Crazy For You. A. C. Meyer

to handle these sharks.”

      “You guys are being ridiculous. I am twenty-three years old, gosh. I’m not a little girl, I know how to take care of myself. When will all of you realize that?”

      “I am aware that you are a woman, but Danny looks at you and Jo as his little sisters. That’s sacred for a guy.”

      “That’s stupid and you know it. Who are you replacing Snash with?

      “I don’t know Julie, I have no idea.”

      I pull away from him, foaming with anger. How can they be such assholes? Something needs to be done about it.

      I stay at the bar helping Justin, the bartender, getting the drinks in order, until Rafe comes to me an hour later, seemingly defeated.

      "You know when Danny finds out that I’ve let you perform, he's going to finish me off, right?”

      "You didn't get anyone?”

      "No, Julie. Nobody. Can you do it?”

      I scream and jump on top of him.

      "Wow! Absolutely!”

      He drops me on the floor and shakes his head, rustling out an “I’m fucked”. Afterwards, he goes to the office while I dance away my victory and call Jo and George, asking that they bring me suitable clothes, make-up and their moral support.

      Chapter three

      Julie

      While I wait for my two fairy godmothers, I go to the stage to talk to the boys of the band to find out what is the setlist of the night.

      I have good musical memory and zero difficulty reciting lyrics. Besides, I've sung with them countless times during rehearsal—and away from Danny, of course.

      "Is our star ready to shine?” Alan, the guitarist, asks. He's the hottest of the three musicians. Tall, very straight brown hair and full of tattoos. I often joke with Jo that he's the embodiment of Kellan Kyle, the good guy from S.C. Stephens' book, Intenso Demais.

      "Yesss!” I'm very nervous, but I want to do my best. I want this to be the first of many performances.

      "You know that when Danny finds out...”

      "Leave Danny out of it. Saturday night people come here because they want to dance to the sound of The Band. We can't let our fans down — I speak with a smile on my face, showing a safety I don't feel while trying to wrap him up.

      "That's fine with me," he says, laughing. "It's going to be wonderful to play with you for real. We had this setlist for today, but I think we can make some changes to show a little more of your personality on stage —he says, extending a sheet with the playlist.”

      I look through the titles, approving the choices, and thinking about three or four more songs I'd like to include.

      "Have you got a pen there? I'd like to add some songs, can I?”

      “Of course! You can add and remove whatever you want.”

      I sit on the edge of the stage to write, whilst acknowledging this is a wonderful opportunity that I will not pass up.

      This is going to be the first of many nights leading The Band, I promise myself.

      ***

      "Bestiiiiie, we're here!” Jo screams, pulling me out of my daydreams.

      "Did you bring something nice to wear?” I ask excitedly, already heading to the makeshift dressing room.

      The place only has one dressing room and, as it was an exclusively male band, they shared the space. So, I'm going to get ready in Danny's office, since no one's going to be using it.

      George hands me three bags full of clothes from a designer store in the mall, which I'm sure I've never been in.

      "What is this, George?” I ask, rummaging through the bags. "Didn't you get me some clothes?”

      "Baby girl, what clothes of yours did you want me to bring? Your running shoes? Or those yoga pants you‘re always in? Or jeans and a T-shirt? Of course, Jo and I had to go to the mall and do some shopping on your behalf. And we brought some IN-CRE-DI-BLE stuff!”, he speaks excitedly, clapping.

      "Go on, friend, try it all on, and we'll pick and choose the outfits for you to perform in!” Jo keeps pushing me while I stare at them stunned.

      “But...but...”

      “Don’t “but” me, baby girl! You gotta hurry up, we’re running out of time here.”

      I remain looking from one to the other with my mouth wide open for five seconds. I got it, I’m not the most fashionable one around. I live on my sneakers and leggings or the yoga pants, but I have a little black dress at the bottom of the draw that would be perfect for tonight.

      I break free from the shock, grab the clothes they give me - a black miniskirt, made of sequins and a white blouse - and I start dressing.

      “This skirt is way too short.”

      “No way, my dear. You have to show off your incredible legs.”

      “The blouse is tight...”

      “The front view has to stand out! How do you want to shine on stage, if you’re not dressed for the occasion?”

      I look at myself in the mirror and I like it, but I feel awkward. The miniskirt is really short, but is not too tight and it really seems good for a night show. By adding the blouse, the look is still simple which pleases me a lot.

      “Now, put on those shoes!”

      I grab the shoes that Jo pushes on to my hands. They are black with very high heels and red soles.

      Louboutin, I recognize the brand.

      “My God, you must have paid a fortune for this!” I complain, upset that my friends went on to spend so much money on me.

      “There would be no match without those shoes. You gotta put them on”, George lets out with a laugh.

      While I put the shoes on, they place bracelets and hang a pair of black long earrings on me. The one thing I am thankful about is that my waxing is up to date, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to wear that short skirt with hairy legs.

      Not yet pleased with dressing and adorning me up as if I were a real-life Barbie version, my friends put me in the chair that sits in the corner of the room, and while Jo opens a giant makeup briefcase, George begins to loosen my ponytail, studying my hair as if it were a scientific experiment.

      "What are you doing?” George, holds my hair back.

      "Julie, you have a gold mine in here and I don't know why you keep hiding it. I'm going to show you that we can play with that hair and make you look like ‘come and get me’.”

      "Oh, my God...”

      "Close your eyes and just take it, friend. It's going to be all right.”

      With nothing to do, I sit in the chair and leave the two artists to work. I pray that I will be at least presentable and not look like a clown on the run from the circus.

      Half an hour of suffering later, especially at the hands of George—who pulled me, shook, and burned my head countless times—I am allowed to stand up so they can "evaluate me." I feel like a prized horse.

      I stand up looking like a giant, as I'm not used to such high shoes that add almost five inches to my sparse five feet.

      The two of them are standing still and open-mouthed and I start getting stressed, imagining that I look ridiculous and that we won't have time to do anything different because it's already show time.

      “What’s the matter, guys? Where’s the