The lights dimmed. Mary-Rose, in her black-and-white jail-striped dress entered the stage from the left. My left, not hers. I held my icy drink in my hand, legs crossed as I watched her nervously center herself behind the microphone. New Orleans was new to us, but they may have been a good thing, since we were the unknowns of the crowd. My manager Vinny got her the gig, after she promised that no one would start booing or throwing things at the stage. Normally I worked behind the swinging kitchen doors, but tonight, I was a VIP, front row to see the most beautiful girl from Westchester singing on a Louisiana stage. It wasn't much of a stage, but Mary-Rose didn't care one bit. This her time to shine, to show that she had chops, and that she wasn't gonna let Vinny or me down. The lights were dim, and the music started, a slow saxophone, then the piano. Her voice slowly grew louder, her smile wider, the words as clear, and beautiful as a summer day. Mary-Rose belted out that tune, and I knew she was home on that stage, and I loved every moment in the front row, like she was singing just for me.