her cocktail, and she hadn’t offered. As much as I believed in my friend, I didn’t think she was ready for cocktail mixing, especially on a night as busy as this. However, the longing in her eyes as she watched the servers made me certain she should still try to get her foot in the door.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “But, I sucked.”

  I shook my head. “Nobody becomes a master on their first try. Perhaps your claim to emulate Lorenzo’s cocktail was cocky, but you can make up for it. Ask him what he needs help with.”

  She threw me a grateful smile and headed behind the bar where she exchanged a few words with Lorenzo that I couldn’t hear. Minutes later, she was cutting lemons into slices. A while later, she restocked bottled beverages. For the next hour, she refilled the ice, replaced the glassware, and even poured wine. I was so proud. Tia had just finished our regular shift at the boarding house, and yet here she was, giving 100 percent for the chance to get hired.

  “Saturday night is open mic night.” Lorenzo’s voice carried from the stage across the vast bar. “Please put your hands together to welcome our first act of the evening: The Jives.”

  A group of four guys with spiky hair walked up onto the stage.

  Lorenzo placed another cocktail in front of me. This one had notes of strawberry and what I believed to be rum. Not letting me reach for my wallet, he nodded toward Tia. “It’s on your friend.”

  I wasn’t looking for a handout, but not accepting Tia’s offer would be insulting, almost like saying her working tonight wasn’t worth anything.

  Thus, I sipped on my delicious drink and watched the band. Their style was unique and memorable, but their notes could be cleaner, and their vocals weren’t quite there.

  After the band, a male singer came on stage. He wasn’t quite able to hit the high notes of “Striking Midnight,” a popular song that was much harder to pull off than most singers anticipated. He was followed by a female who was more of a dancer and mostly moaned into the microphone. Perhaps I was too harsh, but as a fellow singer, I couldn’t help but spot weak spots and consider how they could be improved. What would other singers think if they heard me? That my voice was too bright and young? That I was too simple? Would they think I hit the notes just right or tried too hard? Perhaps they would focus on my shyness and lack of stage persona.

  Lost in the music and halfway through my second drink, my body relaxed, and my mind became soft like cotton candy. A female band finished their upbeat song, and Lorenzo walked onto the stage once again and said, “This was such a fun night. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!”

  There were screams of protest, and my stomach sank. I hadn’t wanted to sing; yet now, I was sad the opportunity had passed me by.

  “It’s final call, so get your drinks together, and please welcome with me our last performer of the night.”

  I studied the stage area with curiosity, unable to see anyone getting ready to sing.

  “Please give a warm welcome to Halia.”

  I froze.
I must’ve misheard him. But no, Lorenzo was staring right at me. He motioned for me to come up on the stage, and everyone turned into my direction.

  Unable to remain sitting and take the scrutiny, I headed toward him, fully intending to tell him off and tell the audience this was a mistake, that I was not a performer. But as soon as I was up on the stage, he handed me the microphone and strummed the first few chords of Through the Darkness, the song we had practiced earlier. Something shifted within me. I was shaking, but I no longer wanted to leave the stage. I wanted to stay. I wanted, no, I needed to sing.

  Not daring to look at the sea of faces in the club, I remained with my back turned to them as I sang the first line. Sweat dripped down my back, and my heartbeat as fast as a gazelle’s, but my throat didn’t constrict, and my voice flowed freely.

  Lorenzo walked past me, gently taking my free hand and turning me so that I was facing the audience.

  I only glanced at the audience below me briefly, then closed my eyes and focused on the words and melody as if they were an anchor.

  Through the darkness, I must go; through the darkness, I must go. Find a way to reach the lights, find a way to reach the lights.

  Halfway through the song, I dared to open my eyes. Still not quite ready for the audience’s reaction, I switched between eye contact with Lorenzo and keeping my gaze on the ice sculptures. It was only when I sang the final note that I allowed myself to survey the audience. They erupted with cheers and applause. Warmth spread through me. I was on cloud nine. I was whole.

  “More! More!” the crowd demanded.

  “Are you up for doing another one?” Lorenzo asked softly.

  I nodded. “This one is called “Hope.’” Since Lorenzo hadn’t heard it before, I started on my own, my voice echoing through the space as the crowd grew quiet.

  Sometimes, it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s painful. Sometimes, I wish hope would leave me alone. Its false promises tear me up from the inside out, the inside out.

  But then another day comes, and I’m glad for it. The sun rises, and my heart fills with joy. The trees explode in bloom and chase away the winter. You smile at me, and I feel hope. Hope that carries me through the dark times.

  The song ended much too soon, but the feeling of floating and finally having reached paradise didn’t. Humans, goblins, and sprites cheered and clapped as I walked down the stage steps, and several came over to congratulate me.

  “That was fantastic!” a troll exclaimed.

  “Your voice is so beautiful!” a young woman said.

  A pixie beamed. “I hope to hear you sing again!”

  Tia made her way through the crowd toward me and fell around my neck. “You were amazing! I always knew you could do it!”

  We hugged for a long time. When we finally pulled apart, Lorenzo said, “I do hope you’ll sing for us again.”

  “I will.” Overflowing with joy, everything felt possible.

  Tia lifted her foot and circled her ankle, her face contorting. “I would love to celebrate your singing and my giving bartending a go, but my feet are killing me, and it’s already two in the morning.”

  I gasped. Where had the time gone? “We need to get back; otherwise, we’ll fall asleep on the job tomorrow.”

  Tia grimaced. “Tomorrow is going to kick my butt.”

  I smiled at Lorenzo. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. We should do it again. Soon.”

  “Yes!” Tia sidled up to him. “Can I pour some beers and mix long drinks next time?”

  He chuckled. “It’s a deal.” He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll send you the details.”

