Mohegan Sun Casino, CT – “Money in the Key of C major” -The Wolf Den – January 26, 2001

Ka-Ching, Ka-Ching, Ka-Ching.

The hopeful chime of slot machines in C major reverberates endlessly through the casino, a surreal symphony we cannot escape. It’s a sound so constant, so consuming, it feels less like background noise and more like the digestive tract of the building itself.

When we step into the backstage dressing room, it feels like an entirely different world. Frankly? It’s nicer than our hotel room. Soucy jokes, with a glint of sincerity, about spending the night on the saffron-crushed velvet couches. The room is decadence personified—fruit plates, cheese platters, gardenia-scented candles, bottles of red wine, freshly juiced drinks, and water are neatly arranged. Outside the door, a gray plaque bears my name, an official touch that makes me pause. This is the backstage treatment I’ve always dreamed about, yet never allowed myself to think I deserved.

Carmen appears with her radiant smile and bouncy black curls, ushering us to sound check. She’s the heart of this whole operation, we quickly realize. Behind the stage, a movie screen looms, ready to project towering images of me singing later tonight. For now, it loops an ethereal montage of wolves bounding through snow, howling under moonlight. It’s fitting—the venue is The Wolf Den Theater at the Mohegan Sun—and through the entranceways, animated wolves bark, wag their tails, and silently bray alongside the relentless slot machine tune.

The legendary casino din, locked in its perpetual C major, is so overwhelming that it drowns everything else out. Even ourselves. The sound engineer, immune after years, mentions how it unnerved Herbie Hancock during his visit. Apparently, Hancock abandoned his second set entirely, crawling inside the grand piano to pluck C major progressions straight from the strings—a unique jam session with the casino’s mechanical orchestra.

Back in the dressing room, I’m unwrapping dips and testing miniature pastries (cheesecake gets a solid “yum”) when Carmen pops back in. “Your skirt is a little ripped—do you mind if I mend it?” she asks.

“Are you kidding? That would be amazing!” I reply, stepping out of it and handing it to her. “This skirt is special. My mom gave it to me in high school—it was hers when she was my age. No matter how many times I patch it, it falls apart again.” I laugh as she pulls out a tiny sewing kit like a magic wand. The skirt is my Velveteen Rabbit, its wear and tear proof of the love it’s carried over decades. My own attempts at darning, often with waxless dental floss (a habit I’ve inherited from my dad) have been rudimentary at best. The fabric is so fragile that even a small gust of wind threatens its integrity, but I can’t bear to retire it. Carmen, who has already pressed and hung Soucy’s and my wardrobe, works like a magician. It’s impossible not to adore her. By now, I think we’re officially her biggest fans.

The truth? Soucy and I are nervous. It’s been months since we last performed, especially a duo acoustic set. After sound check, we rehearse downstairs in the green room. I repeatedly dress, undress, and redress myself—for something as small as a solo show, it oddly feels like a big deal. The nervous energy bubbles over, and we decide to gamble away the $17 we’d won the night before. A lighthearted moment before the real show begins.

When it’s finally time, The Wolf Den crowd greets us warmly. They’re unfazed by the constant casino chaos spilling through the wolf-guarded archways. The space, public and open, thrums with an unpredictable energy, like the heaving, stormy churning of a deep sea. Yet somehow, the performance is fun—alive, even. The audience is forgiving, even enthusiastic, and for a while, we’re all swept up in something larger than the growling slot machines and the barking digital wolves.

It’s nights like these that remind me why I love this. The music, the people, the unexpected moments stitched together like the patches on my mom’s old skirt. Flawed, fragile, and endlessly meaningful..