10

Isobel allowed herself to sleep-in the next day. No hangover, of course, but staying up late made her feel lazy. The black, pentagram sun was high in the sky before her growling stomach forced her to finally stumble out of bed.

She looked at her jacket and boots unceremoniously thrown in the corner and decided for a trip to the kitchen they were unnecessary. T-shirt, pants, and socks would do this morning… or afternoon. Whatever it may be.

Headphones on, music playing, she left her room. Never in a million years did she think she would ever be so comfortable while living in Hell. As usual, she gratefully encountered no one on her way downstairs. Confident that she was alone, Isobel started singing Me and Bobby McGee while dancing her way around the kitchen as she made her breakfast.

She had almost made it to the end of the song.

"I wanna call him my lover, call him my man. I said, I call him my lover, did the best I can, SHIT! God damn it!" She had turned around and almost dropped her plate jumping out of skin. Angel Dust leaned in the doorway smiling at her like he was trying very hard to hold in his hysterical laughter. She tore the headphones off her head, the sound of Janis Joplin's voice could be heard as she, herself, finished the song. "What is it with everyone in this fucking place sneaking up on me?"

"It's not my fault you're oblivious." Angel shrugged.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you up so early?"

"First of all, it's not as early as you might think," he said holding up a long finger, a second one came up to join the first. "Secondly, I found the answer to your problem."

"Oh, yeah? And what's my problem?"

"You're purpose. I found you a job." He seemed very proud of himself.

Isobel choked on whatever it was she was eating. She really hoped it was chicken eggs, but was not going to question it.

"Angel," she tried her best to sound grateful. "Thank you, but I cannot do what you do."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit. It's not that kind of job. Here look." He held up his phone showing a text thread between himself and his friend, Cherri Bomb. She had sent him a picture of what looked like a flier for the grand opening of some kind of club.

"What am I looking at here?" Isobel questioned.

"They're building one of those new clubs from the Lust Ring here. You know, the ones owned by Asmodeus."

Isobel stared blankly. She obviously did not know.

"Like a strip club?" She asked dubiously.

"No, no. It's like a supper club. Dinner and a show kind of thing. Supposed to be real classy." Isobel could only imagine what "classy" would look like in Hell.

"Anyway," Angel continued. "They're looking for local talent and I thought that would be perfect for you."

"For me to do what?"

"Well, you sing don't you?"

For the second time Isobel almost dropped her plate. "What are you talking about? I don't sing."

Angel gave her a face as if to say, are you kidding me, and said, "you sing all the fucking time. You sing in your room, you sing up on the roof, you're singing in the kitchen. We can all hear you."

A deep mortification crept over her, "you all could hear me all this time?" She thought she had been careful to sing only when alone and out of earshot.

"Oh yeah. Your voice carries." Angel started to count on his fingers. " Charlie likes it when you sing show tunes. Vaggie likes the love songs, though she won't admit it. Husk likes your older stuff, while I prefer newer songs. You have a very eclectic taste in music. Let's see what else…" Isobel grabbed fistfuls of her hair on the either side of her head, it was all she could do not to scream. She couldn't believe the embarrassment. "Alastor just pretends he's not listening. Oh, but Nifty, she hates it."

"Yeah," she said, releasing her hair. "That all tracks. Hey, wait, does Nifty hate me?"

Angel waved an uninterested hand. "Not important. What is important is that there are auditions! And you're going."

"I don't sing in front of people," she said, taking her plate to the sink. "I'm not even really that good."

"You are good," Angel protested. "Plus, it's Hell. It's not like anyone has a really high standard around here."

"Gee, that makes me feel better."

"You're going, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"If this is such a great job, why don't you audition?"

Angel scoffed, "I already have a job, thank you very much. Plus," he added, scratching his head. "I can't exactly quit, you know. Anyway, that doesn't matter, because you're going to do it."

"I don't even know what to sing."

"We'll figure it out on the way. Here," Angel revealed that he already brought her jacket and boots down from upstairs. He was serious about this, and short of pretending to pass out, Isobel did not know how she was going to get out of it. Even so, he would probably just drag her unconscious body to the audition anyway.

On the way, Angel flipped through almost every song on Isobel's phone. They had to find one with just the right amount of sex and violence to appeal to those from Lust. All love songs were out, of course. Sentimentality would get them nowhere.

