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Lucas chuckles awkwardly. Yep, he’s definitely fanboying. “Yes, I know who you are.” He glances at me and ushers me forward. “And this is my girlfriend, Rachel.”
“A pleasure,” Stacey says while taking my hand.
I give a curt nod and a polite smile, wondering if I should go grab a beer while I wait for them to chitchat about Lucas’s work. Although, I don’t want to deal with the bartender. He’s a bit too friendly.
“I remember the work you sent with your application. Why did you decide on this piece over the others?”
“W-well, I thought we were supposed to have written something new for tonight.”
Stacey nods. “Yes, you’re right.”
Lucas frowns and I notice he’s getting that look in his eye—the one that makes me think of a lost puppy. “Was there something wrong?”
“No, no, not at all.” Stacey shakes her head.
She seems so nice. A part of me wants to introduce her to my dad. He’s a writer. They just might get along. Then again, Mom would have a field day and I would have to live with her accusing me of setting Dad up with another woman until the day I die. Not like she should care. Dad deserves some love, too, every now and then. Why should Mom have all the fun?
“What I mean is, you didn’t seem to know the work well.”
Lucas simply stares at her, and I can see him dissolving with her words. I stroke his arm, wanting to tell him she doesn’t mean anything bad by what she’s saying. He should feel honored to be getting any critique. It means he stood out to her. Although, looking at Lucas, I doubt he feels that way.
“It didn’t feel like you were speaking from the heart,” Stacey continues. “The words were pretty, the poem was nice, but it lacked feeling.”
“O-okay,” Lucas breathes. I can tell he wants to get out. He will agree with whatever she says in order to escape.
“Was this your first Open Mic?”
Lucas shakes his head. “My first one here, but I often go to a friend’s bar on campus.”
Stacey’s eyes brighten like a kid being given candy. “Do you read the stuff from your application?”
“He does,” I say, wanting to put Lucas out of his misery and offer some sort of support. “And he’s brilliant.”
“So, you also agree he had an off night?”
My eyes widen. Shit, I can’t agree to that without digging myself a deep hole. “I think he was nervous,” I say slowly, choosing my words carefully. “He’s a brilliant writer.”
“But, when it comes to Open Mics, being a brilliant writer isn’t enough,” says one of Stacey’s friends, the man. I didn’t catch his name. “It’s all about describing a story to the audience as if they were in it themselves.”
“Exactly!” Stacey says while clapping her hands excitedly together. “Pretty words will only get you so far. Try reading out loud to yourself, to your friends, family. The more you learn how to tell a story by word of mouth, the better writer you will become.”
“I’ll try that,” Lucas says, his voice so soft.
“Well, we better go,” I say with an awkward chuckle, tugging Lucas toward the door. “We have a busy day tomorrow.” It’s a complete lie, but I don’t want Lucas suffering any more than he has to. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.”
We zigzag through the crowd, Lucas following silently behind me until we are standing outside in the bitter cold. The sounds of the crowd behind us are muffled by the door, and the smell of tobacco fills my senses while I look around at the cars zipping past and the men and women hovering outside, puffing on their cigarettes.
“Well, that was an epic fail,” Lucas mutters.
“It was not,” I say, turning to him and placing my chilled hand on his cheek.
He stares down at me, looking worse with each passing moment. I don’t know what to say to make him feel better. This was a good learning experience, a stepping stone to becoming a better writer. Not everyone can be amazing the moment they pick something up. It takes effort and hard work with a little luck and skill. I, for one, know that.
“Do you want to go for ice cream?” I ask, chuckling awkwardly at the mere thought of having something so frigid in this weather. “Or maybe some hot cocoa?”
“I think I just want to go back to the hotel.”
I bob my head in agreement. “Ok. Why don’t we get a drink at the hotel bar?”
