A separate building! Of course! It made perfect sense. For a moment there, she was feeling inadequate for having missed an entire room and questioning her confidence in her ability to traverse the world on her own. The complete lack of seatbelts was also logical now that she thought about it. It was not as though her husband was about to let a car crash do her in and cut her fragile immortality short. Age and disease couldn't touch her, but mortal wounds still presented a danger.

Once the engine's growl from waking up settled into a contented purr, Lydia slid across the seat to cuddle up to his side and enjoy the ride. It was smooth, a gentle hum the only way she could even tell they were moving.

"Ya wanna drive Bunny?"

She gaped for a moment before deducing that he must have been teasing her, then elbowed his gut firmly.

"You're not funny."

Even if he was serious‒ he couldn't be‒ she would be too nervous and terrified to even get any enjoyment out of it. Driving was not a skill her vision had stolen from her that she lamented, though she could appreciate a nice car for what it was. Content to rest her head on his shoulder and watch the fuzzy, colorful world blow by, the rest of the drive was a breeze. In no time at all, they were pulling up to the curb in front of a building where Lydia could hear people talking and laughing, upbeat swing music muted through the brick.

Nervous to try getting out on her own in case she tripped and made a fool of herself for her Neitherworld debut, she fiddled with the tassels on her skirt and waited for her husband to help her out like she knew he would.

He pulled the car up haphazardly on the curb then stepped out of the driver side door before leaning back in toward her, taking her hand, and coaxing her to slide across the seat and out his side. He wasn't going to let her out on the street side, not with the way the dead drove.

"Ya wanna table up front? Or ya wanna just spend the night dancin'?" His voice was teasing. He knew if he was going to get her to dance in a public place they would have to work on it at home first. Maybe he could enlist the tutor into helping.

He pulled her along the sidewalk and sent the car home. He would just transport them home when she was ready. That way it would be quick and they could get on with other activities. He noticed the looks from the door men as they stepped up to the entrance, and ushered Lydia in. The entrance hall of the club was dark and the music out here was muted. Stopping them at the coat check, he relieved his little wife of her coat and passed it off before pulling her through the draped doorway into the main room of the club.

The main room was dark and smokey. The live band sat along the back of the big main stage. It very much had the feel of a 1920's jazz club, everything done up in deep reds and rich purples.

As they stepped into the room the noise from the crowd died. He ignored it and made to step towards the bar to ask after Ginger when he felt Lydia's hands gripping the back of his jacket. Her little form shook as she tucked herself against him. He paused and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek and get his lips near her ear.

"Ya good, babes?" He pulled her in closer, his arm around her shoulders. "Lets get ya a drink n' find us a table."

Lydia didn't know what happened. She was so excited, bubbling and giddy in the car the whole drive there, but once the sound of the dead mingling hit her ears, everything became very real. Socializing, a skill she was not gifted at to begin with, was something she was out of practice with.

For six months, it had been just she, Betelgeuse, and Madame Reinold. When they took their exotic dates in the living realm, it was always just the two of them, and if any concierges or service industry workers needed to be spoken to or dealt with, it was Betelgeuse handling the affair while wearing his mortal skin.

There was no subterfuge here. She didn't have a fake I.D. and didn't need one. They were purely themselves. Judging by the abrupt and jarring silence that took the crowd in a chokehold upon their entrance to the club, themselves was enough. Why had they all gone quiet like that? Was it her? Because she was breathing? It must have been. Lydia could fathom no other reason.

"Ya good babes?"

She hadn't realized how she was trailing behind him like a shy child in a Doctor's office until he dragged her from behind him to his side. The eerie silence didn't appear to phase him. She just knew they were being watched and it made her skin crawl.

"Everyone's staring at us," she hushed fearfully, acutely aware of her volume and therefore barely audible. She didn't need to see to know, she just knew. Her feet felt like lead beneath her as he ushered her somewhere‒ the bar. It had been crowded, but there was no need to search for a stool. Upon their approach, ghouls scattered like roaches, their avoiding footsteps loud in her ears.

