Page 96 of Holiday Star
I take a quick step away from Caleb, grateful for the darkness of the bar. I’m hoping it masks the flush that colors my cheeks.
Wayne takes a long pull on his beer. I glance at Caleb to see how he’s responding to Wayne’s drinking, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy staring at the raised stage in the front of the room.
A bachelorette party is currently singing a disjointed version of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” next to an enormous sign that reads “Karaoke night. Half-price draft beers.” One woman hits a pitchy note, and the rest of them giggle, drunkenly leaning on each other.
I guide the subject away from Caleb and me. “What are we going to sing?” There’s a list of karaoke songs on the table to choose from. I pick it up and hand it to Alvina. “Let’s do a duet.”
“You and me? A duet?” Her lips purse as she considers the idea.
“Yeah.” I’ve been thinking about it all day, how we could sing together. “It’ll be fun.”
She shrugs lightly. “Okay, I guess.”
I clap my hands, delighted she’s humoring me. “How about Taylor Swift? She has a ton of songs on that list.”
Alvina’s perfectly arched brow lowers. “Taylor Swift?”
“Please,” I wheedle, giving her my best puppy dog eyes. “She’s my absolute favorite. Please, Alvina?”
“Okay. Okay.” She waves me off. “I don’t know her as well, so you pick the song.”
I choose Blank Space, and we put in our request. There’s just one group waiting to sing in front of us.
Caleb keeps glancing at me while he drums his fingers nervously on the table. I assume he’s worried about his upcoming performance, but then he steps closer. “I did something.” His brow furrows with concern. “I’m scared you’ll be mad at me.”
My mind races, sifting through all the possibilities. “What is it?” I shift my weight as I brace for his answer.
“I showed that picture, the one of the painting you did, to an art gallery owner that I know.”
Wait. What?
“Why?” I’m bewildered. “Why would you do that?” The implications of what he just said hit me. Eagerly, I press for more details. “What did they say? Did they like it? Hate it? Think it was any good? Oh god, they thought it was awful, didn’t they? Did they ask if a third grader painted it?” I bury my face in my hands, peeking out from between my fingers.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Whoa, Gwen. Calm down.” He holds up his hand, laughing. “He loved it. My friend, the gallery owner, wants to talk to you. He’s interested in seeing more of your work.”
I drop my hands from my face and grin, my excitement almost unbearable. “Really?I can’t believe it. That’s amazing.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
AmI angry with him? I should be based on principles alone. Caleb went behind my back and showed the gallery owner my painting. But it’s hard to be upset when the result is beyond my wildest expectations. It’s a dream I never dared to hope for, that someone at an actual gallery could be interested in me and my artwork.
I’m saved from answering Caleb’s question by the MC calling my name.
Alvina and I ascend the raised dais in the front of the room. Standing before the rowdy bar, I have a newfound appreciation for the stage fright Caleb has described. It’s just as he said. The spotlights are hot and blinding. Magnified by my fear, the crowd expands, like there are thousands of people about to watch me make a fool of myself.
Instinctively, my eyes search the audience for Caleb. He’s there. His bright blue gaze and encouraging smile calm me.
Alvina shows no sign of nerves. I guess when you help run one of the busiest ICUs in the country, karaoke might seem tame in comparison. I swallow around the lump in my throat. The spotlights dim, then flare into red as the first beats of the song pour from the speakers. As we had planned, we trade off singing each verse and sing the chorus together.
I’m not delusional. My singing voice is awful, high and warbling. I sing along, at first cautious but slowly becoming more carefree. Besides my friends, I’ll probably never see anyone from this bar again. Why should I care what these strangers think about me?
This is karaoke night, notAmerican Idol.
Alvina, on the other hand, has nothing to be ashamed about. Her singing voice isn’t professional grade, but it’s pretty damn good, smooth and rich. She’s able to hit those tough to reach high notes.
We are halfway through the song when the computer screen that shows the lyrics glitches and goes blank. Inwardly, I groan, but I’m not scared for me. I know all the words. It’s Alvina I worry about.
She flashes a bewildered glance in my direction. I make a “keep going” motion with my hand as the song bridges into her section to sing. There’s a pause, and she picks up from where I left off. She gets all the words in the verse correct, but at the chorus, when she should say, “I’ve got a long list of ex-lovers,” she fumbles. She’s clearly searching for the right phrase and not finding it. Finally, Alvina stutters out, “a long list of…of…eggs and butter.”
