Phoebe's Performance

Prologue - Part 1

"It was all in the job description so no thanks required," she replies. Instead of her usual ponytail she's bundled her hair elegantly on top of her head so she looks like a princess. A stray curl falls loose and even though she's now close enough for him to reach out, he stops himself.

There's a broad smile on her full lips, and he notices a trace of pink lip gloss. He wonders how soft her lips are. Momentarily he is carried away into a world where she is his and their mouths meet. "Good to see you," he says, his voice hoarse.

"And you," she replies reaching up at him, circling her arms round his neck. He hugs her, melts into her embrace, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating perfume. She's so warm and so sexy. He licks his lips and almost is carried away with what he might do next. He releases her quickly. He clears his throat, looks around backstage at the stage crew who pretend not to notice his involvement with her. Not that it matters, every person backstage has signed a non-disclosure form. Yet he rarely acts out of control, he's always so predictable. He composes himself. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Schedule change," she says.

"Lucky me." He raises his eyebrows and places one hand gently on her lower back, manoeuvring her towards his dressing room.

His assistant Clara already has the dressing room door open for him, for them. The dresser mirror has a border of light bulbs which illuminate a large fruit basket on the counter. There are other gifts including, champagne and chocolate. He'll give these all to the crew.  A man in his position is always on a strict diet, otherwise he wouldn't have the energy to perform nightly. There are several bunches of flowers he hadn't seen before going out on stage. He opens a few cards and beams at the messages, people are always too kind and very flattering.

"I've drafted a few thank you notes for your approval," Clara says. Routine has her removing his robe, leaving him shirtless and then she pulls out the black leather chair.

"Brilliant," he says, sitting down. He glances at the clothing rack in the corner, with a singular dry-cleaning bag which he'd bet already contains his just worn stage jacket and shirt. No wonder Clara's so thin. She's the epitome of efficiency. He glances at Kathleen scowling round the orderly dressing room, the personal items have already been tidied into his leather travelling bag which sits by the upright piano.

"Everything okay Mister Arnold?" Clara delicately removes his shoes.

"Perfect," he says, and she bundles the pair into his case. 

"Mister Arnold?" Kathleen smirks as he stands and takes off his trousers, a little self-consciously. Not that Kathleen hasn't seen him standing in briefs and socks before. He runs a hand over his washboard stomach, silently thanking Clara for organising the daily personal training sessions while he's been touring America.  "What happened to plain Otto?"

"Are you running this team?" There's an edge to Clara's voice as she hands him a pile of freshly laundered clothes which his stylist selected. "I thought you were touring with...?"

Otto glances warily at his assistant as he pulls on a pair of jeans. There's even a slight shrug of her shoulders. He silently thanks her for being discrete because he knows Clara is completely informed of Kathleen's professional movements.  He'd instructed Clara to update him on Kathleen's career progress, feigning concern for his past assistant. 

"Yes," Kathleen replies cooly as he pulls on his t-shirt. "I'm touring with David."

"Would you mind then?" Clara's voice is like honey. "I run a tight ship. Forty cities in forty days doesn't just happen."

"Of course." Kathleen crosses her arms as Clara picks up a tidy leather-bound notebook and a pen. "The limo is waiting and the jet leaves in thirty."

"Any possibility of a slight schedule change?"

"I can rearrange anything but in case you've forgotten...New York is our next destination."

"Yes, of course." Disappointment races through his veins. "Sometimes I forget where I am."

"Don't I remember," Kathleen says and he notices something in her expression, frustration perhaps.

"Press is scheduled for ten tomorrow morning with tech at-"

"Got ya." Otto raises one hand up and Clara stops talking.

His assistant doesn't have to spell out how taxing the schedule is. Everyone knows, including Kathleen, for both women have accompanied him on endless tours, organised his personal calendar and woken him up from his bed because sheer exhaustion had him oversleeping his alarm on many an occasion.  He turns to Kathleen, notices her expression. At least she now too lives and breathes her own version of a musician's life. "If it wasn't New York...." he starts.

The look on Kathleen's face tells him that she doesn't believe him. He can understand her reaction because he is his reputation. His bookers know that when it comes to an Otto Arnold show, it wouldn't matter if he played in New York or the quietest venue on earth. Otto Arnold always performs his best.

"I'll just take this suitcase now and will be back for everything else. We'll discuss the rest in the limo." Clara gives Kathleen a pointed look before she steps out of the dressing room.

The door shuts with a click and Kathleen releases a breath. "Finally," she says. "I thought she would never leave."

"She's very good," Otto replies staring at the beautiful woman reclining against the dresser, the light refracts off the mirror and illuminates her dazzling green eyes. He speculates at how they both got to where they are, Kathleen on one side of the room and he at the other. The physical distance, the impenetrable barrier, neither of them ever daring to cross.  But Kathleen doesn't work for him now, she's touring with his best friend. So surely things have changed...? Maybe this might be his chance?

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Please tune in next Friday for the second half of this Prologue.