Emmylou tensed and griped the microphone tightly. She was halfway through the song and needed to keep singing. She huskily breathed the lyrics to the crowd and studied her backup band trying to get her bearing.
Was she supposed to be up here? Singing these sultry songs backed by a full jazz band? Was she supposed to be in the Kit Cat Club, performing? Was she a performer? It felt right. She paused as the band launched into an instrumental interlude. None of this made sense. It did make sense. But it didn’t.
She remembered wandering the mall, wearing her blue sequined dress as her and Raquel altered reality. But she was supposed to be here. She was Emmylou. This gig had been booked for months. She studied the crowd. The stylish young men and elegant women in their twenties and thirties, sipping wine and draft beer.
Her eyes darted around as the bridge approached. She jutted out her breasts as she belted out the refrain. The show must go on.
Remmy stood against the back wall, clutching the camera tightly against her chest, her thick rimmed glasses matching the color of her black fingernails. Her form fitting red and black plaid shirt showing off her sleek figure. Her bright red hair cut neatly in a bob.
She tried to find Emiko but the change had been so fast and so wide ranging it was impossible. The entire setting had changed in a single flash. She sighed, trying to figure out who she was. She remembered wandering with Emile, but couldn’t remember if Emile was supposed to be male or female. It’s a male name she reasoned. But she also remembered being quite attracted to Emile’s female body.
Am I supposed to be male or female, she pondered. Both felt right. Am I into men or women? Both looked right. She needed to find Emile, whoever that was. What action does she take?