Page 29 of Born to be Wilder

“Okay. Okay. Fine. I’ll sing.”

“Good.” Marge sat back, crossing her arms.

The server arrived with our three beers and Alice’s dirty martini. She set them down and hurried back to the next table with the rest of the drinks on her tray.

“Liquid courage.” Alice lifted her martini.

I groaned and grabbed my beer before clinking it against theirs and downing it like I was a frat boy with a nickname like Goober or something.

The server came back and took our food order, and Alice ordered a tequila shot. I assumed it was for her, but then she pushed it in front of me when it arrived.

“More courage.”

I drank it too, knowing I needed every drop of alcohol in my body if I was going to do what I was about to do. When the warmth washed through me like a tidal wave about five minutes later, I pushed up from the table.

“I’m signing up!” I declared, lifting a finger and then pointing it toward the DJ.

The girls cheered me on as I walked across the bar, a notable extra skip in my step as the tequila urged me forward.

I arrived at the DJ booth, and the man with the receding hairline and gold chain around his neck greeted me with a grin. “Song choice?”

My mind went completely blank as I stared at the slip of paper and pen in front of me. Was I really doing this? Really?

Me?

This truly was my worst nightmare. My greatest fear. I couldn’t even do a public speech in my college class and had to call in sick that day and take the C when I would have had an A. There was nothing, and I mean nothing, I hated more than being the center of attention. And that was just speaking. This was…

Singing.

I swallowed down the vomit climbing up my throat.

I glanced back at the widows all grinning at me from the booth, and when I looked at Alice and imagined what she was about to face, I turned back, grabbed the paper, and jotted down the one song I knew every single word to. The song I sang in the car when I was alone and the windows were up and no one could ever, ever know.

The song that made me think of those three amazing women waving at me across the bar.

The current singer finished up their song, hitting notes so high and beautiful that the whole place erupted in applause. Instantly, I regretted my decision and decided I was not, in fact, going up on that stage.

“You okay?” the DJ asked as I reached down to retrieve my song choice, hoping to burn it in the tabletop candle and pretend this never happened.

“No. I think I’m going to puke, pass out, and puke again, then pass out again. I don’t think I can do this.”

His toothy grin widened. “Everyone says that the first time. But once they get going, they all say it was incredible.”

“Yeah. I sing like I’m deaf and also being skinned alive. You don’t want to hear me up there.”

I went to grab the paper, but he snatched it away.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

He held the microphone to his mouth. “Well, next up, we have a newcomer!”

My eyes grew into oversized orbs. “What are you doing?” I whisper-yelled.

He just kept smiling at me. “She thinks she has a terrible voice and she’s trying to back out, so how about you all help me encourage SYLVIE onto the stage!”

Everyone clapped and shouted words of encouragement. The widows erupted. Marge let out a piercing whistle that probably shattered a few beer mugs.

“You’ve got this,” the DJ whispered, joining in on the clapping as he gestured to the stage.