Allison walked into hair and make-up with an ostentatious bounce to her step. And with good reason, all eyes were on her, and whether for good reason or bad, she didn't care. Bad publicity was publicity nonetheless and it better than being the cold-shouldered bore of the school, she couldn't wait for summer to end, she'd be the most popular girl at Pepper Pot High no doubt.
The gossiping simmered to silence when she stepped into the room, whether nail filing or hair drying or braiding, all contestants had her eyes on her and she loved it that way.
"Allison, you're right on time for your fitting, why don't you spin and let me have a look?" her stylist Sophie Lavigne said pulling out a vinyl tailor tape measure.
"Hey Allison, why don't you sing for us at the campfire tonight?" Candy asked.
"Summerton! Loved your party, by the way. It was like not a complete dumpster fire so congrats on meeting my expectations." she spun so Sophie could run the tape around her waistline. "And about that campfire, I'm saving my angel voice for a challenge I'll actually compete in so..." she trailed off before she started yelling at Sophie for nearly 'pockmarking' her with a tack.
"...Thanks?"
Candy turned her attention to Nelly, seated next to her with a comic book resting on her lap. She leafed through the pages every few seconds, casting her a sideways glance occasionally. Already she could tell that Allison was a girl who held no value for the Q-Tokens. If this were a challenge, she would have to hand it to her for strategy. But she sure was stupid for announcing her ditching the campfire in front of her competition. Considering that the judges there would be Elizabeth and Lance, the only swoon-worthy judges worth anyone's time.
Nelly closed her book and discarded it onto the counter before her.
"Are you just going to stare at me or do you actually have something to say?" she snapped at her.
"Someone's salty, is it because you nearly got booted out today, the last challenge should've been a breeze. All you had to do was make a drink ." she said.
"I nearly got booted out because that harridan cheated." she seethed.
The last challenge was simple, relatively speaking. They had to make a drink, non-alcoholic and appropriate for singers, so it wasn't just throwing together some fruits and ice and serve it up. Most were booted if they made anything with caffeine. I mean, everyone knew coffee caused tightening in the throat so, that was an automatic no, no. Dairy was an absolute disaster, fruits were too acidic, alcohol was not even allowed on set since the cast was mostly underage but some schmuck decided to sneak some out of Lombardi's trailer and use it. Point is, rather than the expected fifteen who were to go home, an unforeseen twenty-five were sent packing, which narrowed the competition down further than they had expected.
"I want to run an alliance by you." Candy breathed out at last.
"And why the hell would I need your help?" she asked inspecting her fingernails.
"You and I both know why you need my help. No one else will offer it. Take it or leave it." she said sitting back, one leg crossed over the other.
Admittedly, Nelly was in awe of this side of Candy. In the earlier challenges, she'd played the part of a dunce to the tee, to the point that the judges just felt sorry for her. And it seemed their sympathy was one of the reasons she'd made it through the first day. And she wasn't averse to putting that Allison Decora girl in her place.
"Alright," she finally agreed. "But we're doing this on my terms."
"You're the boss Nancy,"
"...It's Nelly."
But Candy had shifted her focus back to Allison who was complaining about the shade blue, fabric that Sophie had picked out, saying she needed something that would make her stand out in the horrible lighting of the fire. Everyone in that room knew it, even if it wasn't said that despite how much of a halfwit this Decora girl seemed, she was a force to be reckoned with.
"Good evening America, I hope you're feeling the blues because this time, our dolled up challengers will have to switch things up by doing a live performance in all their remaining genres. Today, bet you guessed it, vocal jazz. Accordion to the rules," Lombardi winked at the camera. "Local jazz musicians will take the stage and each of them will call out to the contestants in random. Double Q-Tokens for all whose majazztic performances can get these high hats hoofing and as for those whose musical talents are as scarce as my Angora's fur, they'll have to pack their bags and watch and wait on the other side. Let's get to it!"
