When the Boundaries Blur (Draft 1)

Chapter 9 - Reagan

The heat is killing me.

Sweat dripped down the side of my face and another slips down my cleavage until it is absorbed by the cloth of the corset I'm wearing, which is practically is pasted against the skin of my stomach. It barely registers on my conscience, my mind at full capacity with effort that goes into executing choreography so fast. On a count of four, the difficulty is that the movements need to be fast on the first too, 1 and 2, and slow on the last two, and 3 and 4.

The corset is black and has what looks like large white gems on it. It's ridiculously heavy. Whether these gems are real and have any value or not, is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. I failed to calculate the weight when I picked it out of Natalie's, I mean, my stylist's line up for the concert wardrobe. I can feel a heavier impact on my lower back when I stomp my feet. It looks impressive though, I picked it solely on the esthetic, to be honest. It's regal and rebel at the same time.

For most of the concert I'm also wearing a satin deep green shirt. The bottom of the outfit is a black pair of leather shorts and stockings that match my skin tone.

It's the closing show for this album and it has been almost two hours since I popped out of the toaster. If you don't know what that is, it's that stage mechanism that makes singers seem like they come flying out of the ground, I've only heard it referred to as a toaster and that is what I call it.

I mention the sweating because it doesn't help me cool off as the stage lights are sending crazy heatwaves in my direction along with the illumination. The fact that I have been on some sort of stage adapted marathon to give a good performance for the past two hours also means that my body temperature is naturally high right now. That being said, I usually don't give it a second thought, but I suspected that I wasn't in peak condition when I got off the plane.

I didn't dare tell Linda because she would have cancelled the whole thing. But it's the last show, how could I do that to the fans? Its Madison Square Garden, completely sold out. This was the show that's in place to be filmed too. This isn't calling in sick.

I can hack it through one show. Right?

Wrong.

My throat has been acting up through the entire show. I managed to work it to my advantage one time, when one of the ballad based numbers were on, by suppressing a cough. It scratched, clawed and tickled my throat so much that it created tears. Made it look like the tears were because I was getting emotional while singing and it looked cool as they dropped, one at a time. Now, two hours in, my blood is boiling. Fever.

It's Madison Square Gardens and here's twenty thousand people here for me. There's cameras, which means a lot more people will see this. I may have performed here before but that doesn't make the fact that I have taken these people's money any less important.

The music stops. It's the break between numbers, allocated to my talking with the audience. I squat and my calves and thighs shiver as I go down from the over exertion of my still pulsing muscles. I place my mic on the floor before standing up and shrugging the shirt off. Then I tie it around my waste and look for a water bottle, at the margins of the stage where the staff usually places them on the stage. When I find one I pick up the mic and move towards it. While I do, I swing the mic in a toss from my right hand to my left unconsciously. I notice my own movement when the crowd cheers for it and smile in as many directions as possible. The support is amazing for this one.

Plastic water bottles and towels are usually kept on stage about three different points. I go to the one closest to the middle, where I'm at, and bend to pick it up.

The crowd is not silent but the cheering has calmed and I feel bad because they're waiting. I have to explain myself. So, as I pick up the water bottle I say into the mic, "Sorry guys, I need some water, I'm dripping buckets of sweat. Gotta stay hydrated right?"