There was something unnerving about standing in a club during daylight hours—as if all its sins and debauchery were on display. Fiabesco for all intents and purposes was a jazz club, that’s what the sign outside state at least, but I wasn’t entirely convinced.

I stood in the doorway—having arrived at 8 a.m. sharp as the email I’d received stated. Sunlight washed over the moody lounge, a stark beam from the open door making the velvet emerald walls and red curtains look washed out—dated even… The place was a time capsule with its copper ceiling and antique oval bar that floated off center in the room.

My eyes dragged from one side to the other, my heart ached with discomfort.

What was I doing?

Well, I knew what I was doing—I was here to meet the manager and the band—but this wasn’t a place I should’ve been… it felt wrong.

The entrance had been relatively nondescript, down an alleyway with an incandescent bulb arrow pointing the way.

It had all been very noir and dramatic—I half expected some mobster to be sitting with a cigar and the morning paper, but the club was entirely empty.

I called out, my voice a dull thud against leather chairs and densely patterned carpets.

When no one responded, I bit the bullet and forced myself further inside, letting the door slam shut.

I’d wore the only stilettos I owned; they forced me to walk with intention across the carpet, wobbling like a fawn. I had wanted to look more mature—like a capable woman, but anyone worth their salt could tell I was a fool in dress up. A kid who’d played with their mommy’s clothes.

The further I went the more the scent of smoke clogged my lungs. I forced my expression neutral as I stopped in front of a small stage at the very back of the club…

It wasn’t anything grand, yet my stomach flipped all the same. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself standing up there pouring my heart out to a crowd, but my mind remained dark.

What did I know about stage presence? About seducing a crowd—lord knew I was the furthest thing from sexy. Wasn’t that a prerequisite for a job like this?

Why had Mr. Filoli hired me? Pity?

No not likely, he didn’t seem the type to pity anyone.

After a few silent minutes passed a door stage left popped open, and a stream of men poured through. They laughed with each other, puffing clouds of cigarette smoke.

Their laughter died off when they spotted me standing awkwardly by the stage, cigarettes were quickly stowed behind their backs.

I waved with a thin-lipped smile, “Hi…I’m Rose… Are you guys the band?”

An older man built for desk work stepped forward and shook my hand, “Yes, nice to meet you! I’m Paulie the manager—Mr. Filoli mentioned you’d be coming by.”

I returned his nicety and let go of his hand to immediately start picking at the corner of my thumb. “I was told you had some music for me?”

He nodded and put a hand on my shoulder, the skin beneath burned in retaliation as he guided me toward the door they’d just entered from.

“That I do—but I wanna go over a few things first. Hours, rules, and contracts. All that fun stuff.”

The door led down a thin wooden hallway lined with doors fostering frosted glass windows. Words in gold lettering across each one… Janitor, supply, band… I paused outside the door with Mr. Filoli’s name on it, the gold leaf flaking away from age. The pit of my stomach soured.

“Mr. Filoli comes here?”

Paulie stopped a few feet ahead and followed my gaze in confusion. “Oh yeah! But you came on a lucky day, Mr. Filoli never comes on Mondays or Tuesdays. They’re our off days.”

Nodding in response, I followed Paulie to his office, a cubby stacked to the roof with boxes and file cabinets overflowing with paperwork. He cleared a chair for me as he prattled on about the last girl who had my job.

Apparently, there were creative differences and she bothered the wrong people with her grievances. It didn’t take a genius to know who he was referring to.

“What were the differences?” I asked amidst a dust fueled cough.

Paulie rolled his lips into his mouth and shuffled in his seat, “ah… She wanted to change up the song list, but between you and me.” He leaned forward, “She pissed off Mr. Filoli one too many times.”

I suddenly started to sweat, “and that got her fired?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t like to be bothered.”

I already had one strike against me.