The club was a soothing change of pace from the beach house. Smoky, stifled aura as compared to the loud din made by rockers or popstars. Something about the roaring 20s just made me want to melt into the leather comforters all night without a care in the world. Unfortunately, I had a job to do.
Sam leaned against the bar, sipping on a cocktail as she looked on at me.
"Why do you have to make this so complicated kid?" she asked. "I could have your sister off the show, you take her place and we say they got your name wrong or something. If this gets out it's more than just Allison's position on the show at stake. I could lose my job."
"Needs must when the devil drives." I told her. " If this gets out, Allison will be a laughing stock."
"Glad we can agree on something." she downed her drink in a single gulp and slammed the glass onto the counter.
"Which is precisely why it shouldn't." I added.
"She treats you like crap and you still play the good child?"
I looked at Allison who was laughing alongside two other contestants. I recognized Candy Summerton and Nelly Faynight from our school. She seemed like she was having a blast and here I was, bending over backwards for her and Becca. But everytime I imagined seeing dad, bedridden, but still sparing a smile when he thought Allison and I were getting along, I remembered who I was fighting for.
"I'm not doing this for her Sam, that's the only reason I'm still here." I answered sliding a whisky to a waiting lady, who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the countertop.
"Then who-"
In the course of the exposition of smooth sax, cool cello and sentiment, a short and stocky man in a grey suit lumbered up onto the stage. Cleft chin, mutton chop side-burns and a pompadour bigger than his own head, giving him the whole Elvis Presley impression. His voice, barely palpable resonated throughout the room, smooth as silk like an accompaniment to the bass and clarinet.
I polished a flute and poured a glass of wine for a flapper, looking on at the suave man who had captured everyone's attention. Sam pushed herself off her seat, promising we'd finish the conversation later and she swiped an entire wine bottle from the counter and made a beeline for the vacant table tucked away in a darker part of the club.
"Ladies and gentlemen, patrons of the arts, and our valued visitors from beyond the screens, welcome to Jazzy Jay's, we're glad you could stop by." he said. "Now we've got a special line-up for you cool cats tonight, starting with a performance by our very own Patricia Pembroke."
My ears perked up at that and my eyes went to the girl in the sequinned dress, seated on a stool next to the pianist. Her hair was in a retro bob, curls bouncing on her exposed shoulders, a bright white plume sticking out of her hair. She looked so... different with the heavy make up but behind it all, I could still see it was her. Her eyes blazed with fury but her voice was soft and rich with emotion trickling like the Cabernet Sauvignon down my throat.
Her eyes closed as she leaned into the chorus losing herself in song, it was beautiful but conveyed a brokenness I could not place. When her eyes fluttered open, she locked eyes with me and she went white her expression closing up almost immediately.
"Two cocktails please,"
I wordlessly, filled two glasses up and slid them towards her.
"So you got a gig at a jazz bar for summer." I said. "Quaint."
"You know, if you're going to be judgemental, just come out and say it. Don't mince your words on my account." she shot, the corners of her eyes crinkled, her mouth set in a hard line.
"You don't look like you like working here." I backtracked. "That's all I meant."
"You don't look like you work here at all, I swear I would've seen you before." she leaned over the counter trying to meet my gaze. I kept my eyes on the target. Allison needed to spend time with some people who could school her on jazz lingo because she was as informed as Tom Sawyer on a Sunday and I wasn't going to let her muck this up for both of us.
"The guy in the blue suit, who looks like Wynton Marsalis. Holding a rainbow cocktail to your left. Your left dammit!" I scolded.
"What?" Trisha's brows snapped together in consternation. "Are you okay?"
I saw her from the corner of my eye approach the guy and artfully, flirt with him and soon the guy was talking non-stop. I could only hope she was picking up something. Here's to hoping her good memory would come in handy. I released a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding.
"Maybe I'm just that good at hiding in plain sight." I answered with a small shrug.
"Or maybe your job here's a front." she smirked knowingly.
I rolled my eyes.
