Chapter 11
Hi everyone, here is the next chapter. It is a bit longer than the other ones. I have been on vacation for a week, so I had a lot of time to write and make this chapter, I think about 6000 words. I hope you all enjoy it.
Now to answer some comments, which I always love. Even if it's to tell me my story sucks, which hasn't really happened.
Dao_8teh suggested I send out more Discord invites, which I am good with, so long as you are a fan. I don't want bots to take it over, so if you are a fan and have actual ideas, just ask me to send you a link, and I will. With that said, Dao, I have somewhat addressed some long-term plans that I think will at least make a dent in what happens to the Japanese Americans. I have to think realistically about how much of an effect it would have. So when you get to that part, let me know your thoughts.
Taoist_yuri, I am going to go ahead and send you an invite to my Discord. You seem to have great ideas about the movies of the time, and while I have watched a few, I have only watched the classics. Hell, it's been 15 years, if not longer, since I watched Casablanca. https://discord.gg/djNW6dYP
D_eta015, that is actually a good idea. I can say Jack Dempsey was the inspiration for the movie, and the boxers Ruth had met due to her father. What many people don't know is that many fighters of the time became mob guys because their careers didn't go anywhere. Just have to change the boxer's name or write it off as a coincidence. Also, I agree her films nearly always get nominations, not always her, and the few she does get, she doesn't win. Like best director, like you said outside the '60s, she won't win.
roronoa2 I read that, and I thought about getting rid of it, but then I was like. Na, never mind, it's fine as is.
VeggieBlue, I am not sure if I will have her kill off anyone but Charles Manson. After all, her uncle, father, and godfather are all serial killers. She may honestly not care that much so long as they don't come close to her people or people she knows.
Allen_Ensley I don't know if you saw the message I sent you, but you're totally right. Hollywood at any time is a horrible place, and while Ruth will try to make her studio better, there is only so much she can do. And I will have her do questionable things as well. Like, I don't know if anyone caught the fact that I literally tell one of her friends she didn't care who Toby fucked, so long as he didn't overpromise. If you ask me, that is questionable.
Groomable5, you're too much. I love it, keep it up. You make my day, honestly.
Okay, I think that covers most of everything. Just a heads up, at the end of the chapter, there is a part I am sure some people will say that won't work or is too far ahead, bla, bla, bla. Don't care, I did what I did and won't change.
Till the next chapter, I wish you all the best.
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"I often view the 12th Academy Awards as my moment of coming out—not in the sense of revealing my sexual orientation, although the signs were there if you were paying attention. What I really mean is that Hollywood thrives on images. Until that point, no one truly knew me because I kept out of the limelight. It wasn't due to shyness; I simply had other priorities, like making it through 1940. That said, I had an incredible time at the Academy Awards that year." - A Dream Come True by Ruth Morris Lucky Luciano.
-1940-
-Sonny POV-
"Life sucked sometimes," I thought as I stood at the back of the set for the ongoing filming of *Boom Town*—Ruth's new film.
Don't get me wrong; I knew I should be grateful to be alive right now. Two years ago, when I knocked that fucker Lukas out for daring to touch a boss's daughter, I nearly lost my life. In fact, I came this close to being killed, and it was all thanks to the woman who was currently dressed like a boy in overalls, a heavy jacket, work boots, and a cap.
It was a practical outfit for a not-so-practical job for a woman. I have known Ruth for two years now, and while I've always seen her as a beautiful woman, it wasn't until I started working for her in Hollywood that I truly understood just how radiant she is. Even in boys' clothes, she looked stunning. It took me a while to figure it out, but I finally understood: the reason she looked so radiant right now was that this was her world.
Right now on set, Hedy Lamarr and Lizabeth Scott were doing their thing, while the new girl, Jenny Blake, stood some distance away. Among all the beautiful women here, Ruth was undeniably the most stunning. I had foolishly thought she might have liked me. After all, she had defended me so passionately to Mr. Anastasia. But I realized that no man could ever truly hold Ruth down—at least not me.