"It's because of me, isn't it?"

This is why he didn't want to bring her out here among his kind. He was trying to protect her. She was too different. Too much. They were going to reject her. Her bottom lip trembled, eyes going glassy and breaths quick as panic crept in.

When she mentioned that everyone was looking at them, he strained up and glared around the room as he ushered her onto a barstool. The noise came back quickly starting with the band, then the crowd caught on.

"It's because of me, isn't it?"

"Nah, ain't cause o' you." He sighed inwardly before turning and catching the eye of the bartender. "The lady'll have a French '75. N' just make it with the gin n' champagne, no add-ins. I'll take whiskey, neat. Also, go grab me Ging, I wanna introduce her ta someone."

He moved to put himself between her and the main floor, leaning in so he had her caged between him and the bar top. No, they hadn't gone quiet at the sight of her. He would be surprised if they even noticed her. He was used to rooms going quiet and bars emptying when he walked it. If she thought he was a nasty customer topside, it was nothing compared to what he had done to folks down here. He could smell the sour scent of her anxiety building and noticed her lip starting to tremble.

"Bunny, really, it ain't you. None o' that now, we came to have some fun." His lips were brushing her ear, voice low.

The bartender came back with their drinks, giving Lydia a funny look after she didn't reach for hers when it was set in front of her. Betelgeuse returned it with a glare that promised pain. He spent so much time and energy setting Lydia up for success when it came to her impaired vision, he wasn't about to have this shit stain ruin her time over not announcing her drink. If coming to Arachnophobia became any sort of regular affair, he would have to talk to Ginger about her staff.

"Your… your drink ma'am, and sir… the boss says she'll be out in a jiff." The man scurried away. Betelgeuse wondered if Lydia would have been put off her drink had she known the man serving it had an ax sticking out of his skull.

He moved the drink closer to Lydia's open hand and drank his down on one quick motion.

"See we got ya a drink, n' as soon as I get to introduce ya ta Ginger we'll go find ourselves some fun. Sound good baby-doll?"

The crowd coming back to life around them eased her nerves some. The drink did more. She cupped the wine glass childishly with both hands. They were shaking and she didn't trust her grip. Then, she held the lip close to her mouth so that she could nurse from the liquid courage steadily.

"Sound good baby-doll?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded up and down, unfurling a little from where she had shrunk into a slouch with deflated shoulders. She knew she was being difficult and fought to snap herself out of it. If she didn't have a good time tonight, he might never bring her out into the Neitherworld again no matter how much she begged.

"I'm sorry." He earned a sad, tiny smile and a peck to the cheek for his efforts. "I'm being silly. It's just… all the people‒"

"EDDIE!"

A high-pitched feminine voice with a thick Brooklyn accent rang out louder than others in the crowd. Lydia could hear a flurry of heels clacking hard on the ground as though many feet were passing by, but could only sense one aura belonging to the sound; vibrant and friendly, a warm shade of magenta.

"She canceled on me! Again! I need ya to call Ella, Marilyn, Audrey, Rosemary, Connie, anybody! Everybody! Call FREDDY if ya gotta, I can put up with that arrogant sonuvabitch for a night if it means I'll have an openin' act for a full goddamn house! Oh‒! BJ? I didn't know you were here."

The stranger's panicked frenzy calmed for a moment when she recognized one of the patrons at her bar. Lydia was in deep thought, eyes closed while she attempted to place that voice. Why was it so familiar? Likewise, Ginger who had heard all of the gossip about Betelgeuse's mysterious new wife was equally curious about his petite, pale companion.

Their puzzled silences broke in perfect consecutive timing.

"Is that…?"

"Ginger Rogers…"

Lydia had finally placed the voice. Ginger wore a look on her face like she had just been punched in the gut. No one recognized her, not anymore. Starstruck, unwilling to sit there gaping like a socially stunted land-locked fish, Lydia took a step forward, started talking, and couldn't stop.

