The song was rangy, full of sustained notes that slid up and down the scale. The man loosened up as he sang, grinning, and the audience watched in surprised delight as he killed the song. He sounded nothing like Theo, really—no one did—but his voice had the same elastic ability to resonate at the low notes and tinkle at the high ones.
The woman sang the second verse and she was great too. They sang the chorus in harmony and I fumbled to open a video on my phone. I got the guy singing the third verse before someone approached for a drink. Once I’d served him, I shot a text off to Whitman and Theo: Someone’s ready to take your old job, Decker. And I attached the video clip.
The crowd applauded enthusiastically for the duo as they sat back down, and my phone buzzed with a text.
Whitman wrote: Wow he’s pretty good. Got nothing on you though baby.
The persistent hollow ache in my belly was a hunger for something unnamable, and Whitman’s casual endearment stirred it ravenous. I pressed the heel of my hand to my stomach like I could feed it from the outside. It never worked, just left me with a tender bruise under my ribs.
I had watched Whit fall in love with Theo and seen a version of my friend I’d never known: someone softer, brighter, stronger, and with far more to lose.
I’d been suspicious of Theo at first. How could I not be? When your oldest friend and sponsee who left the music business in order to stay sober starts dating a rock star, it’s hard to see that ending well. Letting go enough to love could bring with it the dangerous kind of abandon.
When I first met Theo, I was prepared to give him a stern talking-to. But when Whitman went to the bathroom, Theo turned big gray-blue eyes on me and thanked me for taking care of Caleb all these years. He promised me that he’d do everything he could to take care of him too. I didn’t like to admit it, but I’d been a bit of a sucker for him ever since.
Whoaaaaah! Theo texted back. He’s great.
Then a minute later: Riven is looking for a new lead singer after that disaster of a guy they hired last year. Huey you should tell the guy you’ll pass his info along and give it to me!?
I snorted.
Right, because when guys who look like me and work behind a bar tell young men he could make them a star they should definitely believe them and give out personal info. No dice.
Whitman sent back a crying laughing emoji and a picture of Theo’s face set in a cringing sulk.
By the time I looked up to serve the next customer, the man was gone.
* * *
—
The next week he was back, hair tied up in a messy ponytail that left too-short strands curling at his neck, revealing high cheekbones. I had a fleeting moment of gratitude to Johi for making me do karaoke night, then crushed it.
He’s back, I texted Theo.
Dude, Theo replied, I showed that vid to Coco and she said they’re seriously interested in at least talking to him. Pass it along?
Coco was Riven’s guitarist and Theo’s friend. I wasn’t surprised that Theo was trying to help Riven even though he’d left the band. He was a sweet guy, and he loved to help people.
I sighed and wrote, I’ll try.
Thanks man!!! Theo followed this up with a picture of his puppy, Solo, sitting on Whitman’s chest, tongue out and tail a blur of wagging directly in Whit’s face. Solo says thank you too!
I slid my phone back in my pocket and looked up to see the other half of the Riven duet at the bar.
“Hey,” the girl said. “Can I have two gin and tonics?”
I nodded. “See your ID?”
I glanced quickly at her birth date and filed away her name—Sofia Rainey—before starting on the drinks.
Should I mention Theo’s offer to her, so it would seem less like I was trying to prey on the man? Or would that just seem like I was trying to do the same to her?
She smiled perfunctorily at me as she took the drinks and turned away before I had the chance to say anything at all.
When the duo took the stage again, I was just as impressed as I’d been last time. I was no pro, but I’d spent long enough around musicians to be a decent judge.
Their voices were strong and clear, and the crowd responded enthusiastically. The man smiled as he sang and bobbed his head, hair falling from his ponytail. He was wearing a pastel yellow T-shirt with a smiling cloud on it that looked shrunken and worn soft with age. When he raised his hand to swipe at his hair, the hem rode up to reveal a flash of smooth, pale skin and a dark spot of sweat under his arm.