0.02 | Underpaid And Overworked

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Ruby arrived at the Bloomingdale Palace too late to look at the tapestry-festooned hall or its people at all. The man behind her grappled her shawl and purse as she rushed past the crowd to take her position on the stage, catapulting her wet mop of auburn hair at the back.

The hall thronged with life. The low tittering; the clinking of wine glasses; metallic balloons and of course the waves of light music coalesced to mark the reception of the ultrarich newlyweds. All better dressed than Ruby. Her eyes dropped to her feet and she realized just how poor quality and ill-shaped her shoes looked. Phew.

Having shrouded the extreme paucity to buy new shoes by her uneven hemmed gown, she pushed aside her usual dark thoughts and climbed onto the stage.

Music is an expression of inner emotion and a celebration of life in itself. But for Ruby, it was a completely different case. It was her source of income. If asked, Ruby couldn't call back as to how she ended up working for Madame Tào. But the foggiest of memories summarized her life in just two sentences: One, she had been made to practice singing from a very young age. Second, Madame Tào had been rewarding her with the stepmotherly treatment ever since.

She dismissively concluded that the lady's most valuable concern was the money she earned, not her entity by any means.

Madame Tào was a short-heighted, long-tongued Chinese-American; a woman of such ungovernable and fiery spirit that nobody could expect human-to-human small talk. Her love for the red silk fabric and gold had no bounds. She loved adorning herself with thick gold rings and giant-wheel-big earnings. Ruby wondered if she bathed in a tub of gold instead of water. She was their boss, who informed the choir where they have to go for their next gig.

"Oh, God, Ruby, your makeup looks terrible. What will they think?" Emily used crushed tissue paper to wipe off the smeared kohl under her eye and then wet the corner of the same with her spit and cleaned the red ridges flying off her lip. Grooming had been given a high priority since they were standing on the podium, facing the audience. Well, this 'they' neglected Ruby's participation as she was routinely stumped in the center, but behind the big wall of six members acquiring their mics. She always questioned Madame Tào's reason behind cooping her like a worthless novice, who was never allowed to come into the spotlight, despite her voice being so melodious and bright.

"Ugh-okay. It's done. It's done." Unsophistication made its way through her fingers, as she dabbed the tissue paper on her collarbone; sneezing tagged along like a buy-one-get-one-free combination. No matter how professional, independent, and confident she had to appear right now to dispel doubts in others' minds that she was ready to take to the stage, she failed on her part.

"Why does Madame Tào have to call you so abruptly? There is a good time for everything," Emily said, maintaining a straight face.

"Is there ever a good time?" Ruby replied testily, with a nasal voice. "To hell with that fucking bitch with─"

Emily twisted her head, shaking it as though she was repenting to god in place of Ruby. "Language, Ruby!"

"─ass like face, I know, I know," she continued to herself, glancing at her threadbare wet dress and the ugly sewed intersection on the belly portion -- an immediate fissiparous thought of rich and poor reminded her of nothing but sheer bad luck.

In the meantime, Ruby looked up from in between two coifed heads and found Madame Tào's assistant, Horan, a man with cul-de-sac hair and evil character, peering at her with hands in his pockets. Horan shepherded the group to every party. And as per Madame Tào's instructions, his only duty was to curtail the girls from having any sort of interaction with other people. But, what bothered Ruby more --- everywhere they went --- was his inveterate habit of giving her 'that' kind of unpure stare. Nevertheless, her facial expressions grew tougher and abler to shun all of his colorful fantasies at once.

0.1 | No Exit from Deception ✓ Where stories live. Discover now