Phoebe's Performance

Prologue - Part 1

27 July 2020

Hello Wattpadders,

Firstly, I wanted to thank everyone for all the support you've given me on Phoebe's Performance. About two years ago I received some editorial feedback on this novel which I put in a drawer. I haven't revisited this project for a number of reasons, mostly because I had a baby girl around the same time as I was given the feedback and last year I was given a different writing opportunity. However, there has been overwhelming support about this book as it is. The private messages and comments have honestly provided me with so much encouragement that I can't not attack the editorial changes to make this the best book that I can possibly deliver you. All these messages have made me realise that I do have something people love.

So this Prologue is the first sequence of changes for you readers. And I'm also doing them so I can get Book 2 (Phoebe's Wish) right. I hope you enjoy.

Happy reading.

A

***

PROLOGUE

He exits the stage and he sees her a mere meter away. A towel is thrust into his hand. He takes this moment to think as he buries his face in the white fabric.
Surely no?
It can't be.
She wouldn't just show up.
Or would she?
He's deliberately slow, allowing himself the time for his brain to catch up and understand. He wipes the sweat from his eyebrows, a sure sign it was a good show.
Maybe he's just on a natural high, and he simply conjured her? Lack of water during a set could possibly do that. And hell, it was a damn good show and yes he'd admit it. He's missed her. Not that he'd dare tell her that. Besides she'd needed to go - for her own career. So he'd been supportive, and said what a good boss would say, "Kathleen, darling, you are very replaceable."
And of course she'd balked and he remembered her cute scowl and the way she had furrowed her nose until she'd realised because he knew, and she of course knew, that 'replaceable' was something she certainly was not.
That hair. Her laugh...
But how could he have ever stopped her? A life force like Kathleen...his Kath. Well...she'd never been quite his unfortunately.
But now whatever is happening in his chest was uncomfortably tight and he felt his hands shake. He hated losing such control.

He relinquishes his towel and finally looks up.

He doesn't notice who exactly from his crew takes the towel. He's too preoccupied by the notion of Kathleen, wondering momentarily if he's imagined her.

She lingers. She's indeed real.

Rather than approaching her, habit has him operating on autopilot, unbuttoning his stage shirt and like a well-oiled machine the garment glides away, extracted skilfully by his assistant. A robe is thrown round his shoulders and a water bottle is thrust in his hands.
He must look like an expensive piece of property which he supposes he is. Take that Kath. I've gone up at least ten million in value.
He sips the cool liquid then sculls the whole bottle. His thirst is always insatiable after a show. He snatches another glance. Her hair... he looks away as
delight bubbles inside him and grins and turns back to her direction.

Her eyes gleam and he knows exactly what she's thinking before she says it: wish someone did that for me.

He considers various retorts like: when you're a superstar, Kathleen, they will.

God, he wants her to succeed, probably as much as she wants to. If he didn't think she'd reach heady heights, he'd never have let her walk out of his life so easily. But now she's here...she takes a step forward.

"Wish someone did that for me," she says with predictability and walks toward him, graceful like a dancer. She wears a short black dress. He's not quite used to her wearing anything else other than ripped jeans and he loses his train of thought as the fabric swishes just above her knees. Her elegant high heels show off a pair of toned long legs. Would they wrap easily round his body? He finds his head, chooses a different line. "I have you to thank for that."