goldbug | tamerlane

I can hear them talking from backstage. Not enough to know what they're saying, but enough to know there are a lot of them. Of course there were a lot of them; I should've expected as much. And as far as Dad knows, I was hoping for a successful turn out because I love to speak on stages in front of crowds of strangers. People always say they know their anxieties are unwarranted- 'It's silly, I know no one's actually judging me, but-' and that's how they cope with it. But as the person who is judging others, opening myself- and the brand I've waged my entire future on- up for discussion is... Well, as far as Dad knows, exactly what I'm ready for.

I run my fingers through my hair for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, convinced each time there'll be a rat's nest the size of my fist somewhere I've missed in my previous run-throughs. The butterflies in my stomach make my breathing flutter. "You look gorgeous, Tammie!" One of the stagehands smiles down at me. I smile back, mask perfectly calibrated to suit the occasion. I'm wearing a sleeveless green gown with gold vines and flowers curling up my arms and around my chest and back. My hair is pinned back into a modest but professional style with an ornate golden pin in the shape of my brand's logo: a scarab beetle. My manicure is as fresh as this morning, though not by choice- Amanda couldn't get me in any sooner because of some stupid guy who knows the mayor's wedding party. Eye roll. One day I'll be rich enough to buy this entire district. Knowing a mayor isn't real power. Owning one is.

"Are they ready for me?" I ask in a kind, professional voice. I'm proud of how little of my nervousness shows- if any at all. But it doesn't erase its existence. My stomach is in knots. My mouth is dry, my throat is tight. I feel like I have to pee and I swear to Ripred that if I get on that stage and piss myself, I will have murder to everyone in this building to prevent anyone else from ever finding out about it.

The stagehand nods yes, saying something into their headpiece too quietly for me to hear. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

I step onto the stage and the crowd begins to cheer. The lights overhead are bright, and I can feel the warmth of the stage beneath my feet from the long-time exposure. Ugh, I hope the makeup team has done a decent job of minimizing my pores. I will need to make this quick, before I start to sweat.

"Thank you. Thank you so much for coming. I'm thrilled that we're all gathered here today to celebrate Goldbug."

I look for Dad in the crowd, squinting. It's hard to see from beneath the spotlight, but I made sure to memorize which seat was reserved for him. At first all I can see is that it isn't empty, and I feel a pleasant surprise start to ease in my stomach at the notion that he actually bothered to show up. But once I focus well enough, I realize it's his wife.

I fight the urge to scream. Compartmentalizing that one for later. Once it is successfully stored, I carry on.

"Goldbug, as you'll all soon see, is truly the height of opulence. It is not just a lotion, or a soap. It is not just a skincare routine, or a recipe. It is not a candle, or a wardrobe, or a shampoo or conditioner. It is all of these things at once: a lifestyle."

I make my way over to a display table, revealing a shoebox-sized case which is green, with a shiny golden scarab on its surface. "Each package is custom fit for you. This one is mine. Cherry juice for aid in sleep, volumizing hair products, cuticle oil, pore-minimizing face cream, blueberry scented candle, three pairs of high-quality wool socks, a month's worth of exercise routines custom designed for me by a professional, and a belted sundress in my favorite colors: green and gold. Everything I might have splurged on, all in one box, for a fraction of the price. And better quality, too-" I begin holding up the products for people to see- "I've worked with experts to make sure that each and every product is not only either produced locally or ethically sourced, but I've also seen to it that the businesses will get a fraction of the products we are re-selling, meaning we will be helping our great home of District Six-" I have to try not to sound condescending, or roll my eyes at this- "by increasing the profit of small businesses!"

Again, my eyes catch on my Dad's new wife. Kelsey. Reformed addict, I hear. She's young enough that people would believe me if I said she was my sister. She's nice, I guess. A bit pathetic, lonely. Desperate, even. Eager to please. I wonder if that's why she's decided to come tonight, to win brownie points with me or something. I doubt it. What would there be for her to gain? More likely, Dad asked her to come in his stead. More important matters to attend, no doubt, like making sure one of his bastards gets a shiny new something that Freddie and I would've never gotten at that age.

Kelsey watches on eagerly, impressed. She doesn't even know how much her mere existence ruins this entire night for me. But she's about to.

"My original plan was to have my father, Roderick Kinsey, open his own personalized Goldbug for you all tonight, but he wasn't able to make it." Luckily, I planned for this. How sad is that?

"Instead, ladies and gentlemen, my team and I-" also known as myself and the two girls from my English class whom I am paying to be annoying and ask the questions I can't ask without making enemies- "Have been proactive tonight. A little birdy informed us that a special guest would be dropping by all the way from the Capitol, it's Hunger Games stylist, Star!" The crowd applauds as a spotlight finds the stylist in the crowd. Technically retired stylist is more accurate, but these idiots wouldn’t know the difference.

"Star, if you could please look under your seat, and have a look at your own personalized box?"

Star pulls the box out and flips open the lid. A bathrobe made of sheer beige fabric, a lovely eco-friendly hair bleach, hand cream, eye cream, perfume, a vegan meal plan for the month, the list goes on. Each item is met with swift approval and Star seems to grow increasingly impressed.

"This is only the beginning. With more help- with your help, this could be everywhere. This could be the future. This could be-" I inhale deeply, holding my hands out, "Everything."

The crowd begins to cheer.

"Thank you."