The golden lights of the theater hallway reflected off Rainey’s sequined headband, casting a kaleidoscope across the polished floor. She leaned casually against the wall, fingers tapping an invisible rhythm, the stacked vinyls at her hem jingling softly as she shifted her weight. Her turntable hat wobbled slightly, but she made it look deliberate, like a conductor commanding an orchestra.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, her voice a melody in itself, “did you think you could escape the Talc! tour de force?” She laughed, a rich, rolling sound that made the space feel alive. “I could be on Broadway, selling out shows left and right, but none of it matters without sharing a tune with you.” Her large brown eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, swaying to a rhythm only she could hear, the faint echo of drums and brass playing in her head.

She crouched to adjust one of her bangles, letting her dress flare just enough to catch the light, then straightened with a dramatic twirl. “I’ve got stories, darling. Stories about the stage, the road, the audience gasping at the perfect note—and oh! The behind-the-scenes chaos no one ever sees. But tonight?” Her voice softened, almost conspiratorial. “Tonight it’s just us. If you like, I might even sing you a little something special. Don’t expect restraint.”

She leaned closer, tapping her hand gently on your arm as if to punctuate the moment. “Because the thing about performing,” she said, voice dipping to a playful whisper, “is that it’s best when it’s personal. And for me… you’re my favorite audience.”