To be honest, it made me uncomfortable to take orders from a woman and to see her in a position of power. It struck me hard, and then I had the sudden realization that she belonged here. That realization hurt my ego because, until I arrived, I thought I understood a woman's place. Now I see that some women don't belong in the kitchen at all.
That wasn't the only reason life sucked, however. If you have ever tried to work with your crush, you would understand. Ruth had made it very clear to me years ago that she would never marry a mob guy; there was just too much uncertainty for her. In her own words, as a little girl, she would often worry about whether her father would be alive the next day or not. Even now, with her father in jail, she still looked at the phone every day, anxious about receiving that dreaded call informing her he had been killed in prison or something similar. She didn't want that kind of uncertainty in a husband. I can't say I blame her for that. Now that I think about it, if I had a daughter one day, I wouldn't want her to marry a mob guy either.
No, the real reason life sucked was that, honestly, working in Hollywood was tough. Don't get me wrong; it was enjoyable for the first couple of weeks. But after a while, I realized that L.A. is not New York. There were only so many times I could go to the beach and flirt with women. Sure, Toby had taken me to some clubs, but having been to New York himself, even he admitted that L.A. didn't measure up to New York. The nightlife just wasn't as vibrant yet, but it was improving. The one thing I could say about Hollywood was that it was changing and doing so quickly. There was an energy here that almost matched that of New York.
That said, I still couldn't wait to get back home. After all, making a movie was nothing like I had imagined it would be. In fact, if I'm being honest, it was boring. You wouldn't believe that by watching films in theaters, but it really was. At least half the time was spent just setting up for the filming itself. Being in charge of security allowed me to see everything as it was happening. From makeup to costume fittings, I witnessed it all, and frankly, it was a real pain in the neck.
The setup began early in the morning, around 5 am. Well before the sun even rose, and lasted until at least sunrise. Depending on when filming began, it could extend to 8 in the evening before everyone wrapped up for the day. As the person in charge of security, I didn't need to arrive until around 8 AM and stayed on set until filming was completed for the day, which typically wrapped up around 5 PM. That's when I switched out with the night crew.
This meant a typical day for me lasted 9 hours. It was a long day, but nothing compared to Ruth, who usually put in at least 16 hours, if not more. According to the guys, she typically arrived at 4:30 AM with the maintenance crew to check and recheck the equipment for the day's shoot and wouldn't leave until well past 9 PM. It was pretty intense, but Ruth was, how should I put this nicely? Picky? Yes, "picky" seemed to fit the bill. If only because if I called her a bitch she would take that as a compliment.
I had known Ruth for two years, and I was well aware that she was a perfectionist. After all, I had been invited to Mr. Lansky's house for dinner more than once during the time when people thought Ruth had feelings for me, though I knew that wasn't the case. Everything had to be perfect: the food, her makeup, the table setting, and even the napkins had to be folded just so. If they weren't, dinner was off; you wouldn't get fed until everything met her standards. Even Mr. Lansky knew better than to get in her way. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Ruth ruled the kitchen with an iron fist.
It made sense that she brought the same intense energy to the movie set. At first, when I watched her work, I was pretty impressed. It felt like watching a finely-tuned engine; all the components were in place, and all you had to do was start her up. Mistakes happened—that's just the nature of the beast, as Ruth likes to say. However, even when everything seemed perfect, Ruth would insist on doing several more takes of the same scene, over and over again.
I didn't fully understand why she did this. I wasn't involved in the film industry, so one night at the bar, I asked Toby about it. He explained that even if Ruth got what appeared to be an ideal take, she would still shoot it again. Sometimes she did this as a backup, but often it was because she wanted to see if she could improve on what she had already achieved. That was when I began to notice the subtle changes she made in the acting, camera positioning, or lighting during each take.
I lost count of the takes, but I believe she was doing about 5 or 10 per scene, which to me should have driven the actors crazy. Surprisingly, that wasn't the case. Mr. Bogart, like Ruth, was an annoying perfectionist. I was present at those meetings where Ruth discussed what she called a storyboard—a charming term for her filming plan. He scrutinized every detail and questioned everything, not just because Ruth was a woman. If that had been the issue, I do not doubt that Ruth would have had me kick him out long ago. No, he was simply eager to understand everything, and Ruth obliged him. Needless to say, those two got along exceptionally well.
