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“So maybe it was just Phillip cleaning house?”
Trish shakes her head. “Phillip doesn’t care about anyone, much less who gets promoted. He cares about results, and Roger’s results were good for a long time. Then they weren’t, so he got fired. That’s the problem with Phillip. Not that he fired a creep, but because he let that creep keep his job until he started underperforming.”
That doesn’t make sense after spending the night with him. He didn’t seem like a robot who only cared about numbers. Hell, if he didn’t care about people, then why would he go to the effort to help me out? I chew my lip while I try to process it all. “It just doesn’t make sense. He seemed like such a good guy, you know?”
Trish grins and sucks down her Cosmo before standing up. “Well, my turn,” she says.
Sera and I glance at the screen above the little stage. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler is showing on it.
That’s the thing they didn’t tell me before I showed up at the Drunken Goat. It’s not only karaoke night. They’re requiring me to participate, and my song comes on after Trish’s.
“Remember that you have to do the spin,” Sera says as Trish walks toward the stage.
She glances back at us with a grin. “Girl, if I don’t do the spin, you might want to make sure someone’s not impersonating me.”
Sera laughs, but I just feel a ball of stress building in my stomach. I’m next, and though I’ve had my fair share of karaoke nights, today was literally my first at a job I want to be taken seriously at. Now, I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of the first people who were willing to talk to me.
I suck down my Long Island and wave a waitress over to get me another one. Since it seems like there’s no way around this, I’m going to need a drink when I’m done. A strong one.
Trish looks completely confident on stage. Fiery red hair brushed back into a ponytail. Wearing a bright red dress that makes her look like she belongs on a stage, the office hooker looks more at home here than she does at work, even though she’s been with Loughton House for years.
“Who started this stupid tradition?” I ask as the intro plays from the speakers.
“Oh, this is all Trish. She’s been at Loughton House for two or three years longer than me. My first day, she hauled my ass out of the office to this little shithole of a bar. She did the same with Victoria and a few others you haven’t met. After she convinced me to do this, I told her we had to convince all the new hires to do it, too.”
“But why?” This is ridiculous. And why the hell does it have to be a terrible 80s song? I wasn’t even born when this song was popular.”
Sera just laughs as Trish belts out the words to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” as though she’s auditioning for America’s Got Talent or something. I have never, in my entire life, seen someone go so all-out in karaoke. She’s moving along the stage like the thirty other people in the bar are paying to see her.
And when it’s time for the spin, she does not disappoint. I don’t think she even glances at the lyrics. This is a song she knows by heart.
“I’m not doing that,” I whisper.
“Me neither,” Sera says in agreement. “Nobody else does either, just so you know. This is a Trish thing.”
We watch Trish make the most of her moment on the stage. When the closing lines hit, she makes her final spin and collapses to the stage, her flowing dress moving out around her like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
The crowd erupts in applause as though theyhadcome here to see her perform. Sera and I join in as well, and it’s just such a weird thing to do at a karaoke night. When Trish bows and walks down the steps to come back to the table, it’s such a weird vibe.
“How am I supposed to follow that?”
The screen hanging behind the stage changes to Europe’s “The Final Countdown” and my stomach tightens.
Sera stands up with a grin on her face. “You aren’t going to follow it. We are.” She walks between the tables as confident as ever, and I have to hurry to catch up.
“I thought I was doing this song?” I whisper.
She winks as we get on stage and pick up the microphones, not bothering to respond. The familiar electronic beat starts to play and Sera’s head nods in rhythm with it.
She’s grinning and laughing as we stand in front of the lyric box like there isn’t a crowd of people staring up at us. I try not to think about them, and as the first few lyrics start, I do my best to keep from passing out. They say that more people have a fear of public performances than literally dying, and right now, I completely understand.
But Sera doesn’t seem bothered by it, and it’s hard not to feed on her energy as she belts out the intro. By the time the chorus hits, I’m singing just as loudly as her. When the next set of lyrics appears on the screen, a hand reaches between us to grab a mic, scaring the shit out of me.
I glance behind me and see Trish grinning as she sings along with us. For just a moment, I actually forget about the audience and embrace the energy of being on stage with Sera and Trish. The terrible 80s music just reinforces it as the speaker pumps out electronic beats that almost beg you to forget that you’re a terrible singer.
It's chaos, but it’s chaos with two people that genuinely want to be happy. That want me to be happy. Nothing at all like what I’m used to. Nothing like the life I left when I came to New York City.
And I love it. As “The Final Countdown” comes to a close, I glance at the two women who were strangers this morning, and I realize that maybe I’m not so alone anymore.
