We met in a bar -- she was on stage singing her heart out to one of the bands whose songs always make me alternate between wanting to have sex and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.
God, could she sing. Her voice was like warm honey; raw, sweet and slightly addictive. The more you heard her sing, the more you wanted to hear her sing. I wanted to hear her sing, and I wanted to hear her sing to me, her hazel eyes making contact with mine, her soul pouring into me.
I didn't know how I felt about karaoke. The problem wasn't the usual ones; I wasn't embarrassed, I didn't have stage fright, no need to picture the audience in their underwear, though I was sure as hell picturing what she was wearing under her jeans and worn t-shirt. No, the problem was that I can't sing. A theater person, born and bred, and yet I never learned to read music, never learned what a chord was, and had no idea how to hit notes that I didn't even know existed. However, I am a ham at heart, and had to figure out a way to make her notice me.
Madonna was the answer. Madonna is always the answer. Honestly, is there a Madonna song that doesn't make you think about sex? No. I filled out the sheet of paper with the miniature pencil provided in the binder of countless songs, walked through the crowded bar of punk rockers, goth scenesters and rockabilly chicks, and handed it to the woman running the stage. Then I headed back to my booth, never taking my eyes off the gorgeous woman on stage whose voice was tugging at parts of me I didn't even know I had.
Sipping on my cocktail, I watched her superstitiously from under my lashes as she finished to a healthy smattering of applause, certainly more than anyone else had received. I watched her walk off the stage, PBR in hand. I watched as she was greeted by people on the way back to her table, new fans as impressed with her voice as I was. I watched as she swung back a shot of whiskey, as easy as if it was a sip of water, and then settled in to watch the stage.
I'm not that girl, that girl who can flirt, that girl that can approach random people. I'm just me. I get by on my personality and quirkiness, and when that doesn't lure them in, then I get by by going home alone and getting myself off. I didn't want that tonight. I wanted her. I was going to get her, damn it...I just didn't know how.
The woman on stage called my name. Slinging back the remains of my drink, mostly melted ice by this point, I slowly walked to the stage. I wasn't sure if the best plan might not just be running for the door and flipping through my phone book looking for a booty call. But it was too late now -- eyes were on me as I walked up to the stage. I made eye contact with her as I walked by her table, and she tipped her can towards me. Could she smell my fear? Sense my lust? Or was she just being polite?
Climbing the steps, I grabbed the mic. The intro bars of the song started. I fidgeted on stage, unsure of what to do during the intro. I settled with closing my eyes and slightly swaying to the music until it was my turn to provide the entertainment to this crowd who didn't really care what I sang or how well, as long as they were somewhere after me in the line up and their drinks were still flowing. The first words appeared on the blue screen.
"Life is a mystery..." I sang into the mic, quietly, hesitating.
Some guy who'd had a few too many shouted "Louder! We didn't come here to watch a deer in the headlights." Everyone laughed, but she didn't. She was looking at me with a speculative look on her face. I took a deep breath, through the diaphragm, as we were always taught, and started singing again, this time, a little louder. I was still a little meek, still a little questioning, until I hit the chorus.
"When you call my name, it's like a little prayer, down on my knees, I want to take you there." I dropped to my knees at the appropriate part in the song, and once again, made eye contact with the woman whose voice made me burn and freeze inside. She held my gaze throughout the rest of the song. The song wasn't for the aggressive men or the pretty women watching me through their beer goggles. I'd chosen it for her -- I had wanted her to notice me, and here she was, her gaze burrowing into me as I sang to the best of my non-ability. Oddly enough, my voice never wavered, although I'm sure I didn't sound any good. I made it through the song, and though I was sober after only one drink, I stumbled down the stairs. As I headed back to my booth, the spell from the stage had been broken, my eyes following my shoes on the floor.
When I passed her table, avoiding her eyes, a hand reached out to stop me, and pulled me into her, close enough to feel her warmth against me. Bringing her face ever closer to mine, so that our cheeks touched, so that a spark of electricity ran through my body, she whispered in my ear "How can I call your name if I don't know it?"
I froze. Truly a deer in the headlights. What was I supposed to say to something like that? I opened my mouth, trying to come up with a smart retort, but when I tried to speak, all that came out was my name. "Hypatia."
"Good to know." She reached up to run her hand along my cheek and down my neck, lighting my body ablaze. Her speaking voice was just as entrancing as when she was on stage singing, and I wanted her even more. Slowly, her hand continued down my body, briefly brushing the top of my breasts peeking over my shirt, creeping along as I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply until her hand reached mine, fingers entwined with mine. She stood up, and pulled me towards the back of the bar, into the dark, and I followed her there, no hesitation in me now.
As purposely as she guided me there, she pushed open the door to the women's bathroom, pulling me in. Once there, she nudged open the door of the handicapped stall, and without even bothering to lock it, pressed my body against the wall. My lips found hers around the same time her hand wrapped itself in my hair at the base of my scalp, gripping but not quite pulling. I took a deep breath. Few things turn me on as much as having someone's hand in my hair, pulling, guiding me.
She pulled my head back, her lips traveling my neck, my collarbone, the rounded curves of my breast before biting down on my shoulder. I gasped as she held on a moment longer, and then whispered in my ear "shhhh."