Sensing my trepidation, Paulie waved a dismissive hand and sat back. “Keep your nose clean and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” He opened a few drawers then lifted a random box, grabbing a binder from underneath.

“Here’s the aforementioned song list. Classics—same shit since the 80s. You’ll have today and tomorrow to rehearse. We need you to start this Wednesday.”

I flipped through the sheet music. Etta James, Fitzgerald, Doris Day… Nothing unexpected. “I know some of these already—shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” He frowned the next second and waggled a finger at my high-collar dress. “You’ll wear something different right?”

I jerked my head back, creating an unattractive chin as I looked down at my mod style outfit. “Like what?”

“I don’t know—something to look at I guess.” Paulie stood and rifled through another cabinet, “here’s the employment contract. It’s pretty standard—Mr. Filoli didn’t mention an Omerta, did he?”

“An o-whata?” Still reeling from his outfit comment, I didn’t notice the stack of papers he tossed in front of me.

“Never mind. Just go over those—it’s pretty standard.”

Terms of employment for Fiabesco… no drugs or alcohol. Half-hour work breaks. No smoking in the building. Work hours are from 7 p.m. till 2 a.m. Wednesday through Sunday.

Seemed normal enough, not even a mention of the Filoli family or any Illegal tasks—though I admit I didn’t even know what a standard contract looked like nor did I think that they’d actually put anything illegal down in writing.

I quickly scrawled my name on the dotted line, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Great. Great.” Paulie filed away the contract by stuffing it into a drawer and clapped his hands together. “Let’s hear those pipes!”

Embarrassment rattled me to my core as I sang on stage, watching Paulie’s head press deeper into his palm as I stumbled my way through another song. Not only was he frustrated, but the man was utterly bored.

The band played behind me—groaning as I choked out another seductive line. Standing stiff as a cardboard cutout under the stage lights.

Four hours. We’d been practicing for four hours, and I was about ready to keel over and die.

Paulie shot his hand up and the band immediately halted their playing.

“For the love of God, woman! Can you at least pretend to know what you’re singing about! What are you, a nun?” Paulie whined, scrubbing his face. “This is Etta James for Christ’s sake not a hymnal!”

My face flamed as I shrunk in on myself, “I’m sorry—I… I’m trying my best.”

He inhaled in and out, “Listen, kid. You got great pipes. I’ll give you that, but you’ve got as much sex appeal as my grandmother’s doilies.”

Did that count as sexual harassment?

Unsure of how to respond, I stood there blinking like a goldfish.

He tsked at me, “let’s take it from the top—and this time imagine the love of your life is walking through that door.”

Easier said than done. I hadn’t the slightest clue what it felt like to be in love.

I found my breath, holding it in my lungs as I gave my back to the room to count the beats as the band started over.

I’d rather go blind by Etta James.

As I wavered through the line, “I just don’t want to be free…” the door of the club swung open, and I watched partially mortified as Mr. Filoli and Vincenzo came waltzing inside.

Paulie glanced over his shoulder and sprung to his feet upon seeing his employer.

“Mr. Filoli! What a surprise!” He cleared his throat, “what brings you in on your day off?”

Mr. Filoli stared the man down for the longest time before deigning to speak. He motioned with a disinterested thumb at Vincenzo as he said, “I’m here to keep Enzo in line.”

Mr. Filoli’s cousin was already bounding halfway across the room, waving with a glittering smile.

“Bella Rosa, I came to check on you! Things are going well?” He stopped at the foot of the stage, craning his neck to look up at me.

I forced my gaze away from Mr. Filoli and down at Vincenzo. “Ah yes… things are good.”

Bit of an overstatement.

“You’ll need a break—come have dinner with us!” Enzo said enthusiastically, not leaving room for rejection.

I didn’t even have a chance to open my mouth before Mr. Filoli barked, “Enzo. What did I say? There is work to do.”

“Mio cugino! Por favore! Always with the work.” Enzo rolled his eyes and plopped into the chair Paulie had vacated. “I will go nowhere till I hear a song.”