Mr. Ladd was similar, but he appeared more jittery. He hid it well, but it was evident that he was anxious, like someone who was about to be taken for a one-way ride. I don't blame him; after all, he had just had his big break in *Shane*. He probably thought he would be cast in the same type of role he had before, but Ruth instead cast him as a rebel wildcatter. Several times, I noticed him smoking nervously behind the set building. Ruth didn't allow anyone to smoke on set, regardless of their status. I had been given strict orders: anyone caught smoking on set was to be removed immediately.
Mr. Ladd's nervousness made him somewhat difficult to work with. While he rarely got angry or yelled, I often found myself needing to step between him and Bogart, as Mr. Bogart had accused him of slacking several times. On the other hand, the women were easier to manage, in my opinion. Miss Lamarr was as calm and cool as she appeared. When she wasn't on set, she could be found sitting in her chair, reading a book or jotting down notes about something. As for Miss Scott, she stayed close to Ruth, chatting about various topics. It was clear that she was just as jittery as Mr. Ladd, but she seemed to handle it better.
"And cut! That's it for now, everyone. Take an hour for lunch," Ruth yells out, clearly pleased. Today seemed to be going easier than yesterday.
Standing at the exit of the set, I watch as Miss Blake approaches me. When she is close enough, I say, "Miss Blake."
Looking up at me, Jenny replies, "Oh, hi, Sonny."
"Your boyfriend is here," I inform her.
With a broad smile that clearly shows she's in love, Jenny asks, "Cliff is here?"
"Yeah, the flyboy said he wanted to take you to lunch or something," I tell her.
I swear, if Jenny weren't in heels right now, she would be jumping for joy upon hearing this. Not that I could blame her; I met Cliff a few times, and he seemed a bit clueless and thoughtless, as if there wasn't much going on in his head. The fact that he showed up waiting to take her to lunch was honestly kind of surprising.
"Thank you for letting me know, Sonny. Have a good one yourself," Jenny says, starting to walk away, but I stop her.
"Miss Blake?" I called out, and she turned around. "Your boyfriend tried to walk onto the set without getting permission from the boss. If he does it again, my men won't be so nice, understand?"
A flicker of fear crossed Jenny's face upon hearing that. I didn't want to scare the poor girl, but I was hired to do a job, and I would see it through.
"Of… of course, Sonny. I will let him know not to do it again," Jenny replied.
She knew precisely what Sonny and his men were capable of, so she would definitely have a conversation with Cliff about this later.
As she walked away, I watched her greet her "fly boy" with a hug. Just then, I heard a pair of boots approaching and recognized the familiar voice of Ruth saying, "I don't get it. Other than being handsome, what does she see in that guy?"
I smirked a bit at Ruth's comment and replied, "Who knows? Some women have no taste."
Ruth looked up at me with a smile and said, "If it makes you feel better, I think you're much more handsome than he is."
"Really?" I asked her.
"In a way," she replied bluntly.
I laughed a little and said, "So, are we still on for tomorrow?"
"Hmmm? As long as you are," Ruth responded.
Shrugging my shoulders, I say, "Sure, I mean it's not every day I get to take someone like Miss Scott out. But are you sure she's okay with me taking her to this award event?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?" Ruth responds.
Shaking my head, I reply, "I don't know. I get the feeling she doesn't like me very much."
Ruth nods and says, "Don't worry about it. Liz is just feeling uncomfortable around mob guys, but she will go. She needs the exposure."
I shrug my shoulders again and say, "Alright, see you after lunch, Ruth."
-Ruth POV-
"Have a good one, Sonny," I say as I watch him walk away with a smile, before heading toward my office. Unlike everyone else, I still had work to do, so I couldn't leave for lunch.
