Chapter 22
The man’s question silenced Georgia completely. She was painfully aware that she lacked any notable skill.
Before Georgia could respond, Yvette jumped in eagerly. “Mr. Wells, why don’t you have her sing? With a voice like hers, it
has to be entertaining.”
Georgia’s vocal cords were ravaged, leaving her voice hoarse and grating. Speaking was a rarity, and when she did, it was barely above a whisper.
“She sounds awful when she talks. Can she even sing?” the man asked, doubtful.
Yvette slid herself onto his lap, batting her lashes playfully. “You can find good voices anywhere, but hers is one of a kind. It’ll be a real show. Come on, ask her to sing. If it’s unbearable, we’ll just plug our ears.”
The man scoffed. “You really want to hear that noise?”
“That’s exactly why I want her to sing.” Yvette said, pressing her ample chest against his arm with a mischievous grin. “I’m curious how bad it could possibly be.”
“Mr. Wells, what do you say?”
He smiled, clearly enjoying Yvette’s attention. Whether Georgia agreed or not didn’t matter. “Fine. I’ll hear her out.”
He rubbed Yvette’s thigh as he spoke, then pulled a thick wad of cash from his briefcase. Holding it up, he said, “I’m reasonable. Ten thousand dollars here. You get five hundred per song. Take as many as you want.”
Yvette frowned. “Why so generous?”
He flashed a charming grin. “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get your cut later.”
Feigning modesty, Yvette slid off his lap, handed the microphone to Georgia, and beamed, “I picked the songs for you.”
Without a word, Georgia took the microphone. The high–pitched selections confirmed her suspicion–Yvette wanted to
humiliate her.
If her voice weren’t damaged, Georgia could have sung beautifully. Now, each strained note only highlighted her frailty.
As her raw, rasping voice filled the room, the man winced, prompting Yvette to thoughtfully hand him earplugs. She watched Georgia with barely concealed triumph.
Georgia persisted, though no one paid her any attention. The man held Yvette close, eyes glued to a movie screen, while Yvette played games on her phone.
No one stopped Georgia as her voice cracked and nearly gave out. Her legs throbbed with exhaustion, her voice barely audible even through the microphone.
“Alright, that’s enough,” the man finally said, rising abruptly. He pulled out the earplugs and scowled at Georgia. “Take all the money on the table.”
Yvette rose too. “She hasn’t finished singing yet.”
“Baby, I’ve had enough. She’s lost her voice, and we’ve got more important things to do.”
Though displeased, Yvette didn’t argue with the guest. She lowered her gaze and forced a shy smile.
The man grinned, satisfied, and led Yvette out of the room.
As they passed Georgia, Yvette stopped and said with false kindness, “You’ve lost your voice. Now you won’t have to speak in that awful rasp for a while. You should thank me–I made you sing, and now your voice is better.”
I’m going to have dinner,” Georgia said, standing. The Vetro Club served meals every evening, and it was nearly time.
After eating, she waited until work hours ended and returned to the dormitory.
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