"Oh my God, you're Ginger Rogers! Beej, you didn't tell me you knew Ginger freaking Rogers!" He was just full of fun secrets tonight. "Miss Rogers, I am‒ just‒ such a huge fan of your work. My mom loved you even more, she watched your movies all the time when I was growing up. Your voice is absolutely beautiful. I'm so… so honored to be meeting you."

Aside from being recognized without having to be introduced, Ginger also could not recall the last time her voice was praised and not her fancy footwork. She was so shocked by the words coming out of the living girl's mouth that for a moment, she completely forgot that she didn't have anyone to entertain her full house of drunk stiffs.

He grinned and greeted the once woman, now spider, when she recognized him.

"I'm surprised ya didn't hear us make our entrance, Ging." He lit a cigarette and turned to his wife. "Sweetheart, I'd like ya ta meet…"

"Ginger Rogers…"

"...yep." He popped the 'p' and leaned against the bar, smoke curling out his nostrils.

He knew Lydia would love Ginger. He just wasn't aware of what a big fan she was. A wall was filled in the living room with shelves of vintage records, he knew the kind of things she liked. This made sense. He was just irritated with himself that he hadn't realized what he was doing by introducing the women.

"Ging, this is my wife. Lydia." Lydia had almost cried when they first got here, and now Ginger looked like she was going to start. He needed to break this up before the waterworks started. "Did I hear ya right, Ging? Yer opener pulled a no-show?"

The look on Ginger's face when he introduced Lydia as his wife was not a good one. He was glad Lydia couldn't see it and that Ginger was trying to be polite but he knew he was going to get an earful from the spider as soon as his wife was distracted.

"It's Bunny's first night out on the town this side o' the veil. Knew there was only one place that would show her the best time." A stabling hand was on his wife's shoulder now. She stepped away from the bar when she gushed over Ginger, and he didn't want her to lose her bearings, especially with all the noise.

Ginger did not have time for this… but she could make time for a fan. Especially one that could pinpoint her by voice alone. That this little girl was being introduced as Betelgeuse's wife pulled further on heartstrings. One of her legs twitched with an urge to throttle him when she took in the many blemishes only barely disguised by pearls glistening in the low light‒ no, not disguise. That bastard meant the necklaces to complement them.

One last nasty look was shot at the poltergeist, her glare promising a talking to later, before Ginger softened when regarding her young fan.

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest! And so gawwgeous too! I don't think anybody's noticed my singin' since... Gosh, I musta been breathin' still. The audience down here only cares about the legs, ya get me? Buncha stiffs."

Being a charming worldly celebrity, Ginger had tact. She knew better than to draw attention to any of the young girl's many apparent misfortunes; the company she kept, that she was present in the afterlife before her time, that she had been taken in by a monster and couldn't even see well enough to fight him off.

"Stick around n' we'll chat sommor aftuh thuh show, honey‒ if I even have one. No, Betel," Ginger finally deigned to acknowledge him, thoroughly and completely miffed with his entire existence. He was a fan of hers, so she fell into the slim category of people who could get away with giving him guff. "I don't have an openin' act, thank you very much."

She sniffed haughtily, turning her nose up at him like a rightly offended lady of class.

"So unless you wanna get on stage n' play some magic tricks, I'll have ta be gettin' back ta skimmin' my lil' red book."

"I ain't doin' no magic tricks for these fucks."

He motioned to the crowd on the dance floor, then tapped his cigarette to knock the ash off the end as he lounged against the bar. Then, he pushed himself up off the bar with Lydia's drink in his hand and draped his other arm around her shoulders, easier to guide her through the crowd.

"Let's go find that table, baby-girl. Ginger's a busy lady. We can come back when her web ain't in so many knots."

He started to pull Lydia away, towards the dance floor, before leveling her with a thoughtful look. His little songbird was as good as any of the singers Ginger hosted on the regular. Better than most actually, and she was fresh, not something they got very often on this side. He had heard her recently during one of her lessons and her piano skills had really taken off. It was unfair, really. She was almost better than him in the short time she had been practicing than he was after decades of playing.