  Shocked, I watched him leave. Had he just kissed my hand? Why? Was it a demon thing?

  Tia jabbed me in the ribs. “I know he’s a hottie, but if we don’t leave now, you’ll have to give me a piggyback ride.”

  I shook off her remark. “He’s all right. Come, I’ll make a salt bath for your feet.”

  Leaning on me, Tia hobbled out of the bar while I felt as light as a feather, still high on performing.

  We didn’t speak on our way back. I didn’t know what was on Tia’s mind, but all I could think was that I had done it. I had performed in front of an audience. I wasn’t sure I could do it again, but for once, I wasn’t fretting over the future. The present moment was too precious. If only I could bottle it up and relive it whenever I wanted.

  Inside the boarding house, we climbed up the stairs to our attic bedroom. I was about to grab the Epsom salt when Tia stopped me.

  “Don’t. I’m too tired. I’ll fall asleep, and then I’ll catch a cold from the water getting cold.”

  “At least put on the salve.”

  I handed her a sample of an expensive herbal ointment Acacia had given me during one of my visits. Tia slathered her feet in it, and I turned off the light. Not a minute after collapsing in my bed, I was fast asleep.

  My alarm clock went off way too early.

  I groaned and turned to the other side to escape it to no avail. Lying on my belly, I reached out with my hand. My clumsy attempt to hit the off button only led to me knocking over the clock.

  Reluctantly, I pushed myself out of bed and put an end to the buzzing.

  Tia was still sleeping peacefully.

  I sat down on her bed. “Get up.” No response. I shook her. “Get up! We’re going to be late.”

  “I’ll skip breakfast. Just pick me up when you’re done.”

  “It’s quarter to eight,” I said, and that finally made her throw back the covers. “What?”

  “We came back so late, I decided sleep was more important than having a proper breakfast, so I set the alarm for half-past seven. It must’ve been going off for fifteen minutes before I heard it.”

  We dressed with lightning speed and ran downstairs toward the kitchen, more concerned about getting our fix of caffeine than filling our bellies with food.

  Tia and I gulped down two mugs of lukewarm coffee, and I grabbed an apple that I ate as we got the cart ready while she wolfed down a piece of toast with blueberry jam. We started our shift at eight exactly.

  We were cleaning the first room when the door flew open.

  “Housekeeping. We’re almost finished,” I called, warning the guest only to find Madam storming toward me.

  “What is this?” she demanded, waving a piece of paper in front of me.

  I put down the broom. “I can’t read it.”

  She shoved the paper into my face, and I had to take a step back to make out the white words printed on the black background.

  July 21

  The Daydream presents Dark Quartet

  10 p.m.

  Entry: 5 marks

  Opening act: Halia

  “Where did you get that?” I asked, feeling faint. Was this a joke?

  “A flyer girl left a staple of those at the front desk.” Madam put her fists on her hips. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I don’t have evening shift that night,” I said calmly.

  She snorted. “So, just because you’re not working, you think you can be an opening act at a bar?” She spit out the words as if they were bile.

  I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking. “My contract doesn’t say anything against working a second job.”

  She raised her chin, and her nostrils flared. “You’re not forbidden from going there, but your common sense should prevent you from doing so. Why would you make a fool out of yourself? Why would you bring shame to the boarding house?”

  “She won’t,” Tia chimed in. “Halia sang yesterday and did an excellent job.”

  I pressed my teeth together and shook my head no. Arguing with Madam wouldn’t lead to anything good.

  “Is that so?” Madam gave me a fake smile. “And how does your young man feel about you gyrating on stage, begging a demon to give you a chance, and doing who knows what in exchange for the favor?”

  “She didn’t,” Tia began, but I shushed her.

 
; I forced my lips into a tight smile. “He’ll be fine with it, once I explain.”

  Madam’s dark eyes filled with cruelty. “Good luck with that.” Her tone dripped with derision. Having trampled all over my happiness, she left the room.

  Tia ripped the dirty covers off the bed. “She’s a crazy old hag! I can’t wait to get out of here!”

  I didn’t reply but focused on dusting the floor.

  “You’re not going to take to heart what she said, are you?”

  “It’s fine. She has a right to her opinion.”

  Tia took the broom from me. “She’s a bully!” She reached out, but I stepped back. “Listen to me, Halia. You were amazing out there. You should be proud of yourself. Don’t let anyone take your spark, not Madam and not Victor.”

  I shook my head. “Yesterday went well, but that doesn’t mean I can be an opening act. What if yesterday was a fluke? What if I’ll do terribly? Being an opening act is completely different from singing one song on stage for open mic.”

  “You did two.”

  I took the broom from her and attacked the area underneath the bed, discovering a discarded receipt, breadcrumbs, and a hairball. “Yes, two songs. Opening act would be at least five.”

  “So what? You have more than that in your repertoire.”

  “What if I suck? What if I make an idiot out of myself and prove Madam and Victor right?”

  Even though Tia was crouching, holding the dustpan in her hand, she exuded authority. “Stop being a coward. Yes, you can fail. But if you don’t try, you have already failed. You only have a chance of winning if you try. And if you fail, what’s so bad about that? I failed at making the cocktail, but I still got to work behind the bar. If you fail, you try again, tweak something, and see if you succeed.”

  I shook my head. “It’s different for you.”

  “Why, because bartending is less important?”

  I sat down on the ground. “No, I would never say or think that. But as a bartender, there’s a smaller risk of embarrassing yourself. If you mess up, only one person notices. If I mess up, everyone in the bar will know and the day after, everyone in Arcadia. Gossip travels fast in this town.”

  She chuckled. “Ditto on the gossip, but even though the risk in your case is higher, the potential reward is bigger too.”