The blow came from above. It was relatively painless, at first, more a physical shock than pain. Pain came later; right on the heels of it, actually, as if my head needed a moment to accept it was being assaulted. I was not totally surprised by the attack; I had been warned after all.
As the pavement rose toward my face, all I could think was, “Well, hell.”
The call came on a Saturday, around 11:30. I had just finished my last set and was in my dressing room removing my make-up when the phone rang. I paused, washcloth to my chin. No one knew that number except my agent, Tommy, and the owner of the club. I had just seen Tommy not ten minutes before, and Derek was on the floor. I looked into the mirror and met my own eyes. The anxiety might never pass. Several years prior, I had been... involved in a drug running case while passing through New Orleans. It had not been a good time in the Big Easy, and despite constant reassurances from the agent in charge of the case, I had been fairly certain I would end up dead or in prison. If...
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