Oh good. How wonderful. The audience to my perpetual crash and burn has grown.

With sweat dripping down my spine, I watched helplessly as Mr. Filoli and Paulie took the other two chairs at the table.

I pass my weight back and forth, wiping off my palms. “I’m still… I’m still learning so it’s not—it’s not polished or anything.”

“That’s a way to put it.” Paulie murmured.

Mr. Filoli couldn’t have looked any less interested as Enzo made a show of waving his hands. “Modesty, Bella Rosa! I’m sure you are perfecta!”

He’d see for himself.

“From the top?” I grumbled to the band and once again the song started over.

This time went no different from the rest, except for my eyes screwed shut so tight I could see stars.

Once the band played the song to a close, I dropped my shoulders and cracked one eye open.

Paulie’s head was in his hands, “Jesus Christ.”

“She’s just nervous.” Enzo scowled, turning to give me a reassuring thumbs up. “You’re great, Bella Rosa!”

Mr. Filoli had his brows pinched as if he were trying to piece something together in his head.

I was on the verge of passing out, “I need more time to practice.”

“You need to get fucked!” Paulie snapped.

Oh…

My head swirled as the room went deadly silent.

My limbs trembled and the microphone I held in a death grip morphed into cold steel, I was under bleachers… crying… screaming… trying to pull myself away…

All pretense of overt positively drained from Vincenzo as he and Mr. Filoli stared Paulie down until the man looked six feet under.

He scrambled, “I—I just mean she’s too stiff! She needs to sell it more!”

Mr. Filoli stood up from the table and smoothed down the front of his blood red shirt. His sharp amber gaze cut me out of my spiral as he commanded my attention. “Ms. LeClair. I expect a performance like the one in my office by opening night. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Filoli.” I rasped, my whole body quaking.

He glowered down at Paulie, “You. My office. Now.”

As the pair disappeared into the back of house, Vincenzo waved for me to come down. “Gentleman, how about a smoke break? Yes?”

The band scattered gratefully with their dismissal.

Managing no to crumble to the floor, I climbed off the stage and sat in the chair across from Vincenzo. He smiled softly as he rested his elbows on the table.

“What’s wrong, Bella Rosa?”

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“Nothing. Why?” I responded dryly.

“Paulie was very… rude. He needs to eat some soap.”

There was a dull spark to laugh in my chest, but I resisted the urge.

Vincenzo wasn’t deterred. “Dante is probably spanking him—I bet Paulie likes it. Naughty.”

Begrudgingly, a small chuckle fought its way out. “Vincenzo, you’re just as bad.”

“No—I’m helping. See, you are already more relaxed.” He made himself comfortable. “Now tell Nurse Enzo what’s the matter.”

My bottom lip warbled as I looked down at my lap. “I’m not… You were very kind to get me this job Vincenzo, but I don’t think I’m right for it.”

“Cazzata” He shook his head, “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not afraid.” I defended.

“Si. You are.” He pointed to the stage. “That is why you sing so shy. You are scared of something.”

“That’s—that’s really none of your business!”

“Am I wrong? I will apologize if I was wrong.”

He wasn’t wrong and that’s what made me so angry. I was terrified of myself—of my body—of the thought of anyone finding me sexy. It made me so irrationally scared that I wanted to get up and storm out of the building and never look back, but I needed this. I needed to prove not only to my mother, but to myself that I could do this.

I dug the crescents of nails into my palms. “I’m having trouble relating to the material… I’m a reserved person.”

Vincenzo narrowed his eyes, “this is an inappropriate question.”

“Then don’t ask it.”

“You’re not a virgin, are you, Bella Rosa?”

Bleachers. Cigarette smoke. Blood.

“No.”

“Okay good!” He dramatically wiped his forehead. “Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s a difference between sex and love you know.”

He shrugged. Typical.

