Page 3 of Broken Melody
Looking away, I begin singing the next song, losing myself, or maybe it should really be defined as finding myself – once again. When the last note rings out, the room explodes into cheers once again and clapping. Smiling and laughing, and ignoring the request to sing yet another song, I hand the microphone to Erik, “That was amazing,” he says. “You should sing another.”
“No, that’s okay, two’s enough. It isn’t the Sailor concert last I heard.”
“It should be. I’d pay to hear you sing, seriously.”
Laughing at that comment, I roll my eyes. “Time to give someone else a turn. Thanks, Erik.” I walk past the line of waiting people. Some stand confidently, looking almost bored waiting for their turn, others look nervous, biting their nails or chatting with the person next to them about being scared to sing for the first or fiftieth time. I love it. I love the way music affects people, brings them together, speaks to them and makes them feel fearless. Good or bad I can’t wait to hear each one.
Returning to the bar, I’m stopped along the way by people telling me, “Wow, you’re amazing,” “Loved it, Sailor,” “Please sing more.” I smile and nod and duck back behind the bar and serve drinks. It appears I may be thanking people for their kind words for the rest of my shift as I’m given compliment after compliment. It makes me feel good, makes me feel like…I matter. A simple minute of singing, which is nothing really, no time at all, made a difference to these people. For a long time I felt like my voice wasn’t heard. I screamed, ranted, raved, cried, demanded and begged, but still, it’s as if I wasn’t saying anything at all. I was ignored, disbelieved, betrayed…silenced. Maybe that’s why I sing with everything I have – I want to be heard. And hearing and seeing the impact my voice brings on stage is priceless. It gives me a sense of peace. It validates me. It proves that I have a voice after all. And what I have to say is worth telling.
“That was amazing, as always, Sailor, seriously. How did I get so lucky to have you work here?” Dusty asks me with a pat on my shoulder.
“I’m the lucky one. Thanks for letting me sing.”
“Letting you? No way. I demand it of you.”
Laughing I turn away and Britt is smiling ear to ear. “That was the best yet,” she says sincerely.
“It was fun,” I tell her shrugging my shoulders. “Need a refill?” I ask her.
“I’ll go for a water.”
“Good choice,” I tell her and grab a glass to fill for her. Then I lose myself in the chaos of filling drink orders and tending those at the bar once again. People make comments about my songs in between drink orders and I thank them, all the while enjoying the other people taking turns on stage. The buzz in the atmosphere makes me feel joy; I’m almost floating on my feet as I work my ass off.
As closing time nears, my feet start to protest loudly and I’m happy that it’s about time to go home. Britt is sitting down the bar waiting for me. We became roommates not long after meeting, we hit it off so fast, so I know she’s waiting to go home together.
As I’m wiping down the bar and putting washed glasses away and closing alcohol bottles and putting them in place along with other routine close-up tasks, Dusty goes and starts placing chairs on table tops. “Sailor, was it?”
I turn and find the man from earlier back at the bar, “Yes, that’s right.”
“Your singing was amazing. Why didn’t you tell me that you were the woman I was obviously asking about?”
“It could have been anyone. There are a lot of people that come in here and sing each week.”
“Yeah, but not like you I bet.”
I shrug, “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”
He’s joined by the man he was sitting at a table with and they both stare at me. “Do you guys want another quick drink before we close up?” I ask unsure why they are both staring at me. They’re making me feel uncomfortable.
“Actually, we came here to hear you. Like I suggested earlier.”
“Why?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jace Green and I’m the manager for the band Graffiti. Have you ever heard of them?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t?” I ask, the band immediately coming to mind. The lead singer is in the news a lot and not always for their music. His antics lately have been displayed for the world to see as the media’s ability and love of exploiting him and realizing a likely profit at his peril has been displayed. Which is a shame really, because their music is great.
“And with me is Rick McEntyre, he’s an executive producer with Black Lamb Records. We’re actively looking for a woman to audition for Graffiti, and we’d like you to come to the studio this week.”
“What?” I ask them completely not sure I heard them correctly and suddenly feeling a little dizzy.
Jace smiles, “We are looking to add a woman lead singer to the group and word leaked about an amazing singer here at The Hook, so we came to check you out.”
“You came… to hear me?” I ask and see that Britt has moved closer to the conversation.
“That’s right. You’re brilliant, and we think you could be a great fit with the band. We are having an audition this Wednesday, and I’d like you to come. There are a few other girls that will be there, but I’ll be honest,” Jace says as he leans closer to me across the bar, “you are my favorite. If you’re interested, we’d like you to come and sing a couple songs with the band, and see if the sound is what we expect and how it feels for you…and them, and then go from there.”
“Go from there,” I repeat like some psychotic parrot. But I can’t stop. I hear what he’s saying but it’s like the words aren’t computing in my brain or something.
