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.
