"What's up there?" I asked.
The bouncer glanced up at the balcony. "VIP lounge. Access is at the staircase in the dance club."
VIP lounge. Is that where he'd gone? He didn't look like the VIP type. My stomach tightened. I wasn't the VIP type either, but one day, I'd be different. I wouldn't be the Midwest girl that ran away from my namesake hometown of Corsica, South Dakota. I would be rich, recognized, and standing at that railing with an ever-full glass of champagne.
Then, I caught sight of the vintage microphone on the small stage. I knew I'd get to the VIP lounge if I stuck to my practical plan, but there was always a wild twinge of hope when I thought about singing. It was silly. I'd never make a living as a singer. Yet that was exactly what my heart wished for every time I was near a microphone or a stage.
I stopped and shook my head at Ginny. Why get my hopes up?
She planted her fists on her slim hips. "Oh, no. You're not backing out this time. I graduated, too, and this is my celebration, and I want you to sing!"
Ginny sat me down at a small,
round table and went to talk with the piano player. After a few minutes of negotiations, he looked up and grinned at me. Ginny sauntered back to the table looking very pleased with herself.
"I'm not ready," I said.
"You have a few minutes." She sat back and clapped as the next singer climbed the stage and waited for the karaoke machine to kick in.
"If you picked some pop tune, I'm not going up there."
She waved my anxiety away and smiled at the tall waiter that appeared next to our table. "With compliments from the VIP lounge," he said.
"See?" Ginny asked, raising her fresh martini in a toast. "Someone else wants you to sing, too. Here's to liquid courage."
My throat was so dry, I was sure I'd choke on the drink. Plus, there was no way I could lift the thin-stemmed, wide-mouthed glass without sloshing alcohol all over myself. I laced my fingers together in my lap and tried to breathe.
No one knows you here, Corsica. Just let yourself go. It's just one song.
The reedy-voiced singer finished as the small crowd clapped wildly. I watched the piano player stretch his fingers and dance them over the keys in a quick warm-up. The key was familiar, and I knew the song before the host announced it.
"One of your best," Ginny winked.
She'd chosen an old lounge singer's tune about what the stars look like when you are in love. I knew it well and was on stage with one hand curled around the microphone before my mind could protest anymore.
Then it happened: the wave of joy that washed away all my fears and worries. I gave the piano player a sultry smile, and he jumped in to the bouncy syncopation of the first bars.
My voice sailed over the top, smoothing out the strong beats and tinkling flourishes of the piano. The crowd was all shocked smiles. I swayed my hips and emphasized the lyrics with flutters of my free hand. People began to nod and cheer.
Then, I saw him.
He was leaning over the wrought iron railing with the hint of a smile curving his beard and mustache. Despite his shaggy hair and the distraction of his tattoos, I was suddenly singing to him alone. The lyrics, my voice, reached out to those dark, eyes sparkling above me like I was wishing on a pair of stars. I couldn't help it; my stage presence had taken over and it felt great.
The song came to an end, and the piano player jumped off his narrow bench. "That was great! Damn, girl! I never would have guessed you had it in you. Please tell me we can do another one."
The small crowd filled the little lounge with applause. I looked up to see if he was clapping, too, but he wasn't at the railing. "Is he allowed to do that?" I asked.
The piano player glanced at the narrow, blocked-off staircase that ran from the VIP lounge balcony to backstage. "Him? You mean Penn? Sure."
Penn had jumped the gate that secured the staircase. He jogged down the steps to disappear behind the black velvet curtain. I felt him before he appeared, like a wave surging in the water. Then, he flipped back the curtain and walked around the foot of the stage.
"Tell her she has to sing again, Penn," the piano player begged.
"You really should," Penn held up a hand to help me down from the stage, "later."
"What do you want?" I asked Penn as he pulled me towards the bar.
"To buy you a drink."