Hello! It's been forever since I uploaded, and I don't know much often I will. However, this story was just a fun thing I had on the back burner for a while. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
Another city, more of Dad's gambling, and more of people being pissed off at him. This time around, the moment Dad's squeaky car rolled off the highway, I instantly disliked it more than the other cities we had ran away to. Filth seemed to be oozing from the skyscrapers and the smog in the sky was disgustingly visible.
"Could we go somewhere green for once?" I grumbled.
"Green places don't give my wallet green," Dad responded, blowing smoke into my face after a long inhale from his cigarette. He must have felt clever for the weak pun. "Lucky for you though, Gotham is gonna be different. I'm gonna have all the green in the world."
Like your success in Philly, Boston, New York, Phoenix, Seattle and so on? Plus, you're beating this green meaning money thing like a dead horse. I thought to myself but wouldn't dare actually say anything. Dad was in the throws of a happy fantasy, and I had scars to prove why he shouldn't be angered when day dreaming.
When growing up I used to tell myself that mom couldn't possibly fall in love with my Dad and that he wasn't actually my father. I looked nothing like him. He had whispy blond hair, pale skin and an angular face. I looked like my mom, dark skin, thick curly hair, and rounded features.
Unfortunately, no matter how much I wished that I wasn't related to him, it didn't matter. He controlled my life, mom said he was my dad and he referred to himself as my dad, so it was pointless to fight it.
The car pulled into an empty space in front of a rundown brick building.
"Say hello to our new home, Tills."
The building was like every other place dad and I stayed at, but dad seemed to be in a good mood about it. No need to make a snide remark no matter how much I wanted to.
The little apartment was just as appealing on the inside as it was on the outside. Worn down, cockroaches crawling around, the smell of mold, and some blood and piss stains in various places.
Luckily there were two bedrooms so at least I wasn't confined to the couch.
Wordlessly, I carried my duffle bag into the smaller of the two bedrooms and sat onto the mattress. I ran my finger along the underside curve of the bed and was delighted that my finger came back with no signs of bed bugs.
I got to work unpacking, pulling out some clothes and hanging them up in the doorless closet. Then came the few books I owned, then my notebook, my two pairs of shoes, my watercolor folder, and lastly the photograph of my mom and I.
"Tills," Dad was looming in the doorway, "I set up a gig for you that starts at 7. Don't be late." He threw me a piece of paper with the directions to the location and made his way back to his own room.
I was miffed that this came so out of nowhere. I needed to warm up my voice and get ready when all I wanted to do was rest after the long car ride. However, Dad had given me a choice. Either I was to sing at gigs he set up or he was going to pimp me out to men.
Regardless I was completely under his thumb. Whoever was paying for my performance often was made sure to keep an eye on me and made sure that they contacted my manager/Dad when I arrived and when I left. There was no chance of being able to successfully run away. I tried time and time again which only resulted in beatings and a threat to start pimping me to men.
I quickly slipped on black a dress, put on some makeup and did up my hair the best that I could. I then started doing some vocal exercises, feeling the phlegm in my throat starting to clear.
I was looking forward to at least getting some space from Dad and hopefully being tipped while singing that I could be able to keep. Dad was the one who got all the money which fueled his gambling which in turn meant he needed more money to pay off his debts, which made it my fault when we ended up moving because I wasn't providing enough.
Letting out a long frustrated sigh, I tried pushing away the negative thoughts. I looked at the map and decided to get an early start on getting to the location. I needed to familiarize myself with the crummy city anyway.
Dad didn't say anything as I left. He knew that I wouldn't try running away again. Sometimes it was tempting just to give it another go, but my fingers would start to tingle and I could faintly taste blood in my mouth, making me drop the idea.
I looked down at the paper map and around at the nearest street sign. The city was pretty grimy, my eyes glancing at each building, each broken beer bottle, each discarded needle.
I wonder what it would be like living in the country. Maybe surrounded by trees. Or a farm. Cow manure is sure to smell better than human feces, stinking garbage, and piss.
I was getting unwanted looks from a handful of men as I walked down the street and I wished that I threw on a jacket to cover up my black dress despite how warm it was. I heard a whistle and a guy shout how he wanted to grab my ass.