“Dante would not have given you this job if he thought you couldn’t handle it. Have some faith in yourself, Bella Rosa. It might take you far.” He stood, “Want me to show you a few moves?”

The thought of him putting his hands on me in any capacity threatened to send me back into a spiral. “I’ll just watch.”

“Suit yourself.” Vincenzo jumped up on to the stage and began to move, swirling his hips in a way that could only be described as pornographic. “Hot, no?”

“I don’t see how this will help?” My gaze flicked to the employee only door. Trepidation filled my voice as I asked, “What are they actually doing back there?”

“Dante is giving the old leccaculo a scare.” Vincenzo chuckled, slowing spinning in a circle.

“Why? It’s not like what Paulie said was entirely untrue. I have no sex appeal.” I grumbled, keeping my eyes on the door.

“Because he insulted you.” Vincenzo suddenly sounded serious, “You have plenty of sex appeal, Bella Rosa. It’s a shame no one made you feel that way before.”

I winced away from the memories. “Nothing bad can happen to you if you don’t let anyone in.”

Vincenzo inhaled sharply, ready to question my logic when the door to the backrooms swung open.

Mr. Filoli strode out, tan skin glistening with sweat—his hair unruly as he stalked toward the table I still sat at to grab his suit coat. He tossed it over his shoulder; a single finger hooked into the collar. Knuckles blazed achingly red.

His permanent scowl worsened as he looked at me then to Vincenzo dancing around the stage. “Enzo!” He snapped with a curled lip. “Car now. Marco and Nonno are waiting.”

Vincenzo sighed and bounded off the stage to take my hand in a farewell kiss. “I’ll be here opening night! And remember, Bella Rosa. It’ll take you far!”

Mr. Filoli tracked his cousin’s every move like a shark, making sure he exited the premises. I was startled when those daggers shot down at me.

“No more issues, Ms. LeClair.”

I didn’t know if he was telling me or reassuring me, but either way he left without so much as a goodbye.

Paulie came back a few minutes later with the band in tow and a bloody tissue stuffed up his nose.

A flutter tickled across my lower stomach.

“Alright! Take it from the top?”

***

Opening night, 7 p.m., the show started in an hour, and I’d almost thrown up twice.

With my chin tucked to my chest, I weaved through the empty tables as bar staff started to pull down chairs.

Vincenzo had somehow gotten my phone number and been texting me inspirational quotes for the last 24 hours, which have only helped in the fashion that they’ve been distracting me enough not to run screaming.

Yesterday’s rehearsal had gone better than the last, I looked at the bruises forming around Paulie’s left eye to spur me on… but I doubted that would give me enough energy to get through tonight’s performance.

I still didn’t know why Mr. Filoli had attacked Paulie, defending my honor seemed like the last thing he’d want to do. I could only assume there had been some previous grievance between the two and my employer simply took the chance to sock the jerk. It wouldn’t be surprising, especially after spending the last two days with Fiabesco’s manager. He was an insufferable mess.

As I flipped the switch to my dressing room, an old dusty boudoir with dim lights, floral wallpaper, and frilly furniture—I paused mid stride, finding a large white box on the sofa by the door.

Leaning back, I checked both directions down the hall but saw no one. The only signs of life were the illuminated windows of Mr. Filoli’s and Paulie’s offices.

I closed the dressing room door behind me and slid a small card out from underneath a black satin ribbon tied around the box.

“Thought you might need this.”

No signature.

Tossing my dry cleaner’s bag over the sofa’s arm, I lifted the box lid and peeled back the tissue paper. Blood red fabric a stark contrast to its icy white package. I ran my fingers over the square neckline of the dress, feeling the heavy weight cotton. Lifting it up by the straps, I balked at the miniscule hemline.

I was a short woman, but by the cut alone I knew most of my flesh would be exposed. There were two large bows positioned on each hip with tails that would reach my calves once on.

