Getting ready to go out is a production, to say the least. I’m Aphrodite, for crying out loud. Walking out of my room un-made up would probably stop the world dead in its tracks. There is a lot to be done. Long brush strokes smooth out my hair to perfection, not a hair out of place. Soft lips get coated in a shiny red lipstick, and short strokes cover my eyes in a soft blue. I slip on a red dress, not my favorite, but stunning nonetheless. Red heels complete the outfit, along with a silver chain necklace.
Finally, I slip on the red curly-haired wig, hiding my natural hair underneath. More than a handful of bobby pins are needed to keep this thing in place.
Ha, surprised you, didn’t I? Since when does Aphrodite wear a wig?
Tonight, my friends, is all about escaping the goddess name and standing out in my second favorite way in the world: as a singer in a mortal club.
You see, back when I was overseas, I realized that sometimes it was tiring to be the goddess of love. People always expect you to have all the answers about love and to be together ALL the time. I mean, I love to look perfect, but sometimes I just want to lie around in a T-shirt and underwear. But anyway, I found that the best way to be beautiful and mysterious at the same time was to go undercover. I found my love for singing in a little club in Paris, and Maria was born: a sexy, redheaded broad who frequents many clubs to perform.
I haven’t been out as Maria since I left France, and I am desperate for some relief.
I manage to sneak out of the OA without much trouble, though I imagine I’m quite lucky. There are so many gods here. Hard to do anything in secret. I hail a cab and direct the driver towards Mystic, the club I’m playing tonight. As we drive through the city, my heart is pounding in my chest. I can barely contain my excitement. Finally, a break.
All eyes are on me when I step into the club. A couple of low whistles bring a smile to my lips, and the murmurs of my beauty turn it into a grin. I stride right up to the stage where the manager is setting up and introduce myself. “Maria Tyre,” I say simply.
He nods. “You’re on in ten.”
Best words I’ve heard all week.
The lights finally lower. The interlude music switches over to a live band waiting behind me. The guitar strums a clean chord, and the drummer gives me the first beat. With all eyes on me, I start my set. A low, soulful ballad that turns into a bit of a swing: good for capturing attention. Cause that’s what I want to do at first. Just pique their interest, make them want to see more from me.
Then when I break out into something more upbeat, the crowd can enjoy and dance. And that’s exactly what I do. I sing loud and proud out into the night, and the audience eats it up like ambrosia. I’m getting into it; I’m dancing around the stage and falling back into that groove that I so loved back in Europe.
All too soon, the set is over. Thunderous applause rings out across the dance floor. I bow and thank them as I climb off. Maria was on fire tonight, and I feel reassured that I can continue this passion in Olympus. I grin as I strut up to the bar and order a drink.
A man brushes my arm as he settles into a seat beside me. With a soft drawl to his words, I feel the sarcasm cutting into me like a knife. “Hello, Maria.” I turn my head and freeze.
Apollo smirks softly at me. He leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Or should I say…Aphrodite?”
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