Just keep walking. Don't look at anyone. Just keep moving forward. I finally reached where I would be performing, a surprisingly up scale looking club called the Iceberg Lounge.
I walked up to the door where a bouncer was already standing despite it being early.
"Hello, I'm Ottilie Summer. I was scheduled to sing here tonight but I think I'm a bit early." The bouncer nodded, flashing me a surprisingly kind smile for his large intimidating appearance.
"Bossman said to be on the lookout for you and to call your manager once you arrived. Walk right in. The club isn't open yet, so you can set up the stage however you like."
"Thank you," I smiled as he opened the door for me and I walked in. The place was just as fancy looking on the inside, and it baffled my mind that Dad was able to somehow book me at the place.
The iceberg theme was overt, with ice sculptures decorating the lounge and an artic feel. I then noticed the stage area. A microphone was already set up along with a piano, which was all I needed.
Walking onto the stage, I ran my fingers over the piano, testing to make sure that it was in key. I smiled as each plink rang out in tune and then went to the microphone. I adjusted it to match my shorter height, then started speaking into it.
"Testing, testing. Hello." I went through a few scales and I was thrown off at how surprisingly live the microphone was. I could tell that the mic was much more expensive than others that I had sung into. I was used to having to strain to be heard, but this was a welcomed change. This just meant that I would have to be careful how loud of a breath I would take.
"Ah, you must be Ms. Summer." Looking up, I saw a plump man with a large nose and a cane waddled towards me. "I am Oswald Cobblepot, the owner of this fine establishment." The man was well dressed in a tuxedo and had what looked to be two body guards on either side of him.
I quickly walked down from the stage the close the distance between us.
"Mr. Cobblepot, it is wonderful to meet you," I smiled as I stuck out my hand and he seemed pleased by this, taking my hand to shake.
"I have seen several videos of your performances and was thrilled when your manager contacted me. Your voice is magnificent."
"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot. Your lounge is beautiful. I've never performed in such a lovely venue." I wasn't used to talking so formally, but I could tell that this was a man who clearly was more upscale than most bars I had performed for and had a more uppity air about him. The more I stroked his ego, the more likely he would ask me to perform for his lounge again.
"You are too kind Ms. Summer. Is the stage and microphone to your liking?"
"Oh, yes. It will be perfect."
"Would you like some water? You are here earlier than expected, have you eaten yet?" I could feel my stomach about to growl but I tried to squelch it. I didn't want to take food without building up at least a more friendly relationship with Mr. Cobblepot, but water was safe.
"Thank you, but I'm not hungry. However, could I have some water? And possibly a bottle for onstage in-between songs?"
"Yes of course." He snapped a finger and one of his men quickly disappeared to grab me some water. Yeah, this guy not only had money, but he had power.
Shit if this guy is a mob boss, Dad better not be gambling anywhere he owns. If Dad gets in bad with this guy then my chances of being able to sing here would vanish.
"I have already paid your manager. He also had me promise to call him when you are finished, however, I want you to feel free to stay around even after you finish singing. So, when you want to leave just let me know and I'll call your manager." Mr. Cobblepot had a look in his eyes that seemed to know that my "manager" was being incredibly controlling. However, it was nice to know that he was giving me some freedom to have some time to myself before having to head back.
"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot."
His remaining bodyguard bent down and whispered something into Cobblepot's ear. He frowned then let out a long sigh.
"I'm sorry my dear, it seems I have to leave. But I am looking forward to your performance. Edmund should be back with your waters soon." With that, he swiftly walked off to take care of his own matters.
Just as he had said, the man had returned carrying two water bottles along with what looked to be an apple.
He handed over the items to me and I looked at the apple curiously.
"You looked hungry," He stated, and I smiled.
"Thank you, Edmund." That got a small smile out of the stoic looking man, and he walked off.
I quickly ate the apple, relishing in the sweet taste and how it settled my stomach and then started to sip at the water. My mind went over the repertoire I had prepared for the evening. Slow and jazzy. Not my favorite but not too bad nonetheless.
Soon enough, the doors were open, and it was time for me to set the mood. I'd be playing the piano for the first hour, switching over to some vocals later.