"Ya know, sweets… you could sing here."

He found them a table and pulled out the seat for her. It wasn't too close to the front of the room and it was just off the dance floor. He was still hopeful he could talk her into at least one dance. After setting her drink down in front of her making the glass clink on the tabletop, he did as he always did when they were out and moved his chair around next to hers. Leaning over so he could drape his arm across the back of her seat, his fingers danced along the edge of her exposed shoulder. With a look back towards the bar, Ginger received a smarmy wink.

"Me?"

Big bambi eyes blinked out at nothing in confusion.

"Here?"

She knew she had talent but this place was on a whole other plane. Literally. How could someone like her ever be allowed to be the opening act for the Ginger Rogers? It couldn't be so. Brows furrowing, she reclaimed her drink for another nerve-calming sip, still starstruck and flustered.

"No." Her head shook. She knew better than to set herself up for failure. "I can't get on a stage and‒ and‒ no, I couldn't."

Ginger's angry shouts were increasing in volume in the background. Whoever she was on the phone with was allegedly a "useless heifer" and unwelcome to step foot there ever again, Ginger didn't care how many regulars she dragged in. The situation was dire then. White-blonde brows furrowed deeper.

"If I messed up? In front of everyone? In front of her? I would never forgive myself. We could never come back here again."

Glass shattered and Lydia flinched. Ginger had just thrown a whole bottle, a string of colorful curses snapped at a patron who stared too long. Nothing pissed Ginger off more than a no-show. They didn't get to call out sick anymore! They were dead! Whatever happened to "The show must go on"?

"... but… I guess maybe... if she needs someone…"

"C'mon, Bunny, ya give me shows at home all the time. Here at least ya get ta keep yer clothes on." He was teasing her. Sitting up fully, he flagged down one of the cocktail waitresses and ordered her another drink.

"I used to come here all the time, n' yer just as good as any o' those hacks Ging puts on stage." His fingers toyed with the string of pearls around her neck.

"If I messed up? In front of everyone? In front of her? I would never forgive myself. We could never come back here again."

As he pulled her chair around to face him his hand slid up to cup the side of her face, thumb caressing her cheek. He leaned in so that their lips were almost touching.

"Ya ain't gonna mess up babe." Her fresh drink was set on the table and he pressed it into her fingers. He leaned back into his seat giving his girl a little space to think it over and grinned as Ginger smashed a bottle.

Chaos‒ he'd missed it. As much as he enjoyed watching the spider throw a tantrum he also didn't want his wife's first night out in the Neitherworld ruined. Why let her listen to the spider rant and rave when they could all instead be listening to his beautiful wife's beautiful voice? Yes, it made perfect sense to the poltergeist. He'd picked Arachnophobia because it was the best, and he had absolute faith that Lydia wouldn't mess up. He had listened to her hundreds of times, she never had an off day. From her voice to the instrument of choice, it was always perfection. Smiling down at her, he pressed a kiss to her cheek as she tentatively agreed.

"Be right back, Bunny." He moved off towards the bar, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips. "Giiiiingerrrr, I think I got an opener for ya."

Lydia was anxious to be left alone, watching longingly after his disappearing aura, but stayed put and sipped her drink, trusting that he wouldn't stray too far. At his call, Ginger, snapped to face him, fangs bared and irises glowing hot pink. As riled as she was, some unfortunate soul was going to fall victim to her web tonight.

"Giiiiingerrrr, I think I got an opener for ya."

"It was a JOKE, Betel! You even think about touchin' my stage n' we're gonna have some serious problems!"

It became clear that he was not referencing himself with a meaningful glance and gesture back to the table where his bride sat all alone, a ten-foot diameter of unoccupied space around her proving that his intimidation tactics had proved effective. Everyone was too terrified of him to dare going too near. She was tainted by association.