Once I reach my office, I take a seat in my chair and pick up a newspaper. It doesn't say much—only what I already knew: France and Britain were doing nothing in the war against Nazi Germany. Poland had already fallen last year, and of course, my fellow Americans were too naïve to see the writing on the wall. War had come, just as I knew it would, and within two years, the U.S. would no longer be able to pretend it wasn't involved.
Leaning back in my chair, I can't help but think about what a waste it all is. If the U.S. had entered the war earlier, perhaps the horrors brought by Hitler could have been avoided. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now," I think to myself. Not that there ever was. Perhaps if I had been born 40 years ago instead of just 19, I could have done something, but even then, as a woman, I would have had little power to influence international politics.
I take that back. While I couldn't stop the war, there was still something I could do: profit from it. I have to give Samuel credit for this. Of all my skills, tax law wasn't one of them—not in this life or the last. When it came time for Lucky Pictures to pay its taxes, Samuel somehow managed to reduce the 33 percent corporate tax rate imposed by the Revenue Act down to just 19 percent. How he did this remains a mystery to me, but he assured me it was completely legal, even if it skimmed the edges of legality. It was a bit concerning, but ultimately, what mattered was that out of the $2.2 million in profit from last year, we were able to keep $1,782,000 to play around with.
For the time being, following Samuel's advice, the boys and I decided to take minimal payouts from the cooperative account. Instead, we left the majority of the funds for investment purposes. We had bigger dreams than just making a bit of money, and while having over a million dollars seemed substantial, it wasn't enough for our long-term plans or any potential changes to them. Since we were all still young, it was in the boys' best interest to think long-term, mainly because I had given each of them 10 percent of the company as a reward for their loyalty. While that may sound like a lot, it's important to note that we were not a publicly traded company, and they could only sell their shares back to me if they ever wanted to exit the venture.
Since we kept the majority of last year's profits in the corporate account and I was correct about the situation in Europe, the boys were open to my advice on buying shares in several companies. These companies included notable names like GM, Smith & Wesson, Winchester, Chrysler, and even medical firms such as Pfizer. Though our investments were not substantial, by the time we finished, we owned a good number of shares in all these companies and had nearly invested all of our earnings from last year. However, we weren't foolish and set aside enough funds for emergencies and overhead costs. After all, we were in the movie business, and it was easy to go over budget. I didn't plan for it to happen, but it did happen.
The boys were understandably concerned—all that money, more than they had ever seen, was disappearing at an alarming rate. They knew this was simply the cost of doing business. Although it wasn't a happy situation, they understood the necessity of investing for the long term.
With that said, you might think I would have more time for myself, but I didn't. I hadn't forgotten what happened next in relation to the war. December 7, 1941, the day that would live in infamy, was approaching quickly, and I had accepted that it needed to happen. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but it was necessary to motivate the U.S. to take action and finally engage in the fight. That being said, I had already begun taking steps to prevent the terrible injustices faced by Japanese Americans or, at the very least, to lessen the impact of those events.
Now this part is a little hard to believe, but wouldn't you know it, I forgot something important. Something so important that if I could, I would have someone slap the shit out of me for ignoring it. What did I forget, you may wonder? It's pretty simple: I didn't live in the 21st century; I lived in the early 20th century—a time before computers, forensic technology, and the like. Do you know how easy it was to mail a letter to the FBI or the State Department, warning them of an oncoming war with Japan, and not have it traced back to you? It was incredibly easy. All you needed was a pen, a stamp, no return address, and to sign it as a concerned Japanese citizen. And just like that, you were in the clear.
Of course, Pearl Harbor needed to happen, which is why I provided no actual evidence for these warnings. In fact, if you read the letters, they sound more like science fiction or the ramblings of a complete madman. If I hadn't known that war was coming, I would question the validity of my own writing. Half of it was in English and the other half in Japanese, often encoded in a way that any six-year-old could decipher. No one in their right mind would read these letters and believe them. However, that wasn't the main point. I didn't need anyone to believe the letters; I just needed them sent to newspapers and intelligence agencies across the U.S. The reason was simple: what would happen if it were discovered that these letters were sent years before the attack on Pearl Harbor, warning about a conflict with Japan, and were ignored?
