Under My Skin

Two

I couldn't have gotten to the club quicker, making sure that I avoided all speed cameras and sneaky coppers. Every minute that I wasn't at The Ten and Sixth was a wasted opportunity.

The first thing to hit me every time I entered the vintage building was the smell. There was nothing quite like it, with the mix of old wallpaper, bitters and orange peel. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. I'm looking forward to having my own old fashioned after the show.

"Hey, Ella baby!" Tyrone purred. My lips curl as his dulcet tones washed over me like a warm embrace.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice," I said, jumping up and giving him a peck on his stubbled cheek. "Dick Head McGee was particularly delightful today."

He placed his hand under my chin and smiled. "When are you gonna run away with me?"

"As soon as you start being attracted to women." I winked at him as he pinched my cheeks.

I have to admit that I had a teeny crush on Ty when I first started here. He was tall and stocky, with beautiful chestnut skin that stood in stark contrast to his earthen-green eyes. There was something about him, and it wasn't just his sizeable frame that made me feel safe. After I'd asked him out and he gently let me down. But after a few Singapore Slings and karaoke nights we ended up quite close. I don't know what I'd do without him.

"Details, baby girl. All details." He chuckled to himself as I skipped to the green room. I'd always loved how this place, with all its dark-treated timber trimmings and warm lighting reminded me of my uncle's old billiard room. Everything about this place spelled haven to me.

The Tiffany-blue, velvet draping hadn't been cleaned in a while, so we made sure not to rustle them up too much. I shimmied past the thick veil and clapped my hands when Adrian, Stan and Francis all waved at me. My band was here, and I was ready to party like it was 1945.

Its hard to explain, but when I walked through those double doors I'd transform. No more of that timid, doormat Ella. Stage Ella was confident. People don't mess with stage Ella, because stage Ella is charismatic, and let's face it, absolute sex on a stick.

With each pin curl I set, and every victory roll I coated with a lethal amount of hairspray, I became a different person. Unfortunately, I chanced a glance in the mirror before putting my powdered armour on, and my boss' nasally drone assaulted my ears. Jesus Christ, that's a face only a mother could love.

My eyes quickly darted away from my awful reflection as I swallowed down the boulder that formed in my throat. Put on your mask, Ella. No one can see you with your mask on.

I went to work painting. With every stroke of the cosmetic brush, I felt more like myself ... well, the self I wanted to be, at least. With my foundation complete, I was finally able to look in the mirror and contour. I flashed my pearly whites as I completed the transformation.

"El! Are you done yet?" Frankie's voice cut through my trance. "It's getting close to our first call."

One thing about Frankie that made him distinct, apart from his immaculate guitar skills and overarching Napoleon syndrome, was his irritation towards tardiness. I remember our old bassist being eight minutes late for a rehearsal, and he totally flipped his shit. It was difficult not to giggle at the five-foot-five machine throwing tables and flinging his hands in that signature Italian fashion. With a bullshit here, and a cazzate there. You get the idea.

"I'm coming, Frankie. Don't worry!"

"Yeah, sure you're coming. So's Christmas!" he muttered before huffing. The old floorboards whined in unison with his cranky plodding, back and fourth in front of the door.