Ginger's lips pursed as she analyzed the girl from afar, head-to-toe. She ran a respectable establishment with a tough crowd that expected talent. Betelgeuse knew this. He wouldn't be offering the girl up if he didn't think she could deliver. Any other night, it would have been a flat No. Folks booked auditions months in advance to get a gig there. It was just rotten luck that she happened to be out a performer on this particular evening.

The girl looked directly at them without seeing them, pretty baby blues wandering off aimlessly soon after. Ginger's expression softened.

"They'll eat her alive."

Her eyes closed. A sigh deflated her thorax.

"Fine. I hold you fully accountable if this goes bad. Take her backstage, tell Johnny I said this is the openuh fuh tonight. He'll make sure she gets set up nice n' doesn't fall off the stage."

"Jesus fuck, the only way I'd get up on yer stage would be t'bring the house down." A nasty smile crawled across his face matching the tone of his voice as he glanced up at the ceiling, as if trying to decide the best way to pull the roof in.

"N' that can be arranged but I meant…"

He gestured back at Lydia, pleased to see everyone was keeping their distance. She looked so small and sad sitting there alone. It tugged at things in his chest. They were here to have a good time and now he'd left her alone. When Lydia cast her glance their way he didn't bother a reassuring smile or wave knowing she would never see it.

"They'll eat her alive."

"Lyds really is talented." He lit a cigarette, face smoothing out as he watched his little bride, then snorted. "She can handle it. Puts up with me fer fucks sake."

He grinned again and crossed his arms, side-glancing the spider, smoke rolling from his nostrils. When Ginger gave him the go-ahead he gave her a real smile, not one of his nasty slimy ones.

"Ya ain't gonna regret it, Ging."

With a wink, he was gone from the bar, reappearing next to Lydia. He knelt down, hand braced on the back of her chair as he leaned in.

"It's showtime, baby-doll. Ging gave ya the green light." Taking her hand, he gave it a little squeeze.

"Let's getcha backstage before ya miss yer curtain."

The longer it took for Betelgeuse to get back, the more Lydia fidgeted and considered braving the crowd to find him. He was back shortly, however, and with terrifying news.

"Ginger gave ya the green light."

Ginger freaking Rogers wanted her, some stupid nobody blind girl, to perform in her jazz club for a full house. She was shaken to the core, back to that in-between place of tangible, heart-pounding excitement and crippling fear of failure. It was too late to chicken out now. Ginger freaking Rogers was expecting her to sing and she was going to goddamnit.

Betelgeuse escorted her through the crowd, then through a door and down a dank hallway that led to a quieter, less-crowded space, but Lydia could still hear the crowd nearby.

"Woah, hey now, bug-daddy," a raspy, jovial voice called out. "You know Ging don't take too kindly to no stray flies on her wall. You can't be back here."

Her husband informed the stranger that Lydia was to be the opening act for the show that night, and his tune changed.

"Spook-tacular," he joked with a chuckle before a very bony‒ literally, Lydia couldn't feel any flesh at all‒ hand took hers, a gentlemanly kiss brushed across her knuckles. "Name's Johnny, lovely to make your acquaintance, Missus Geuse. You're all anybody's been talkin' about. Gotta say, ya live up to the hype, jazz-baby."

Lydia blushed and giggled.

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

He tugged politely, Betelgeuse dropped his hold on her, and the exchange was made. Now Johnny was her grounding point.

"Don't worry, bug-daddy, I'll take care o' the lil lady. You just go find a seat up front where you can watch our girl shine." More blushes and giggles. He was leading her away now toward the band, asking questions that trailed off in the poltergeist's ears the further away they got.

"Got any songs in mind? Me n' the boys can play anythin'. What's your range? Sound like a soprano, I'm thinkin'…"

"Did you just call me me fuckin' bug-daddy?" He shook his head and glared at the skeleton in front of them. "Ginger sent me, I brought ya the openin' act. Lydia, my wife."

