Page 90 of Before the Encore

And they left, Scarlett running after him like a shaking lamb. Bonnie didn’t move, the feeling in her chest tightening, lingering like the bad smell of Bailey’s aftershave.

* * *

Bonnie twisted and rolled her body, the dancers spinning around her before falling back into formation. They lined up in front of the mirror, bodies moving in canon, a flow of movement perfectly complementing the song as it built towards the pre-chorus. Bonnie caught her eye in the mirror.

Coward. The thought lodged itself in her brain. You sing songs about empowering women, and yet you barely control your own life. Locked in a stand-off with herself, her cue passed her. The dancers turned to her in the mirror. Heat pricked her neck.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Run it again.” She pulled in three deep breaths, her chest tight.

When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped. “Are you okay?”

She peeled back her fingers to see Rueben, one of the dancers, studying her with concerned green eyes.

“Do you need a break?” they asked.

“No. I’m fine.” She tightened her ponytail until it tugged at her scalp. “Let’s run it again.”

They looked but didn’t push, didn’t press. But the silence spoke volumes. In this industry, it always did.

Rueben and the other dancers fell into their starting positions. Bonnie lifted her gaze to the mirror.

You’re a money-making cash cow, and Bailey will milk you dry.

The worst thing was she’d always known deep down but hadn’t wanted to admit it. Now, she couldn’t look away. The song restarted, the upbeat pop melody filling the hall, but the woman in the mirror stared back at her, brown eyes unflinching, chest heaving. The music barely reached her as she opened her mouth to sing, forcing her feet to move across the floor. The dancers followed her, hitting every move, hips loose. Bonnie turned, dipping, sinking lower to the floor before the beat dropped and they skipped to the other side of the hall. She only sang at half volume in rehearsal, focusing on her pitch and breath to save her voice from strain. But her reflection followed her, highlighting every imperfection.

Coward.

Bonnie jumped as the dancers held her legs, lifting and spinning her before lowering her back down. She pressed off the floor, and her foot twisted.

“Ah!” Hot pain seared across her ankle. She tumbled down, squeaking against the hardwood. Her foot trembled, heat rippling across the nerves. As the dancers crowded around her, she caught the glowering look from the woman in the mirror and knew everything she’d been saying about her was right.

* * *

By the time she got into the car, Bonnie needed a new word for exhausted. The medic had checked her over thoroughly, thrice, confirming she’d sprained her ankle. He assured her it was nothing a little bit of rest couldn’t sort out and suggested she take a week off rehearsal.

A week. Bailey’s combover would faint right off his stupid head. Her world tour was scheduled in six months.

She bit her lip, hating how much she cared about his reaction. She must’ve been sighing too because Minnie glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“Are you feeling alright, Bonnie? Ankle causing you pain? I can stop by the drugstore if there’s anything you need.”

She shook her head. “I’ve taken some painkillers. I need rest now.”

Minnie grimaced. Her driver knew how much that would pain Bonnie. “Oh!” Her eyes brightened, and she turned up the radio. “It’s your song.”

Madison’s raspy voice came through the speaker, and Bonnie smiled. “Your smile’s so empty, your face poised like stone.” She really had a fantastic voice.

Damn Bailey for being right about that. It wouldn’t be long before he took credit for their relationship too.

She should call Madison and fill her in on the day. It’d become routine. But as quick as the thought surfaced, a sticky feeling bubbled in its place. Her phone stayed in her pocket, the car rumbling along the tarmac. When she recognised the feeling, it washed over her in a hot wave. Embarrassment. For the terrible childish interview, her conversation with Bailey, then twisting her ankle.

It throbbed with the reminder, and she reclined her seat, stretching her leg out in front of her. Bailey’s words burrowed under her skin. She didn’t want them to be true, but maybe she was naïve. Closing her eyes, she let the last of the warm LA sun hit her face through the windows and scrub away the shame.

Bonnie and Madison’s voices came together for the chorus, and she mouthed along, picturing Madison on stage with her. That mischievous Madison smile pierced through the veil she shrouded herself with. Madison wouldn’t judge her. She needed to stop being stupid and call her.

An enthusiastic woman chirped over the closing notes of the song, cutting it short. Bonnie frowned.

“That was ‘Ghost’, the new single from Bonnie Bloom’s latest album, featuring Lipstick Fever’s Madison Moore! It’s sitting pretty at number three right now. Will it make it any higher?” The chatter continued until Olivia’s name caught her attention. Her eyes snapped open.