Utterly baffled as to why such a beautiful yet scandalous dress was left gift wrapped for me, I could only assume Vincenzo had to be responsible.

Ruefully, I retrieved my dry cleaner’s bag and lifted up the plastic to scowl at the dress I’d brought from home. A modest knee-length black number that I knew I’d feel most comfortable in. It looked like an amorphous blob on the hanger.

“He shouldn’t meddle.” I sniffed, snatching the red dress out of the box and heading behind the dressing screen to try it on.

As I pulled the zipper up my back and stepped in front of the mirror, the door to my dressing room swung open then slammed shut in an instant.

I screamed as I came eye to eye with a teenage boy reflected in my vanity.

His back was plastered to the door, arms spread as if he was bracing himself.

“Get out!” I shouted, tossing a random hair curler at his head.

He dodged and put a finger to his lips frantically. “Shh! I’m trying to escape my brother!”

“What?” I sputtered. “How did you get in here? You’re a kid!”

“Enzo brought me!”

I paused now even more confused, “You’re Enzo’s brother?”

“Lol. No. I’m Dante’s brother obviously. Marco—cool to meet you.” He smoothed back his hair in a familiar gesture, and I suddenly saw the resemblance.

I continued to frown, “Awesome. Now get out of my dressing room please.”

He instead made himself at home and plopped onto the sofa, playing with the dress box.

“You’re Rose, right? Heard a lot about you.” He picked up the card, reading it with an upturned brow. “Heard so much I had to come check you out. I get it—personally like a little more up top myself.”

My mouth hung open. What is wrong with his family? “Excuse me?”

He gave me a sympathetic look, “not to say yours aren’t nice though.”

“Marco!” Mr. Filoli shouted from the hall.

The kid paled and turned to me pleadingly, “please don’t say nothing!”

“In here!” I called back as loudly as I could muster.

The door popped open and Mr. Filoli stood halfway inside with his hand squeezing the knob. He did a quick scan of the room before spotting Marco on the sofa.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked through clenched teeth.

“Enzo brought me.” He lifted the card, “this you?”

Mr. Filoli’s attention bounced from the card, to the box, then landed on me standing defensively behind my chair.

He was on his last leg, “I apologize, Ms. LeClair. Marco here has no manners.”

“You raised me.” Marco scoffed.

I had no interest in being in the middle of this, “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

Mr. Filoli opened the door wider, “If have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. You are not allowed to come here—”

Marco cut him off, “but it was Enzo—”

“I don’t want to hear it! Get your ass up now. You are going to sit in my office until Garner gets here to take your ass home.”

“Come on, Dante!” Marco went limp as a star fish spread across the cushions. “You never let me do anything fun. You’re here all the time, why can’t I?”

“Because I’m an adult. Now get up before I make you.” Mr. Filoli threatened.

Marco dragged himself off the sofa as if he’d been glued to it and slumped out of the room. Having to squeeze between his brother and the door frame.

“Bye, Rose. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Mr. Filoli shoved him the rest of the way out and barked another order for him to get into his office.

Once the sound of a door snicking shut came from down the hall, he turned to me. Dark rimmed eyes hovered over my dress.

I swallowed nervously, “Seems like you have to have a talk with your cousin.”

“Sorry for the disturbance.” He was gone in a matter of seconds.

I’d be insulted if I thought Mr. Filoli would tolerate small talk. It wasn’t like I’d wanted to be in his presence longer than necessary anyhow.

When it struck time for me to head to the stage an hour later, another knock came to my door. Before I could grant entry, it swung open and Paulie was there with a thumb over his shoulder.

“It’s time, doll face.”

Grated to have my privacy violated once again, I crossed my arms at him. “You can’t just open the door!”

“I knocked. Don’t overreact.” He rolled his eyes.

“You want to repeat that, Paulie?” Vincenzo asked, appearing next to him with a bouquet of flowers.

Paulie rolled his jaw and pointed at me, “three minutes.”

