queen on her own color ♡ JFK

p.2 the spotlight

One foot in front of the other.

Don't just stand there.

Keep walking.

But this is absurd!

I can't sing in place of Marilyn Monroe. I simply can't!

I can't be the one who sings happy birthday to the President!

I'm no one!

And that's the way it should stay.

As soon as Peter Lawford realized that the person walking towards him wasn't a blonde bombshell but a brunette with two dangling ponytails, two left feet, and two scraped knees, he was taken aback.

Another stagehand appeared for just a second, merely to whisper into Lawford's ear.

He arched his thick eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something back. But the stagehand disappeared once more, and the brunette was already approaching the microphone stand.

Approaching it felt like walking on a boat during stormy weather.

It was all dizzily spinning around her.

If she tripped, she'd be humiliated.

If she sang and missed a note, she'd be humiliated.

No matter how Christina looked at it, there were only two ways this could go. Failure or success. She opted to try her hardest to avoid the first.

With her feet finally in place, and no longer echoing around the arena, she changed the microphone to the level of her mouth. Christina cleared her throat.

Her eyes shut close when the strongest of all the spotlights bathed her entirely, blinding her once more. There was no audience in front of her. Or at least, none that she could actually see. But they were there.

He was there.

Invisibly watching her.

Christina leaned into the microphone, palms sweating, heart beating against her chest as if it would pop out at any moment.

What was strange was that there were no whispering voices either. It was silent like the middle of the ocean at night.

That was, until an intimidated, overwhelmed voice broke it.

Her own.

The orchestra, though disoriented, subtly followed it after realizing what was happening.

"Happy birthday to you." It began.

It was a weak beginning, a timid introduction-but an everlasting impression.

"Happy birthday to you." Christina's eyes adapted to the focus, and the audience suddenly but slowly, began to make itself visible again. However, it was the first row that mattered only.

"Happy birthday,"

And that's when she spotted him. Unmistakable. Galant. Overpowering every other presence with no effort.

His leg crossed over the other, the program flyer lightly pinched between his thumb and index fingers. His mouth, laying straight across with pressed lips. His eyes, compensating for the expression that his mouth was lacking. They were not confused like Mr. Lawford's. They were interested. Curious. Analytical.

They locked with hers.

"Mr. President." When those words were sung, her voice changed completely. It was Christina's usual singing voice. Melodical, confident, and deeply adamant. Worthy of prizes and praise.