His arm tightened around her as Johnny reached out to take her hand. At least he called her Missus. Didn't just go for her first name. At least there's that. But then she was giggling, and was she blushing? He was just about to say fuck it and take her back out to the table when she stepped away with Johnny.

Betelgeuse didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. He'd hesitated in letting Lydia go with Johnny. With all the years he hung around Arachnophobia, he had run into the skeleton enough to know if he said he would take care of Lydia, he would. But Betelgeuse didn't like the way the other man touched his wife, even if it was just enough to guide her safely through the backstage area. He didn't Iike how familiar the other man acted with his wife. He for sure hated the way she blushed and giggled after him.

As Johnny and Lydia moved towards the band discussing her upcoming performance, Betelgeuse could feel that dark part of him start to rise up. At some point he'd crushed his lit cigarette in his hand and was just now noticing. Letting the crushed tobacco and paper fall to the floor, he rolled his shoulders and stretched out his eternally stiff neck before moving himself back to the table he'd selected for his wife. One moment he was backstage, the next he was seated in a chair. After catching a waitress to make an order, he settled in to wait for the show.

A song was picked, one that Lydia had been practicing exclusively on the occasions Betelgeuse left her alone at home to run an errand or grocery shop for her mortal food. She had meant to surprise him with a sexy show, confident now in how the risque little mini-performance played in her head, but saw no reason she couldn't just tune out the crowd and do the same thing here‒ sans bedroom clothing.

"I'll be right over here if ya need me, jazz-baby," Johnny hushed from stage left behind her before the curtain rose. She was settled at the center, seated at a grand ebony piano. Next to it, she was especially luminous. Stinging bright limelight flooded the stage, causing her to flinch, eyes watering.

The crowd, which had gone deathly silent upon seeing who it was that owed them entertainment, shuddered in tandem, several gasping audibly. Lydia was forced to shut her eyes, unable to bear the light, and had to take a deep breath to calm trembling fingers over the foreign instrument. This wasn't the one she knew, the one she played for her lover. It had a different energy.

Another deep breath.

"I…"

It was just a single pure note soaring out over the terrified souls before joining them in death. The air was so thick with tension, a chainsaw couldn't have cut through it. Was she going to choke?

"... put a spell on you..."

Ghostly fingers began to move gently over the keys. The band struck up a dark, seductive beat.

"... because you're mine…"

He nearly blew all the lights in the building when she flinched. Ginger must have noticed him pulling in energy because just as he was about to throw it outward the stage, the lights dimmed. He was still moments away from just taking her away. It was fine bringing her here but insisting she get on stage was another thing. How could he have been so stupid? She was right to have been hesitant. This was a horrible idea, one meant only to bolster her confidence and show off his prize to the other dead fucks. The latter was working a bit too well. She was a vision on the stage. The dim floodlights made her appear as ghostly as the rest of them.

He could taste her pulse on his tongue even across the room, nervous and rapid. She took a deep breath and let loose the first note. Just like when she sang for him in Notre Dame, it stunned. He didn't think that he would ever get used to her singing. Even at home when she put on shows for him, or when he caught her practicing when she wasn't expecting him. It was one of those things about her that he cherished deeply. This experience amplified that sensation, either because she was currently out of reach or because she was being observed by others. Shared.

As the band picked up with the accompaniment, he leaned forward in his seat, cigarette set aside in the ashtray and his newly delivered drink forgotten. As always when she sang for him, there was just Lydia. This wasn't anything he'd heard her practice or sing before. He froze, not going to the quiet place that lived within him but to a place where he was listening to her. The way she listened to the bells.

"You better stop the things you do…"

With the lights dimmed Lydia could open her eyes which glistened under the muted violet light to mystifying effect. Gone were all the nerves from before. All she could hear or feel was the music flowing through her body and soul.

"I tell ya... I ain't lyin'…
No… I ain't lyin'..."