At that point, it wouldn't matter whether they sounded like the ramblings of a madman. Someone would have to be held accountable, and one of those individuals would hopefully be J. Edgar Hoover. It didn't matter how powerful he thought he was. Once it became clear that the FBI had those letters, he would either have to resign or see his influence diminished. Either outcome would benefit me and, let's say, my extended family. After all, I knew it was only a matter of time before he started looking into my activities. It was best to act quickly, and if I could assist the Japanese in the process, well, that would kill two birds with one stone.
Aside from everything else, things were mostly going according to plan. Interest in Lucky Pictures' next movie was increasing, and people were talking about it. I was being overlooked by the press in favor of the studio as a whole, which I didn't mind because I knew I would soon be in the headlines myself—though, depending on who you ask, perhaps not in a favorable light. Oh, tomorrow was going to be so much fun.
-February 29, 1940 Bugsy POV-
"I can't believe I agreed to this," I say aloud as we head to the Ambassador Hotel for the 12th Academy Awards.
"Oh, please don't act like you're not enjoying this, even a little bit," Ruth replies beside me.
Looking over at her, I respond, "You do realize your father is going to kill me when he sees this, right? I mean, you're basically spitting in everyone's face here." I take a moment to look at her outfit for the night once more and rub my forehead in disbelief.
Ruth gave me a look that was half-teasing and half-mocking—something only she could pull off. "Oh, come on. He won't kill you. He might send someone to deliver a message, but he won't kill you," she said.
"I hate you so much right now," I replied, shooting her a glare.
This made Ruth laugh, and she added, "Oh, come on! It's no worse than what Marlene Dietrich has worn before."
I looked at her again and said, "No, Ruth, this is worse."
What she was wearing could only be described as scandalous. It was a form-fitting pinstripe jumpsuit, so tight it looked like it had been painted on. She paired it with a matching double-breasted vest top that had a deep plunging neckline, showcasing her cleavage. The outfit had no sleeves and featured a stylish fedora. You could almost call it a suit if it weren't so tightly fitted. Its only saving grace was the matching trench coat with a fur lining.
"And yet you're not stopping me," Ruth said in a sing-song voice.
Huffing, I replied, "Like I could even if I tried. Please tell me you at least have something on under that outfit."
Giving me a sideways glance, a teasing smile on her lips, Ruth responded, "Aww, Uncle, I didn't know you thought of me that way."
Now a bit annoyed, I said, "Ruth, I am about to slap the daylights out of you. I mean it."
Leaning over, she kissed me on the cheek, and I could feel myself calming down. "Sorry, but to answer your question: no, I don't have anything on. Getting into this outfit was hard enough. Took me almost an hour. I swear, if I didn't have Liz as a roommate, I don't think I would have ever gotten it on."
Rubbing my eyes, I groaned, "Oh God, I am going to die."
"We're all going to die, Uncle. Now, is everything ready?" Ruth asked.
"Yes, yes, the papers have all been paid off. Tomorrow, you'll be in every newspaper in the country. Still, did you really have to make me pay them off to write poorly about you? They probably would have done that anyway," I replied.
Ruth shrugs her shoulders and says, "It's better to be safe than sorry. People tend to prefer bad or scandalous news over good news. My goal is to keep people talking about me, and by extension, Lucky Pictures. The more people talk, the more curious they will be about my upcoming film."
"So you're hoping it will translate into profit," I reply.
"That's right," Ruth confirms.
"Then you must have been happy about this," I said, reaching down to pick up today's newspapers, which detailed the winners of the Academy Awards. It was a major embarrassment for the event.
Taking the paper, Ruth smiled. "Yes, Alan called me this morning about his win. I have to say, I wasn't expecting that."
And wasn't that the truth? Honestly, Ruth was surprised that Shane had received any nominations at all; she never thought he would actually win.
I nodded my head. "I have to admit, I'm surprised you're even going, considering you didn't receive a nomination."
