Page 4 of High Note

“Thank you, ma’am,” she told the hostess, who’d put her at a great two top close enough to the stage to enjoy whatever little oodling singer came back to that guitar, but not so close she couldn’t hear herself think.

“I’m a fan,” the little gal said, handing her a menu.

“Well, stop on back by when you get a breath and I’ll sign something for you.” She should have ordered in and waited for the damn band…

“Oh, no. No, that’s tacky and Cherry would have my ass in a sling.” She got a tickled grin, the pretty dark eyes just dancing. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Big Diet Coke. Small Jack Daniels.” She made motions with her hands to indicate sizes.

“Yes, ma’am. FYI, the pesto chicken jalapeno pizza is to die for.”

“Oh, hell yes.” She grinned, making hand motions again. “Big pizza, tiny salad.”

“Salad wagon is open, and it’s only $2.99 with your meal.”

“Sold, honey.”

“Cool. Plates are at the trunk end, the ranch is homemade, the bacon bits are real bacon.”

“This might be heaven,” she teased. She waited for the hostess to leave before going to grab a plate. Salad bars were few and far between these days, and there were no paparazzi around to measure her plate. Sure, it would show up on social media on someone’s TikTok, but fuck it. She was hungry.

People were watching, but they were mostly polite. There was a little gaggle of teenagers in the corner, damn near vibrating, taking selfies with her over their shoulders as the mothers watching the group fussed about it.

But she got back to her table unaccosted and just in time to get her drink, so it was all good. She didn’t like for folks to be alone with her liquids. That was how weird tabloid stories about her stripping down to her bra and support hose happened.

The lights on the dance floor dimmed, and she glanced up, curious to see who the dude with the guitar was going to be.

The “dude” ended up being a long, lean drink of water with bright pink and dark purple hair in a dapper little side comb. She had eyebrow piercings, a nose piercing, and her exposed throat was covered in black and gray rose tattoos.

And just in case the Dr. Martens and the Levis didn’t make it clear, what was printed on her long-sleeved t-shirt sure did.

Scary Lesbian. Boo.

Damn. Skyla poured the Jack into the Diet Coke and stared unabashedly. That was…oddly hot. Not really her type, she thought, but hot. She liked a cowgirl a little more like the lady at the bar, who was obviously taken.

She didn’t talk, just picked up her well-loved guitar, and began to pick, fingers dancing across the strings, the opening chords of “Danny’s Song” sounding. Now, that was an oldie but a goodie, and she did know all the words.

A happy cry of “Kirsten” filled the air.

So, this one was popular.

Skyla sipped her drink, closing her eyes as the lady started to sing. It was easier to get the feel for the talent level that way. The voice had a sandpaper rasp to it but was fairly deep and had a nice round tone to it.

The guitar playing, now. That was exceptional. Kirsten was a musician more than she was a singer.

She made that guitar sing, and her sense of phrasing was absolutely lovely. When Kirsten flowed into “Cat’s in the Cradle”, Skyla tapped her foot and hummed along. She had to stuff her mouth with salad to keep from singing. This wasn’t her show.

The crowd swayed and sang, and she moved to “Come to My Window” and then “If It Makes You Happy.”

This girl knew her audience.

She munched her way through her pizza and salad, enjoying the show. But the singer herself was watching Skyla and looking a little nervous. Damn.

She held it together, though, even managing a totally respectable cover of Bonnie Raitt. Shit, the girl could play, and she caught herself singing along, because hello? Lead singer disease.

Unfortunately, she discovered that everyone in the bar was watching her, and the stud on the stage was just playing, not even pretending to sing with her.

Whoops. Her cheeks heated, and she lifted her hands like, “What can I say,” as she trailed off. She mouthed, “Sorry,” at the lady under the spotlight, because it was kind of a dick move of her to steal the show.

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