As her fingers danced along the keys, her now lax body swaying easily with the melody and the motions of playing, Johnny blew a smooth saxophone riff that complemented the sweet, hurt quality of her voice. She hadn't meant to imply anything with the song. The crowd would think what they would‒ and they did. Even in the low light, she glowed, bruises and bitemarks sticking out harshly on the milky canvas. Her fingers hit the keys harder, tension entering her arms.

"You know I can't stand it,
You're runnin' around,
You know better, Daddy..."

Her head lolled back and around her shoulders. The thin little spaghetti strap nearest the audience slipped down, showing more skin, more hickeys. The boa slung around her arms so elegantly lost the battle with her constant motion, drifting down her back and to the stage floor in a dreamy sweep.

"I can't stand it 'cause you put me down,

Oh, no..."

She cut a tragic, untouchable figure, gleaming like a spited goddess among the dead she serenaded. Ever the actress, she played the role properly. Music wasn't just pretty sounds and playing the right notes at the right time. It was emotion. This particular tune called for a wicked sensuality that Betelgeuse had helped her tap into well enough to deliver a performance like this. She would thank him properly later.

"I put a spell on you…
Because you're mine…"

She had better be ready to go as soon as her number was , she given him too many 'private' shows. Her writhing against the piano just about did him in. He expected that this would have been her newest bedroom showcase had she not needed something for the stage. Taking a deep unneeded breath, he leaned back in his seat, adjusting himself in his pants, picked up his cigarette, and took a long drag. He knew she would kill. If he was being honest, his wife had done far better than most of the headliners he had seen here, though he was admittedly biased.

Her whole performance was perfection, his wife truly was an actress. It was a shame that no one topside had noticed her talents. That she was mostly blind be damned. Every emotion she chose to share punched him in the gut. He could tell the rest of the room felt it too. Little witch. His little witch.

As she brought the song to a close and her fingers played the last notes he sent a bouquet of lilies to her arms. He would never forgive himself for not making sure she'd had a bouquet at their wedding‒ not to mention a whole host of other things‒ but he would make sure she consistently had them for the rest of eternity. That was one of his smaller regrets from their wedding, the first being he never gave her a proper engagement ring. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingering the box there. He had wanted to make that right for some time. Perhaps this evening in the light of her success, he would.

When the crowd around him exploded with applause, the reality of the situation started to sink in. This wasn't her singing to him in the music room, ending in a quick chase to the bedroom. The public at large had seen her perform. He'd wanted to show her off and encourage her. Now…? He didn't like this. Without putting much thought into it he slipped from the table and ghosted, waiting just off stage for her.

Applause broke out so loud and thunderous, Lydia was jarred a bit, an innocent deer-in-the-headlights look aimed out over the crowd that only made them love her more. As she stood somewhat awkwardly from the bench to face the applause, a bouquet materialized in her arms. A brief moment was taken to press her face into the soft, sweet-smelling petals before she bowed deeply, just once, in humble thanks to her audience. They roared louder.

Johnny retrieved her boa, draped it over her shoulders without touching her to get her attention, then offered his arm to escort her off the stage, lathing congratulations on an excellent show all the way. Betelgeuse was there waiting for her, but Ginger beat him to the punch.

"Honey," she gasped from very close nearby, like she was tampering down an urge to throw her many arms around the girl in her current swell of emotion. The spider had watched most of the show from backstage in a state of awe. "That was‒ that was‒"

She struggled to find praise that did the performance justice. Instead, a checkbook and a glitzed out fountain pen materialized in her hairy legs.

"How much?"

"What?" That deer-in-the-deadlights look was back.

"For the gig. How much do you want to get paid?"

Lydia was horrified. "I couldn't‒" With the cheers of the crowd dying down and Ginger's current fervor, Lydia could hear the scratch of pen on paper.

"Here." A check she couldn't read was thrust into her chest. "That's double what I was gonna pay Amy Whinehouse. Promise you'll be here next weekend n' I'll make the next one triple."

Lydia didn't even have to think about it. She didn't care how much money was on that check, it was irrelevant‒ but she was happy to be able to contribute to their household for once.

"I'll be here."