So What?

“The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.” – Hunter S. Thompson

Mia! Get out of there; you’re on in two minutes!

Mia sits on a leather sofa, white, in a room called the green room which is, in actuality, a red room. Her face has not yet been applied; her hair is still damp and unruly. Her manager’s voice bellows from outside the door and it makes her insides swim. She can’t do this.

Mark Masterson’s sweat is threatening to drown him. The lights from the stage and the perspiration from the crazed audience together feel like a fire is raging somewhere nearby, somewhere too close. And now, his most famous client is pulling a diva act, the show is set to start, now.
Mia! Get out of there; you’re on in two minutes! You ready? He shouts, trying to make himself heard above the rambunctious noise backstage.

Charlie Banks makes his way down the panicked backstage area, after a slightly tedious ordeal at the security gate. He searches for the room whilst bumping into rushed sound technicians and managers; they make him nervous. He stutters apologies all the while looking for room 207.
He sees scantily clad back up dancers stretching and people with clip boards constantly screaming down their phones and pointing their pencils, barking orders to whoever happens to be there. His palms are wet and his cheeks an extreme form of flushed; a cold burning sensation.

She’s tired. And her muscles ache, she doesn’t know why. This is probably the hundredth time she’s danced for Mia Waters so she is not frightened or nervous, just tired. As she stretches she spots a man, no, a boy, speed past, a look so petrified upon his young face. He’s black and tall and slinky.
She thinks about Jimmy and the question he asked unexpectedly the night before, and her answer. She couldn’t. This is her life, travelling with Mia, not settling down in suburbia.
Catherine! Get to the stage, we’re on in two. Hurry, screams a red head with some authority.

He finds the door, knocks and enters without pause. Mia is perched upright on the white leather, shaking. Fuck, where have you been? She gets up and hurries to him, shoving a green bill into his also trembling hands. S-s-sorry. He hands her a clear plastic bag filled with paper white powder.
Yeah, thanks, now get out of here. He’s hesitant. Go, she says, almost shouts. He walks to the door and as his hand touches the door knob, the door opens and the largest man Charlie Banks has ever seen appears before him with a scowl. Who the hell is this Mia? Charlie looks to Mia then back at the big man. No one Vince, he’s just leaving. Did you get my smokes? Vince gives Charlie Banks a look that says: scram! Charlie Banks scrams.

Here you go Mia. Need anything else just holler, I’m right outside.
Thanks. Shut the door.
Mia is left alone and immediately heads to her dresser where she hastily, rather clumsily empties the recent arrival. She grabs her purse with intense speed and rolls a bill.

Is she dressed? Mark asks Vince who he’s seen just leaving Mia’s dressing room. And who’s that guy? He points to Charlie Banks, who is walking at an accelerated pace, rather suspiciously looking around and wiping the sweat from his brow. Vince says he doesn’t know who the guy is and no, Mia is not dressed. Fuck, Mark shouts.
He bangs on her door, cursing under his breath all the while. Mark is an impatient, greed-driven misogynistic and surprisingly kind person, although, the only person who knows that is his only sibling, Beverly. Excuse me? He turns around and sees a beautiful girl in sheer black tights with red wine stained fingernails. Her hair is brown, natural and it’s tied into a messy up-do. A dancer. Yes, what do you want? He spits. Oh great, Catherine thinks. Yeah, sorry, I was just wondering if you could point me in the right direction. I’m looking for Mia’s dressing room. A red head whose name I forget needs her on stage now, I’m the messenger.

Fuck.

Charlie Banks unlatches the magenta coloured rope from its golden pole stand and exits the stadium grounds, shivering now.