Eventually, they settled on Just One Dance by Caro Emerald. It had the feeling of an old-timey nightclub, and the lyrics were just suggestive enough.

Isobel remained dubious. Was she really going to do this? Was she going to add nightclub singer in Hell on her resume? What did she have to lose anyway? It wasn't like she had any other prospects, or anything else taking up her time. Would she get paid?

She did sing all the time and enjoyed it, but she didn't sing in front of others very much anymore. She had left that musical theater kid back in high school, and didn't know if she would remember what to do with everyone's eyes on her.

However, Angel was adamant. He practically marched her into the audition.

The club itself was only half finished when they entered, but even so, it was clear that the theme of the place was pure decadence. The ceilings were high with hoops hanging down for what would surely be scantily clad circus performers. A large bar decked out in purple and gold ran along the whole of the back wall opposite a high stage currently being fitted for lights and sound, and between the two a dance floor. It looked like a 1940s dance hall had a baby with a 1970s hotspot.

A couple of what Isobel had come to recognize as imps sat smoking cigars in chairs on the dance floor. Both were men, their black and white horns curled behind them and their small hoofed feet dangled from their seats as they watched a cat-faced sinner perform a very awkward, yet provocative fan dance. Another imp, this time a woman in glasses, approached. She only came to Isobel's hip, Angel's knee.

"Let me do the talking," Angel whispered in Isobel's ear.

"You here for the audition?" the imp lady asked, holding up a clip board.

"Yeah, my friend here," Angel pushed Isobel front and center, "is a singer."

"Name?"

"Oh no," Angel turned to Isobel. "We never thought of a stage name for you. It should be something like Bel… or Bella…" He snapped his fingers. "Got it! Bella Donna."

"Ok, calm down." She was not really into stage names, or nicknames, or anything other than her actual name. "Isobel is fine."

The little imp wrote it down and had them sit and wait while they watched a tap dancing duo, three other singers (all of which were pretty good), and a guy who had his dog/fly creature do tricks. It was a weird vaudevillian experience and Isobel thought that maybe they should have been more specific in the audition notice.

Finally it was Isobel's turn. As she stood on the stage under the lights, she could just make out Angel who gave her 4 thumbs up. She took a deep breath and let her natural ability to adapt to the situation and mask her true self take over. She conjured up Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, resisted the urge to close her eyes through the whole thing, and sang.

When she was done Angel gave her a standing ovation, and as she descended the stairs she saw him schmoozing with the two imps scrutinizing the auditions. She realized that he was using his celebrity clout to sway them. It wasn't long before he joined back up with her and started to usher her out the door.

"What did they say?" Isobel asked. She was surprised to find that she actually felt a little anxious. Did she really care about this now?

"Well the good news is you got the job."

"And the bad news?"

"They said you can't come back looking like that."

She looked down at herself and couldn't even protest. Dirty jeans and t-shirt with big heavy boots didn't exactly scream glamorous nightclub songstress. Angel saw her concern.

"Don't worry," he said, putting two arms around her shoulder. "I got yous."

Unfortunately, Angel's definition of 'I got yous' was spending the rest of the afternoon dressing Isobel up like his own personal doll. He put her in one outfit after another, all from his own wardrobe. Each getup was more revealing than the last. But he was having so much fun Isobel did not have the heart to stop.

"I think this is the one," he finally said as Isobel stepped in front of his mirror in a too tight, red mini dress. Heart shapes were cut out on the chest as well as the lower back, revealing an abundance of cleavage in both areas,

"I don't think so," Isobel said. This had gone too far.

"Why? You look hot."

"No.." Isobel shook her head.

"We need someone else's opinion," he said, sending a text. A few minutes later Charlie appeared. She opened the door and caught sight of Isobel. Her facial expression was all Isobel needed to confirm what she already knew.

"Will you tell her she looks good?" Angel demanded.

"Well," Charlie began standing in the open doorway. "That is something, isn't it."

"That's it," Isobel said, throwing her hands up. "It's coming off."

Angel protested and just at that moment Nifty popped her head in. She laughed diabolically.

"You look terrible," she screeched in delight.

"Great, thank you," Isobel said. "This couldn't get any more embarrassing."

Nifty then leaned into the hall and yelled, "Alastor, Husker! Come see this."

Isobel's ears went a bright pink.

"That's it. We're done here." She said frantically pushing Nifty out and slamming the door closed.