"Who do you think I am James Bond?" I dismissed, fully shifting my focus to her.
"May as well be, just less suave and more...blah."
"Blah?" My brow involuntarily arched.
Blah was sweats at a mariachi party. Blah was socks and sandals in a sea of feet clad with Stuart Weitzman pumps and stilettos. Blah was me in an LBD for prom. What was so boring about working in a jazz club? This was like the number one tourist spot in Pepper Pot for mysterious murders and cold cases. There was nothing lethargic about this place. If anything, the walls screamed louder than the music and the people. They had more to say than anyone did and this kind of set up was great for someone with secrets. A hundred dollars says half these people were in a secret rich people society or part of a pyramid scheme and the first clue was the signet ring on the middle fingers of most of the men who'd caught my eye. So what exactly did blah, mean?
"Blah." she repeated. "In a place like this you need to dress less Sophia Petrillo and more Blanche Deveroux and right now you look like you belong in a two-star diner not a five-star, sub rosa jazz club."
"If they do a Golden Girls reboot, I'll give you a tinkle." My gaze wandered to the camera crew, trying to angle a good shot of Ryder Storm's jazz performance as he trilled some croak of a ballad meant for Candy Summerton who payed him no mind as she giggled with Nelly about something. "Besides,I'm trying to blend in, not stand out."
"So what's the sitch 007?"
I served her a well-deserved glare.
"Right now? Serving up drinks to all the silk-stocking darlings who grace those doors," My eyes went to the balcony above but there was no one there. Why did it feel like there was someone watching me all of a sudden? A shiver ran up my spine as I surveyed the scene. Nothing was out of the ordinary. "Shouldn't you be backstage, preparing for your next show?"
"I see the WES guys here." she observed. "Allison's here too, I saw her. She's been a real hit."
"Yeah, full of surprises that one." I could literally hear my eyes roll.
"She's full of something alright."she snickered. There was a brief, empty silence between us as I buffed the already shiny counter and she looked to her side, skimming her hand absentmindedly over the stem of her glass. "I'm worried about you Aspen." she said at last. " You don't seem like you're having a very good time."
"Really? Cause I'm having a blast serving pricey vintage wines and spirits to puffed up ass hats." I blew up. I pinched the bridge of my nose when I saw her nose crinkle in disgruntlement. I had just thrown shade at one of my only friends from the upper crust community after serving her a drink. At that moment, I felt like the ass hat.
"I'm sorry I'm so strung up tonight, Penny. Forgive me?"
"Throw in a free French 75 every Friday night this summer and we have got a deal."
We shared a smile.
My head snapped back up towards the balcony above where a trio of sable long coat garbed men were trying to force their way out. But pursuing them would mean abandoning Ally and while it was tempting...
"Hey, Trish do me a favor?"
"Yeah?" she stopped drinking mid-way.
"If you see any weird looking guys around here, villain-looking type. Long, yellow fingernails on his right hand, dressed in black, likes to look at his feet, smokes cigars-"
She lifted a manicured hand to stop me.
"Let me stop you there babes, you just described half the people here. I need something solid to work with." she said. "Starting with why you want me to find this guy."
I watched as he pushed his way through. It took all I had in me not to vault over the counter and give chase but I resigned when she gave me a pressing look.
"I don't want you to find him. I just want you to tip me off when you see him."
"...Dude, is someone after you?" she blurted out earning her a few curious stares.
"Keep your voice down!" I hissed. "No, yes? I don't know! Just, look out for a guy who gives an off vibe yeah?"
"Sure," she sighed turning and got to her feet. "And Aspen?"
By the time I looked back up, the three men were gone. My hands balled into fists.
"Hmm?"
"I need you to know you can trust me, even if at times...I don't act like myself." she said before she slid behind a red velvet curtain.
"The doll in the pink dress! What's your name sweetheart?" a charming bass player asked.
"It's Allison Decora handsome, but you can call me Ally." she winked at him.
I groaned, remembering I still had to deal with this.
Oh boy.