The Iceberg lounge was calming. Glasses clanked, there were soft murmurs of people talking and my fingers sliding over the piano keys.
When I switched over to singing, I felt my mind become completely immersed into the music. There was no longer the fear of my Dad. There wasn't the pain of missing my mother. It was just me, my voice, and the lyrics.
And just as it felt like it began, it ended. Once I had completed my repertoire, I was escorted off the stage by Edmund who then led me to the bar area.
"Mr. Cobblepot was able to see some of your performance and was very pleased. He said that you are free to a drink and to come to me when you would like to leave, and I will contact your manager." Edmund spoke surprisingly soft for a body guard or bouncer or whatever he was, but his low voice helped to keep me at ease. There was a chance that Dad would get paranoid for not getting a call quickly, however I drew in a deep breath and slowly breathed out, reminding myself that everything would be fine.
Stay for at least a drink. You know you need some sort of calories.
"Thank you, Edmund. Any recommendations for the drinks?"
"Unfortunately, I don't drink, so I wouldn't know. But I'm sure anything is good." Edmund abruptly stiffened, placing his hand to his ear.
"I am sorry, but I have to go. I'll be back soon. Please enjoy yourself." With that, he quickly made his way through the lounge towards the backdoor.
And I was just getting used to talking to Edmund too. I thought with a small frown but then turned to the bar tender.
"Would you recommend any drinks?"
"The Pink Penguin is a popular one," responded the Bar tender and I grinned.
"Sounds fantastic."
The drink was prepared swiftly and once the liquid graced my lips, I let out a content sigh. It was tangy and sweet. It was questionable whether there was even alcohol in there. Still, it was nice to be able to relax away from Dad.
It didn't take long to finish the drink, but I could feel my body starting to relax a bit more due to the alcohol.
Guess that fruity drink did have some harder stuff in it.
"You're a new face." Looking up, I laid eyes on a man approaching. He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, which I knew was mandatory for the club, but it oozed wealth. This wasn't some hand me down suit from his father. This suit was clearly tailored for him and cost hundreds of dollars.
I flashed him a smile, but I knew that I had to be on my guard as well. In my experience, rich men felt entitled to everything they wanted. I had gotten my ass grabbed too many times to come to that conclusion.
"It's my first time here," I said politely.
"You don't say. Well, you have good taste," he grinned. "May I buy you a drink?"
"Yes, thank you." Stay polite. Plus, another free drink is always good.
"Not a problem. What would you like?"
"I'm good with anything."
"Anything?" the man questioned with a smirk. I didn't know if he was trying to make some sort of double-entendre by the way he was smirking, but I replied,
"Anything."
"Well alright then," he smiled and looked over at the bar tender. "Pierre, two of my usuals."
"Coming up, Jay." The bartender grinned.
I supposed that the man really was a regular with how friendly he and the bartender seemed.
"So, what are you doing here tonight? Figured it was worth a check out due to the yelp reviews?" he was curious, and I knew he was asking due to my attire not being nearly as expensive as my surroundings. Most likely he was wondering how I even afforded to get in.
"I sang here tonight and just finished up. You didn't hear me?"
"I'm afraid not, I just came in." the man smiled as the drinks were placed in front of him. Two tumblers of auburn liquid.
"Thanks," he said to the bartender, then handed me a glass.
"Cheers to your singing then."
"Cheers." I smiled as we gently clanked the glasses together and took a sip. He was watching me, smirking all the while as I drank from the tumbler. The moment the liquid hit my tongue I knew why.
It was whisky. Sure, it was whisky with a hint of cinnamon and apple, but it still was incredibly strong whisky. Little did he know, performing at many dive bars had prepared me for the sudden taste of whisky.
I swallowed the sip I took and said,
"You struck me more as a champagne guy than a whisky guy."
I then took another sip. It was a really good drink.
"I'm surprised that you like it. Most people I meet can't handle hard whisky."
What people are you hanging around then?
"Whisky is a reliable drink to drown in. Wine gets too sweet after a while and vodka I can only take so much of."
"I'm taking it that you don't drink champagne much."
"Not really. I can't afford it most of the time." The man raised an eyebrow at my statement.
"Singing in the Iceberg lounge and you can't afford champagne?"