That didn't just irritate me—it really angered me. Ruth had worked tirelessly on her film, only to receive ridicule and doubt about her abilities. It was almost enough to make me want to go around cracking some skills. But luckily for everyone, Ruth was tougher than that. Her feelings were not easily hurt, and she understood the nature of the industry.
"Honestly, Uncle, I'm just happy that it got nominated for anything at all. The fact that Alan won without us having to schmooze anyone is just a bonus," Ruth says to me, and she means it.
In the end, this business is about money. Getting upset over awards that don't really hold much meaning beyond their potential to earn you something later doesn't matter. At least that's how Ruth explained her feelings about not being nominated. Still, I think she was bitter, especially given what she was about to do.
"You never told me how you managed to get them to let you sing," I ask her.
"Hmmm, simple. Warner Bros. wanted $30,000 for the filming rights, but I offered to do it for $10,000," she replies, and I laugh.
"Of course it was that simple." I felt the car stop and put on my game face, as Ruth calls it—the expression that signals I'm here and all business. Then I stepped out into the flashing cameras.
-Ruth POV-
As I stepped out of the car, I felt a surge of confidence. While I wasn't the first woman to wear pants or suits, I was certainly making a statement. Marlene Dietrich famously wore men's clothing—often in a loose, unassuming style that wasn't overly revealing. In contrast, my outfit was designed by me to accentuate my feminine allure rather than conceal it. It took nearly an hour to slip into, fitting snugly to my body. I was really pushing the boundaries of what was considered appropriate. With a neckline that plunged so deeply, it was clear that I wasn't wearing a bra or any underwear beneath my outfit.
At this point, the Academy Awards were far from the fashion show they would later become. Most of the women wore comfortable, if not slightly fishable, dresses. Not thinking that I would turn it into one. As the cameras flashed and rolled in the background, I made a point of embracing the whole model persona. I even took off my trench coat to showcase the rest of my outfit, making the cameramen go wild. However, I didn't smile; I kept my expression relaxed, as if I were simply there for business. Meanwhile, I noticed several actresses glaring at me. They weren't oblivious; they quickly realized they were underdressed, while I had just stolen a show they didn't even know they were part of till just now.
The only person who came close to matching my presence was Liz, who arrived shortly after me with Sonny. She wore a dress I had designed, similar to the one Angelina Jolie wore at the 2004 Academy Awards in my previous life. I was so happy right now that I had nearly a century's worth of fashion ideas to steal. Just like me, she was stealing the spotlight. The press didn't even know who she was yet, but come tomorrow, the whole country will know who she is.
I was making plenty of enemies, and honestly, I was enjoying it. But I wasn't naive; the only reason no one stopped me from entering was because of the man accompanying me inside. Uncle Buggy, who, by the way, looked quite handsome tonight, if you ask me. To everyone else, he likely appeared terrifying. After all, this wasn't the charming Bugsy Siegel that Hollywood was accustomed to; it was the killer, and everyone could sense it.
Once inside, I mingled with some of the stars and movie executives present, playing nice with everyone except for a few women with whom I exchanged barbs. They were angry, and who could blame them? After all, a few of them had dressed in their finest attire only to be overshadowed. I didn't care, though, and instead went to greet one of my personal heroes from my past.
Miss Hattie McDaniel was an inspiration not only to the Black community but to people of all races. No one could truly understand her suffering and the challenges she faced to achieve her success. Even the NAACP at the time could not appreciate her contributions fully; they only saw a Black woman who was not doing enough for her people. It would take many years for people to realize that she helped pave the way for not just Black individuals but for people of all races. That is why I have so much respect for her and felt compelled to greet her.
I congratulated her on her win and even hugged her, much to everyone's surprise, including Hattie. But I wanted to make it clear where I stood, and if they didn't like it, well, that was too bad. Not everyone was shocked, though; in fact, Clark Gable gave me a slight nod of respect, which made me smile, as he was one of my all-time favorite actors.
After that, I took my seat next to Bugsy and Liz. Bugsy leaned over and whispered, "Yep, like I said, a lot of enemies. Did you see the look on half the people in here?"
