The Billionaire Hollywood Movie Star

I cannot wait to get on stage. I stand behind the dark velvet curtains, I hear the pleasant intro of the jazz band, the hum and cheers of the audience, laughter, the Blue Room is packed. It is a luxurious club at the upscale Street Hotel, with polished darkwood tables and upholstered booths, illuminated by violet-blue neon, the entire mid-size room looks electric blue. But right now, I cannot take in and admire the details: I am excited about my performance. I look my best. Usually I look like a young student. I have a round face, wide-set, almond-shaped, dark eyes, full lips that often curl in a smile. My nose is a bit too prominent. "There's nothing wrong with your nose," Grandma snapped - sure as hell she says that, Grandma's nose looks exactly like mine. I have a mocha complexion. I am petite and athletic. Today, I look like a movie star. My makeup is discreet and elegant, my curly dark caramel hair is slicked back from my face with a hairpin, I even added a pink orchid to it. I wear a lemon green dress, richly sequined. And I wear heels. I hear the MC's loud voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Aurora Parker!" I walk onto the stage with a big smile on my face, I take the vintage chrome stand microphone. You cannot recognize people in the audience when you are on stage: the spotlight overhead is too bright and harsh, and the faces are barely visible in the semi-dark. But I can see the band on stage, the guys are smiling as they play smooth jazz. There are flower arrangements at the edge of the stage, lavish bouquets of roses, orchids, gladioli, and dahlias, a sea of bright and pale pink, yellow, red, and purple. I am delighted, I love flowers. They treat me like a star. "I love you, Mami," I sing the dreamy jazz song. "Love you, love you, Mami." It sounds like a romance. The lyrics are fun, the melody is beautiful, the band sounds electrifying. Music, a mix of saxophone, vibraphone, trombone, clarinet, guitar, piano, and drums, is filling the room. I perform two other songs, rhythmic, intoxicating jazz. The applause is getting louder, people are cheering. My smile gets wider, I bow toward the audience. "Thank you," I shout into the microphone. "Good night!" I wave a hand and walk off the stage. # Backstage, as I walk toward the dressing room, choir girls and other singers hug me. I have not met them before, but it seems my performance made an impression. "Aurora, you were fantastic." "The audience is going wild!" "By the way, you've got a surprise visitor --" I walk into the dressing room. The tiny room is filled with colorful, sequined costumes, and a couple of girls, doing their makeup and hair, they are staring at me. I am staring at someone, too. A woman is sitting at my desk. A white woman. Petite, well-dressed, in a tailored white satin suit, she is wearing fine jewelry, large rhinestones. Light brown hair, crystal blue eyes, a warm smile on her pretty face. She looks like a boss. If you live with a woman like Grandma Elisha Parker, you can recognize a woman boss in a second. "Aurora Parker?" Her voice is a husky, firm alto. She holds out a hand. "Leslie Wells." Her blue eyes are getting brighter. "I work with Hollywood studios. You're gifted. I love the way you sing."