Fireworks 3 and 4

Chapter Seventy-Four

    "The label wants to sit down with you once you've completed this tour."

    "The label?" Mia echoed. "As in, Oliver?"

    "Not OVOSound," Drake clarified. "Warner Brothers. The big dogs."

    "What would they want to sit down with me for?" she asked into the phone as a stage tech equipped her with an earpiece. 

    An ocean of empty seats stretched out before her in the arena. Production crew and random arena staff moved to and fro, assuredly working on important tasks at hand. Tonight was the first show of her tour. Everyone wanted to make sure they were on point - Mia included. 

    "Who knows?" Drake said dismissively at the other end of the line. "It could just be that they're realizing that you've made your mark and are here to stay. They like to keep their real money makers close. Just make nice and they'll love you for forever."

    She rolled her eyes. "Wasn't the goal you running your own label? Completely free of anyone else's influence?"

    "Still is," he said. "But disengaging from a big music label is easier said than done. As long as you are a major money maker for them, being underneath their umbrella comes with a lot of benefits I'm not really ready to part with yet."

    "I'll make nice," she said, watching the stage tech back away from her. After raising a hand to gingerly touch the earpiece she'd been provided, she practiced a few tame dance moves to ensure the gadget was secure. "I'm about to start rehearsing. Call you when I'm done?"

    "For sure."

    The production crew tinkered with sound and lighting while she went through the motions, singing and adding in movements. One of the first performance lessons Drake had given her was to command and play with the stage. Don't just stand in one spot for too long, unless it was a song worthy of standing and belting out difficult notes. Move around the stage, engage different sections of the audience to keep everyone invested in the show. 

    "Acknowledging audience members up in the rafters, the 300s and 400s, became a trademark for me," he'd explained. "Referencing what they were wearing so they knew that I saw them. They might not have been able to purchase the closest seats, but I still see them and appreciate that they took the time to come see me."

    In rehearsals, she took his advice and moved all over the stage, trying to make her movements liquid. Natural and unnatural at the same time. Lighting crew wanted to run their sequences by her, and she allowed them. She told them that she wanted the beginning and ending of the show to have the upper sections well-lit. That was so she could also acknowledge those seated up high. 

    This was her first tour. She had backing from one of the most popular artists in the game right now, Drake. For that reason, she was granted a pretty extensive tour with a lot of stops at some of the largest arenas. The production value of her tour didn't necessarily extend to their being a lot of bells and whistles. No aerial sequences while she was suspended in the air, no large floating devices to entertain the crowd. There would be dancers, a little bit of pyrotechnics, graphics on the large screen at the back of the stage, and that was about it. Everything else was going into the audio quality. She'd had requests right out the gate. No vocal backing tracks. For some reason, those were being used more frequently in live performances. It sounded sloppy. A live band was necessary. They were due to join rehearsals any minute now, as were the backup singers. 

    Lost in her own rehearsals, the sound of clapping hands caused her to freeze in mid-motion with her arms extended. She turned to see who was clapping for her. Had Drake shown up to cheer her on? That seemed like something he'd do. Her eyes landed on a very different face, though. 

    Real Ish, creep producer, was climbing the steps leading to the stage. "Inspired," he called up to her. 

     "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

     "What am I doing...?" He pointed at himself, then released a low chuckle. "Oh, you thought you could snitch to the cops and get my girl in trouble and I wasn't going to react to that?" His advancement was slow. Predatory. The grin on his face was a misdirect, because that grin didn't come close to touching those dark and dangerous eyes.

    Mia frantically glanced around them. Thankfully, they weren't alone. Production workers were still milling about, still tinkering with lights and audio equipment. "So, that's what this is? You coming here is your reaction?"

    "I tend to react strongly," he admitted, the grin disappearing from his face. "You can come at me all day long. I can handle it. But my girl? She's off-limits."

    "Your girl came after me first," she spat at him. "I gave her a job and she thanked me by coming after my man and then coming after me."

    The producer rolled his eyes. "She warned me that you'd accuse her of coming after Drake. She has no interest in that man."

    "No interest?" Mia fought to kill the laugh bubbling in her throat. "She was all over him. He could've pressed charges for assault, but was kind enough to spare her that. Predators of a feather fuck together. Is that what you two have in common? What bonded you?"

    He advanced on her so quickly, she didn't even have time to scream. One minute he was feet away and the next, he'd slid in on her and roughly grabbed her by the arm. "Watch your fucking mouth."

    "She doesn't love you and you know she doesn't," Mia hissed at him. "Since you made a move on me, I'm willing to bet you don't love her either. So why are you risking additional charges being brought against you, so you can defend her?"

    He hesitated before responding. Doubt flared up in his eyes.

    "Yeah. Think about what you're doing." She stared up at him defiantly. "I've already put your name on blast to the press. You're standing here, grabbing me in an auditorium full of witnesses. What the hell are you doing?"

    His eyes lowered to the hand wrapped tightly around her arm. That grip around her arm loosened, and he straightened his posture. He adjusted his tee while putting some distance between them. Then he was making his way back down the stairs, all without saying a word.

    She watched his retreat, just as quiet. Relief washed over her the minute he was out of the auditorium. A sigh escaped her and she dropped to her knees. What was this feeling? It was similar to the way someone fearful of heights would feel once they'd successfully taken a roller coaster ride. That's what it was: she felt like she'd conquered some sort of fear. Like this moment right here was full circle from the moment an athlete years ago thought to harass her. 

"You thought you were a boss bitch back then,

But you told yourself that just to see yourself win.

You acted the part so you could share your art,

In truth you were a scared little girl sitting in the corner humming,

But with this beast slain, I like the woman I'm becoming.

This boss refuses to take hits, she makes hits,

So don't even waste her time coming at her with some fake shit 

When on Drake's face these cakes sit. 

Drake's face, my makeshift throne,

Once your babygirl is done with this tour,

Just hold on, we're going home."

    She laughed at the absurdity of the rhyme's end and resumed rehearsals. The dancers, band and backup singers arrived. That was when the tour became real for her. Everything came together once microphones and musical instruments were set up.