As he walked away, I felt my heart morph into a frightened beast inside my chest. One desperately trying to crack my ribs.

Vincenzo extended the flowers, “You look incredible, Bella Rosa.”

I pressed a hand to my chest to keep my ribs from busting through my skin. “thanks to you… I feel like I might vomit.”

He entered the room and sat the bouquet on my vanity.

“Need a hug?”

My skin crawled at the thought of anyone touching me at the moment. “No.”

Vincenzo’s face fell in offense, so I quickly amended, “Maybe after the show… thank you.”

He waved his hand, “it’s nothing. It’s traditional for the Primadonna to receive flowers.”

“And for the dress.” I added, trying to ignore the sourness stinging my throat.

“Dress?” Vincenzo shook his head, “What dress? This dress?”

“You didn’t buy this?”

“Rose! Get a move on!” Paulie shouted.

My stomach dropped, “oh God.”

Vincenzo gave me two excited thumbs up, “Showtime!”

“I can’t. I’m going to puke.”

“No no. You can do it!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the bile down. “Okay… I need you to push me out that door.”

“No, you got—”

“Vincenzo! Just do it!” I snapped.

He grabbed me and hauled me down the hall.

I don’t remember what happened from there—a blur of words and lights, an introduction then being thrusted upon the stage.

I stared out at the patrons of Fiabesco, drinking at cozy tables and lounging by the bar.

Tears welled in my eyes as I felt the claws of imminent failure dig into my shoulders to pull me down.

I opened my mouth and a terrified breath echoed in the mic. Offstage Paulie swore to himself as my searching gaze found Mr. Filoli and Vincenzo sat at a small table with Nonno.

Vincenzo smiled, nodding to egg me on, but that wasn’t what spurred me to sing. It was the look on Mr. Filoli’s face… He had the calm smoothness of someone completely unbothered as if he knew I would sing and would do well. He was silently confident, and I felt that energy trickle into me as I held his assured eyes. I motioned for the band to begin.

The piano chimed behind me; I only have eyes for you by the Flamingos. I pretended I was in his office as I began to sing, pulling from that memory to breathe life into my words.

As the male voices of the band harmonized with me, the crowd rang with applause, and my heart did a flip. We transitioned into the next song; I just want to make love to you by Etta James—I was surging with confidence; my ego swelled in a way I’d never experienced before.

They loved me. I could hear it in their mounting excitement.

I began to strut around the stage, swinging the microphone—crooning to them as if I had any idea what I was doing. The more I played this character the more interactive the crowd became and I fed off them. It was transcending. I didn’t feel like myself anymore, I felt like someone overtook my body, and I liked her so much more.

Somewhere around the fourth hour, the club was swollen with patrons, and it was time for me to retire for the night.

I blew kisses, bidding them goodnight, telling them I wished I could stay till sunrise. The band stayed behind to play for the last hour of open as I rushed down the steps to find Vincenzo.

I was flooded with adrenaline and bursting at the seams to celebrate such a monumental success, but his table was empty as I looked through the crowd. I threw open the door to the backrooms and called out for him.

“Enzo! Enzo, you were right!” No reply came as I checked the few unlocked rooms.

The offices were dark, and I briefly considered if they’d gone home for the night, but I heard a stream of voices from the emergency exit as I traversed deeper down the hall.

My giddy excitement blossomed once more as I pushed open the door, “Enzo!”

The heavy steel door crashed against the building’s brick siding the same time the gun went off in Mr. Filoli’s hand.

Paulie hit the ground; blood splattered across my face.

Wind rushed out of my lungs as I deflated, staring down at what my brain couldn’t comprehend as a corpse. Mr. Filoli froze, handing off the gun to Vincenzo.

We all stared at each other, a tension band wrapping around and around us begging to snap. My eyelids fluttered as I tried to keep myself from screaming.

“Fuck.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Five: Present