"I did, and I love it," I replied, spotting Vivien Leigh, who was glaring at me. I just waved back at her, unfazed by the hostility.
As the ceremony began, I smiled as I watched Bob Hope take the stage. After giving a short speech, he said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to start our night off right. I want to welcome a very talented young lady to the stage. You know her as the director and writer of the hit movie Shane: Miss Ruth Luciano."
The audience applauded as I stood up, and Bugsy whispered "Good luck" in my ear. But I didn't need luck, I thought to myself as I made my way towards the stage, striding confidently to show everyone I was all business.
As I step onto the stage, I make my way toward the microphone I'll be using. I spared no expense on this setup; my company invested nearly $100,000 for both filming and sound. This decision resulted in a total net loss since the Motion Picture Academy is only paying me $10,000 to film the event. However, that situation won't last long. Raimondo has already negotiated a deal with MGM to release it at their expense. Something they were more than happy to agree to, as their newest star, Judy Garland, was going to be one of the performers tonight. The live recording promises to be unlike anything ever done before, and MGM saw significant profit potential with minimal risk. Unfortunately for them, they didn't think to ask for editing rights. I'll have to make it up to Judy Garland, as I will be upstaging her quite a bit.
Leaning into the mic, I jokingly say, "Don't worry, I promise I won't take that long." This gets a round of laughter from everyone. Once they settle down, I start singing "Crying in the Rain" by Carole King and the Everly Brothers. It's a straightforward song, and although originally recorded in 1961, it fits well in the 1940s and requires almost no changes to fit the time. It wasn't my favorite song sung by the Everly Brothers, but I wanted to save Unchained Melody and You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' for later. I like to think of myself as a decent singer, both in this life and the last. However, I had forgotten something important: like music itself, singing had evolved over time. The way people would sing 20 years from now would be a lot different from today. Nonetheless, the way people would sing in the 21st century. For good or bad, I was essentially skipping over years of changes in an effort to bring something new, and I was hitting notes that few could match today.
By the time the song ended, I had captured everyone's attention, and the audience began to clap loudly. I made a show of being a bit bashful about all the applause.
When the applause faded, I said, "Thank you. I wrote that a few years ago, and I'm so happy to have performed it for all of you tonight. Now, for this next song, I actually wrote it just recently. So, please bear with me as I haven't had the chance to compose music for the band behind me; I'll be playing it on guitar instead."
My gaze was fixed on Liz, signaling that this song was meant for her. The night we made love for the first time, only one song came to mind, and honestly, it wasn't easy to adapt it for today's style. Given the technology available, I had to settle for the acoustic version, which thankfully still sounded great.
I walked over to grab a guitar, took a seat on a stool, and began playing as the room fell silent, setting the stage for millions to fall in love with this song all over again, only this time in a different time and place. Yet while everyone was watching me, and falling in love with the music, my eyes never left Liz's.
(Kiss by a Rose, acoustic version by Seal)
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea
You became the light on the dark side of me
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill
But did you know that when it snows
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can't be seen?
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah
And now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
There is so much a woman can tell you, so much she can say
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me, you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny
Won't you tell me, is that healthy, baby?
But did you know that when it snows
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can't be seen?
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah (yeah)
Now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
I've been kissed by a rose on the grey
I, I've been kissed by a rose on the grey
I've been kissed by a rose on the grey (and if I should fall, would it all go away?)
I, I've been kissed by a rose on the grey
There is so much a woman can tell you, so much she can say
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain
To me, you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny (yeah)
Now, won't you tell me, is that healthy, baby?
But did you know that when it snows
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can't be seen?
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
Yes, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah (yeah)
And now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
Ba-ya-ya, ba-da, ba-da-da-da, ba-ba-ya-ya
Now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
(End)
The audience begins to clap again, even more passionately than before, but I can't focus on anything else but my girl. She isn't crying, but I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, which she is desperately trying to hide. Fortunately, no one is looking at her right now.
In that moment, Liz can only mouth the words, "I love you."
Those three words were the greatest gift I could ever receive.