Daddy's Fiery Little (Wounded Daddies 5)
CHAPTER TWO
Micah
I can tell she’s a little nervous. “You’re going to be great,” I say.
“I’m not worried about that,” she replies, turning to look directly at me. God, her eyes are perfect. They’re a vibrant green I could get lost in. “I’m just worried that everyone loves Rollie’s style so much they won’t like mine.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter how great the steak is if I’m singing to vegetarians.”
I smile at her analogy and I point to where Carl and Leo stand at the end of the bar. “Those two would never have hired you if they didn’t know you were right for this crowd,” I say. “They’re going to think you’re incredible.”
“But what if they don’t?”
I shrug and say, “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to spank you until you get it right.”
Where the hell did that come from?”
Thankfully, I haven’t offended her. She says, “I’d like to see you try.” and looks at the stage.
God, what I wouldn’t give for her to actually want me to try!
I say, “Vanessa, look at me.”
She turns and looks at me and it almost seems like she’s holding her breath. “You got this,” I say. “I know Carl. I know Leo. If they think you’re right for this place, it’s a done deal. It’s just a fact. You’re going to be wonderful. Do you understand?”
She stares at me for a moment and then the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile. “Thank you, Micah,” she says.
On stage, Rollie says, “So while I’m gone, I have a very special girl to sing for me. I know you’re all gonna love her just as much as I do. So, let’s give her a really big welcome, okay?”
The crowd applauds and I watch Vanessa take a deep breath and walk up to the stage. She embraces Rollie and then takes the microphone. Titus Canton, who must be about sixty-three now, sits at the upright piano. She steps over to him and reaches out with one perfect little hand to caress his cheek. “Will you play for me?” she asks.
Her voice…
There’s something about it, and the entire club grows silent.
The piano starts softly, and she turns to look at the audience. Her eyes seem even deeper green now and the air seems thick as she sings,
“You made me love you. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do it. You made me want to, and all the time you knew it. I guess you always knew it.”
Dear God.
Dear God in Heaven above.
Her voice is the voice of a goddess. I can feel it on my skin, vibrating from deep within her. I glance around the room, and I can see everyone in the club is entranced. This is a classic song, part of the great American songbook, but she makes it something impossible, something new and smoldering. I feel as though she sings to me, and I imagine everyone in the club feels the same way.
She wears a slinky black dress that looks almost like it’s painted on her, and as she leans against the piano and sings, I can’t even begin to understand how a human being could possess that voice, how words could somehow gain power and meaning simply because they escape her lips. I feel like laughing, shouting, crying, and moaning all at once, and it’s her voice that does that to me.
I’m not wrong.
She’s got this.
She’s absolutely stunning, breathtaking in all conceivable ways. I listen and I feel lost in what she sings. Hell, I’ve heard this song by a dozen artists, I imagine. It’s at every piano bar in the world, I guess. Nothing can compare to her singing it. It’s a good thing everyone else is similarly entranced because I have no idea if I’d be able to actually tend bar if someone wanted a drink.
She finishes her song and there’s dead silence. I hear one woman crying softly and then the audience erupts in applause, most of them standing to their feet. One of the waitresses—I think her name is Patti—comes up to the bar with a drink order. She looks at me and lets out a whistle.
“Man,” she says, “Can you believe that?”
I smile at her and reply, “No possible way but I heard it with my own ears.”
“I love Rollie but this… man.”