Page 2 of Broken Melody
“Yeah, he was, too. But I’m talking about Brad the guy that was talking to you before. The guy that is clearly into you and was flirting.”
“He is cute, I agree. You should definitely go chat him up. Like, right now. You two would make an adorable couple.”
“God, Sailor, you’re so annoying,” she says with a small grin.
“So are you! You know damn well he’s not my type. How long have you known me?”
“That’s true. I mean, he’s probably super nice and would treat his girlfriend with respect. We wouldn’t want that.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“You know I’m right. You like a little bad with your good. Problem is, you always lean toward someone who has more bad than good. That’s why you keep getting your heart stomped on.”
“You have to actually care to get your heart stomped on, Britt.”
“You pretend you don’t care, but you do. I know you.”
“Whatever, and besides, you are not one to talk. Let’s have this conversation later.”
“No we won’t, because you’ll avoid it like always,” she says and thank god right then, Kyle a waiter comes up to me with another drink order.
While I pour and mix - thanks to Britt - my mind wanders to my last couple boyfriends. The annoying thing is that she’s not wrong. It took me a long time to date once I moved here to California, but when I did, I was surprised by my apparent taste in men too, although given my past, it isn’t too surprising I suppose. My last boyfriend, Trevor, was totally hot. Tattoos for days, a cocky attitude, and he was amazing in bed. His moves in the bedroom made you endure the attitude. In full disclosure, I was willing to put up with him being so full himself in exchange for the orgasms he gave – because there were a lot. I was sporting a constant smile due to the continual work out my body was getting, until I found him in bed with another woman. And not just any bed –mybed. Clearly, I’m not the only one he liked delighting with his sexual prowess. Yeah, not a story I like to think about. It was ugly, there was crying, and screaming - his, not mine.
“Totally thinking about Trevor aren’t you?” Britt asks and when I look at her she has a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s all over your face.”
“Shut up,” I tell her with a laugh.
Just as the crowd cheers for a woman that rocked everyone out to a fun 80s song, Dusty comes up behind me, “What are you going to sing tonight?”
Turning to him, I cross my arms over my chest, “Who says I’m going to sing tonight?”
“You can’t resist. In fact, I should make it part of your employment contract considering the crowd that you draw in, it would definitely work in my benefit.”
“Great idea. Let me know how much the raise will be to go along with that contract amendment.”
Dusty smiles, “Deal. Now get up there.”
“Alright, give me a minute to think about what I want to sing.”
He nods, and I pour myself a drink while I think. I never imagined when I stumbled in here longing to escape my past, and start over, that I’d not only find a job that pays decently, but that I’d gain friends as well. I wanted to get lost in the crowd, drown in anonymity. Los Angeles seemed like the perfect place. Surrounded by actor and actress wannabe’s hoping to hit it big, I figured being a steady worker in a place that likely had a revolving staff would be perfect. I picked the wrong place, if that’s what I was hoping for, because The Hook is more like a home. Dusty the owner is great. He cares about his employees; he pays us well, treats us fair, and is kind with our hours. Turnover is low unless someone actually makes it in this dream bursting town. Plus, the bar staff has all been fantastic – not an asshole in the bunch. Add that to the large number of regulars that come in and it’s a damn family. The exact opposite of the anonymity I was looking for a few years ago, but I’m not complaining.
I never intended to sing on karaoke nights. One hot summer night when we first added it to our weekend line up it was quiet in here, which was odd considering our prime location in downtown Hollywood. Britt stumbled in and ordered a whiskey neat. After she downed the first, she lifted her finger indicating another. It was obvious she was in distress. Red, puffy eyes, she was clearly drinking her feelings, or at least trying her best to drown them. Two drinks in, she started talking. A visit to her brother in a town called Hope Falls turned into her meeting a great guy. She fell for him hard in a really short time, would have liked to stay even, but he was just coming out of a relationship and had his own business, and she had a blossoming clientele here working as a hair stylist. What started out as quiet drinking and sniffing quickly turned into a full on play-by-play recitation. Britt seemed pitiful and her story was sad. So, to make her smile and hopefully feel better, I went up on stage and dedicated an iconic break up song to her. One song went into another and soon the whole staff was cheering me on and begging for yet another. It became a thing each night we had karaoke. At some point I’d get up on stage. Dusty opened the doors and made a big sign that sat on the sidewalk in front of the bar and people would trickle in.
At first people were hesitant to get on stage. It was like they needed someone to break the ice each week. Initially, Dusty volunteered me to do that and each time, others would follow. Eventually, people were fighting for turns, whether they were first, last or somewhere in between. It’s been fun to watch it develop its own life, and each week Dusty still expects me to get up and sing – and I do. I admit I enjoy it. I’ve always loved music. I didn’t realize how much I missed my old high school choir days. I guess singing in my car and the shower just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I actually have found myself looking forward to getting up on stage.
Walking to the book of songs, I select the one I want to sing, and another just in case and show them to Erik, the DJ that runs our music and karaoke nights. “Demi Lovato tonight, huh? Good choices,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear you nail them.” I smile, and nod. I’ve been compared to Demi a lot and it’s a comparison that secretly makes me proud – her voice is insane. Her vocal range alone is incredible.
As I take the stage, there are cheers, claps and whistles from the crowd – looking around I smile at familiar faces. I wave at a few knowing their kindness is because they know me and have heard me sing before. It’s like my own little fan base. When the song and lyrics come on the screen, the crowd cheers again which makes me laugh, the microphone sending it around the room. Knowing that I start singing almost as soon as the music starts, I look at Erik and nod my head so he knows I’m ready. I sing the hell out ofHeart Attack. It’s a song about not wanting to fall in love, but doing so anyway. I lose myself almost immediately. There’s something that happens to me when I’m on stage, when music runs through me; I close my eyes, lose myself to the music, to the words, and belt it out. I let the music fall over me and it’s as if each note peels away the façade revealing the real me underneath. And it’s saying look at me, listen to me, I have something to offer, something to say.
I’m able to become one with the song. It’s as if I’m a different person up here. The quiet, closed off person that I am more often than not, opens up. Music speaks to me in a way nothing else can. It unlocks my heart, makes me vulnerable, makes me feel. I blossom. I become the person I love to be.
Opening my eyes, I play to the crowd, I smile, I’m able to let everything that sits on my shoulders, that weighs on my mind, that can make my stomach feel heavy… go… I can let it go and just…be.
When my eyes connect with Britt’s she smiles knowingly at me. I’ve told her before, confided in her how singing makes me feel. She told me once that she can always see the moment it hits me on stage, the instant the real me arrives for others to see. She nods at me, kneels on her stool and cheers her head off. I thank the stars the day her broken heart brought her into this place. She’s become a friend I never thought I’d have. My biggest supporter, my rock, my secret keeper, someone that simply gets me; without me saying a word. She’s ridiculous in the best kind of way.
When the last note rings out, the room explodes in praise. I smile shyly and people immediately begin asking and demanding more. Seeking Dusty out in the crowd, I find him leaning against the bar, rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed and a big smile on his face. He nods permission, and I nod at Erik silently asking him to start the next song.
WhenTwo Piecesstarts to play, the bar cheers, rewarding me for responding to their request and singing one more. Absently looking around the room, my eyes land on the man that ordered a drink from me earlier. The man that asked me about a woman that sang here. He shakes his head at me with a smile and I shrug. He’s sitting with another man whose stare is a bit disarming. They each talk to the other, nod, and stare at me the whole time.
