Page 3 of Down Beat
TWO
Tabitha
“Symphony No. 7 in A Major” – Ludwig van Beethoven
“What about this one?” I run my palms down the corset, a little uneasy at how tight it is once on.
The leather and lace ensemble looked kickass on the website I bought it from, but after seeing my short ass squeezed into it I’m convinced the model must be some six-foot Amazon princess. I qualify for one of those fail memes that float around Facebook daily.
“Ooo. That’s hot. Where the hell did you get that?” My roommate, Kendall, kicks her boots over the end of the stubby two-seater and pivots to see me better. “I love the detail under the bust.”
“You don’t think it makes me look desperate?” I sidestep to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the living room window.
“It makes you look trendy.”
“I don’t want to be trendy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not in a following-the-herd kind of way, but an alternate I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-you-think way.” Her black-rimmed eyes narrow. “Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” My lips twist as I frown at her.
Thursday night is the turning point of my life. What I wear won’t only show the people there to watch me play who I am, but it will set the tone for my brand. I’ve never had such a hard time choosing what to put on for a performance.
Fuck this shit.
“You’re overthinking.” Kendall reaches to the bowl of popcorn on the floor and grabs a handful before popping a few in her mouth. “I can see it.”
“Yeah, well I can see your food when you talk with your mouth full.”
She smirks at my cocked eyebrow. “How many tickets you sold now?”
“One hundred and eight.”
“Hell yeah!” She lifts her hand for an air five.
I give it an air slap, yet my lack of smile gives away my true feelings on the subject. It’s a good number, sure, but it’s not even a fifth of the venue’s capacity. I’m going to be competing for attention with the tumbleweeds that’ll drift through the empty seats.
“Again,” Kendall scolds. “You’re in your head. Get out here. Stop it.”
“It’s just…” I pop the snaps on the corset. “It could be more.”
“Your last performance was sixty-something, right?”
I nod.
“So, you’ve almost doubled your last event sales.”
“That was close to a year ago.” I ditch the torture device and drag in a lungful of air. Wonder if I can breathe enough to play with that thing on?
“And in that time you’ve hustled your ass off to get more fans.” She drops her feet from over the arm of the sofa and twists to sit upright. “Without making you feel shit, classical violin isn’t exactly a hot genre of music, babe. You’re doing well considering the uphill battle you have to get noticed.”
She’s right; I couldn’t be more obscure in today’s market of pop rock and R&B if I tried.
“Shit.” My ass hits the sofa next to her. “My parents are fucking right, aren’t they?”
“Pfft.” Kendall slices a hand through the air. “Ignore them. You’ve already proved them wrong when they said you’d never be able to support yourself playing music.”
I level her with a hard stare.