Can we stop asking about my lack of money? That would be great.
"Yeah, my manager is a dick," I grumbled.
"Ah, I see. Controls your finances?"
If by control you mean, takes it all.
"Yeah."
"Sounds rough. But hey, I hear they pay a lot here so the more gigs you do maybe you'll be allotted more money."
Ha! Like that'll happen.
I raised the whisky glass.
"Here's to hoping." I smirked then took a swallow and the man followed suit.
"You got a name?"
"Jason. Just Jason." He smiled. "And you?"
"Ottilie Summer."
"Wow. Don't hear a beautiful name like that every day." He flashed me a smile and I wanted to laugh at his flirting. However, I would admit that it was endearing.
"You can thank my mom for that." I then chuckled a bit. "It's fun to watch the people at Starbucks try to spell it correctly."
"I bet."
"So, Jason Just Jason, what brings you here so often?"
"Mostly the good drinks. Sometimes business."
"Business, huh. What kind of business?"
Jason smirked, a mischievous air surrounding him.
"Now Ms. Summer, I can't give away all of my secrets. I'd have no allure then."
"Yeah, it's the shroud of mystery that gives you your allure," I said sarcastically. The guy had to know that he looked like he was chiseled by Michelangelo. He didn't need much else to lure women in.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned playfully.
I wasn't good at flirting. Witty banter sometimes I was good at depending on the topic, but I was far from a smooth talker. Being direct was how I handled most situations, and this was no different.
"You look like a male model, you think mystery is the only thing attractive about you?"
Jason seemed surprised by my statement and he chuckled.
"That's fair, but it is what keeps people hooked."
"Mhm." I hummed, letting some sarcasm bleed into it.
"For thinking that I look like a male model, you seem to be resisting my charms." Jason didn't seem put off but more curious.
"What can I say, I don't know you well enough to find you attractive."
"I see, so mystery doesn't work for you."
"Yeah, it kind of does the opposite."
"Well then, what would you like to know, Ms. Summer?" I hadn't anticipated him asking that. I thought for a second, then asked,
"What's your favorite song?" Jason's eyebrows knit together, his face contorting into something almost resembling pain.
"How could you ask me that? There are so many good ones."
"Okay, well, if you could listen to any song right now, what would it be?" Jason was pensive for a moment.
"What song am I in the mood for?" he mused to himself. "Jailhouse Rock, Elvis."
"Wait, really? Elvis?" That was one of the last people I would have thought he would want to hear.
"Yeah, it's an oldie but a goodie and I wouldn't mind listening to it right now," Jason said with a small shrug.
"That's fair. You didn't strike me as an Elvis guy."
"Really? You know I've had people say that I look a bit like him." I squinted my eyes at him noting the black hair and light eyes. However, other than that I didn't see much of a resemblance.
"I guess I can see it," I fibbed.
"What about you?"
"Me?"
"What song could you listen to right now."
I paused a moment, chewing at my bottom lip.
"Hmm… well…"
"Jason?" Out of the side of my vision I could see Edmund returning. Jason's eyes flashed from me to Edmund, and Jason's flirtatious smile didn't falter from his face.
"Hey Eddie."
"Jason, what are you doing here?" Edmund questioned, a tinge of panic in his voice.
"What? I can't stay at my favorite lounge?"
"Jason if Cobblepott sees you-"
"Yeah yeah yeah." Jason rolled his eyes as he stood to his feet. He then looked to me. "Have to leave, but it was nice meeting you, Ottilie. I hope we meet again." Before I could respond, he was weaving his way in and out of the crowd towards the door.
"You know him?" I questioned, looking over at Edmund. He frowned.
"Yeah I know him. That your first time meeting him?"
"Yeah. He's certainly a flirt."
"You can say that again." Edmund let out a long sigh. "Hey, Ms. Summer, if I were you, I'd stay away from him. Jason only brings trouble with him wherever he goes."
"Thanks for the heads up. I certainly don't need a lot of trouble." Jason had disappeared from the building in an instant. I wonder what the beef is between him and Mr. Cobblepot.
"If you're ready, I can take you home now," Edmund said, and I looked up at the man.
"Thank you, Edmund."