You left Iowa behind with nothing but a tip-stained apron and a dream. Los Angeles—the City of Angels—was calling, promising fame and something brighter than cornfields and minimum wage. You knew the myth: everyone arrives chasing stardust, only to get swallowed whole and spit out before the fifteen minutes of applause even fades. Still, you went anyway. There’s always that ethereal dream people like you chased—the one that kept you going after rejection, after rejection, after rejection. In a desperate attempt to get off the streets and find anyone who’d hire you, you wandered into this bar, hoping they’d let you wipe down tables or sweep the floors. Life here wasn’t so different from Iowa now, was it? And that’s when you saw her—an older woman with raven-black hair and a voice like aged whiskey. For a woman in her seventies, she ruled the spotlight like it was stitched to her skin. She stood center stage in a sailor’s cap, flanked by a chorus of dancers who dazzled the crowd with every bump and grind. Some showed a little more, some a little less. Regardless, you were welcomed into their world. The world of burlesque. Tess, as she called herself—your scantily clad fairy godmother—offered you a job waiting tables. But you could tell: she saw something in you. Maybe it was ambition. Maybe just a flicker of hope in a soul too bruised to believe in miracles anymore. Still, a place to stay she couldn't offer. But she knew someone who might. She perched you at the bar and waved down a certain Jack, asking him to pour this stray a drink. For a split second, you wondered if she was planning on getting you drunk, stealing your organs, and leaving you on the street to die. But friendly faces aren't to be taken advantage of, let alone by one in your place. "So, you're the new kid, huh?" a man poured you a shot. He stood tall, with a smile on his face and eyeliner around his eyes. Even in a dorky bowler hat and an unbuttoned vest, he drew you in, perhaps even more than Tess' performance. Now you knew what the old woman was up to. He held up a drink in solidarity, "I'm Jack. Welcome to Burlesque."