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Chapter 2
Stormy
Why had I let my newbestie drag me to a karaoke bar? Insanity. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I can’t think of any other reason I let her drag me down to a bar in the middle of the week. A brassy redhead on stage belted out Taylor Swift’s ‘Love Story’, off key. While I was tempted to put my hands over my ears, I didn’t want to insult them. Instead, I gulped the Jack and Coke in front of me.
Willow slipped an arm around her waist, leaning in to talk over the caterwauling. “When are you going to sing?”
I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“Why? I’ve heard you. You have an amazing voice.”
“You are the singer of the two of us, girl. When are you getting up there?”
“I’m not unless you come with me.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
“I need two shots and the damn book.”
She squealed with glee, jumping up and down. “I will be right back. Do not go anywhere.”
“Where would I go? You’re my ride.”
“Tru dat.”
I drank the rest of the J&C. My stomach knotted. I hated getting up in front of people. I’ve never felt comfortable with eyes on me, unless I’m doing a book signing. It’s about me, but it's more about the characters. People fall in love, lust, hate, etc. with fictional characters. I see myself as a conductor of sorts. I didn’t make the music, I’m not playing an instrument, yet I am in control of the ebb and flow of the music. Same with characters, I’m merely the conductor through whom the characters tell their stories.
In the Indie community, they call me a pantser. I couldn’t plot out a book to save my life. Do I know the story? Kinda. The idea for a book comes to me like the outline of a picture. It’s my job to fill in the blanks. And I want the characters to tell me their story. To give it color.
Willow appeared a few minutes later with a songbook and shots. She turned to a song and pointed. “Let’s do this one?”
Every time Willow and I had too much to drink, which is often, we sang this song. Over the past few weeks, we played with the parts until we got it just right.
“I feel overdressed for this song.”
“Take off that jacket and drink those tequila shots.”
I shrugged off my blue jacket. The tank I had on underneath had the wordAzurewritten on it vertically. I’d paired it with jeans that fit my ass to perfection and flats. The tequila shots were downed quickly. The burn passed in a few seconds, leaving behind a pleasant numbness a few minutes later. Without food in my stomach, my drinking for the night was over, but the pleasant buzz should help me get through my nerves and up on stage. Only Willow could talk me into doing stuff I felt uncomfortable with. Though I’d only known her for a few weeks, we’d become fast friends.
I felt like I’d known her for years instead of weeks. We met at a local bar the week after I moved to New Orleans. Originally from Indiana, I’d moved here the first week of July. Talk about a rude awakening. Indiana had heat and humidity, but it’s nothing like Louisiana. Stepping outside my front door every morning was akin to walking into the sauna at the gym.
Some days I got homesick, but there was no way in hell I would move back to Indiana. Not until my stepbrother was six feet under or my mother divorced the piece of shit’s father. Also, a piece of shit.
“Ready?”
