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“Yeah, asshole.” Zoey pokes him hard in the shoulder. “Show us what your left nut can do.”
He scowls down at us, probably trying to decide which finger to use to flick us into oblivion. Because that’s all it would take, really. A sneeze from him and we’d be over with.
“For my next song…”
I glance over my shoulder and am heartened to see that Alex is owning her shit up there. Her time’s limited and like a true pro, she’s making it count. My chest swells with pride that overwhelms the feelings of obligation and boredom I was stuck with before. She’s a good kid and she’s working her ass off.
Edward slips into my mind again. How I took his deal as a shortcut to getting what I wanted - for both the theater and my acting - even if it meant selling out my values. I let him seduce me into forgetting who I am.
Although - I stand back while Zoey and Trucker Guy have it out - I felt more myself than ever in that lighting room. I wanted him, and still do. The way I feel now, filled up with the memory of him… His touch, his taste… Does that mean this place has changed me after all? That I would feel this way for a man like him?
“Tell him, Cara.”
I blink at Zoey, my gaze slowly shifting to the blood red face of Trucker Guy. I’ve missed the whole altercation and have no idea what the hell she’s expecting me to say. I’m still flailing to find a response that won’t get our asses handed to us when the bartender comes over. All the tension leaves my body in a sigh.
“Alright, folks,” he says, getting between us and the asshole. “Sir, I called you a cab. Come on.”
The guy protests the whole way but allows the bartender to lead him out. Zoey cheers loudly, turning to me for a double high five as soon as the door closes on his ass. We’re giggling like a bunch of school girls as we take up our seats again, Alex still crooning on stage.
Zoey looks like a proud mom as she gives Alex two thumbs up. I want to tell her so badly. I want to spill my guts and have her give me advice that’ll stop the battle of emotions inside of me. But I know I won’t. I can’t. There’s no way she would understand the logic that got me spreading my legs for Edward Spencer, of all people.
“It wasn’t the worst set I’ve done.” Alex plops down at our table, flushed and thirsty. She grabs my glass and chugs several mouthfuls of beer without stopping for breath.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Zoey lowers the glass from her lips. “If they ID you, we’re all spending the night in jail. Let me get you a juice box or something.”
Alex burps and then fixes Zoey with a pout. “I’m twenty-one in a couple of months, and just had a shoe nearly hit me in the head.”
With that, she empties my glass. Zoey looks to me for support but I shrug, the girl has a point. That loafer alone has earned her a few pitchers. Not to mention the constant haggling from a less than enthusiastic audience.
Zoey raises both her hands in surrender. “Okay, have it your way. But you’re on your own if the law comes knocking.”
“The law?” I say with a laugh. “Sounds like it’s time to switch to something stronger.”
Alex agrees loudly, banging her hands on our table in a kind of drumroll as I go over to the bar. Seconds later I’m back with a round of tequila shots and a silent hope that it’ll do the trick and rid me of Edward once and for all. I’m sure he’d forgotten me the second I left that lighting room, which makes my incessant pining all the more annoying.
“Salut!” Zoey says, and we all down our shots, slamming our glasses on the table in unison.
I grimace against the sharp tickle in my throat, breathing through the delicious burn. Almost immediately, my face begins to tingle and my gums go numb. Perfect. A few more and I’ll be ready to face myself in the mirror again.
“One of you should totally go up there,” Alex announces brightly, cheeks crimson and eyes glazed. A lightweight if ever I saw one.
“I could never,” Zoey replies with a royal air. “For one, it’ll make everyone who came before me reconsider their life choices. No offense.” She pats Alex’s hand reassuringly. “And second, I have a strict ethos to only do performances that pay.”
Alex nods a few times, doesn’t say a word, then turns her attention to me. “You should totally go up there.”
“What? Me? No!” I scrunch up my face, warding off their encouragement. It’s a mild refusal, at best. Because the stage is empty but my heart is full, and what could it hurt? “Okay, fine, but only for a little bit.”
Zoey bursts into elated laughter, a sound that follows my stumbling footsteps all the way to the stage.
“I believe in you!” Alex calls out.
I tap the mic twice. It’s working fine. Squinting into the blinding orange glow, I realize for the first time that faces don’t exist from up here. It’s just a room of bodies in dim light, with voices that filter up to me every now and again.
The second realization I make is that I have no idea what I’m going to do. Which is not ideal, especially under the weight of everyone’s expectations.
I shade my eyes with my hand and make out Zoey’s form in the middle of the room. She’s giving me the ‘move it along’ signal. And so I do. I move right into what I wish I could’ve said to her tonight. What I probably would’ve poured into my journal if I were a doe-eyed Southern belle with zero life experience, like Alex.
“Lust is a feeling I feel,” my poem begins. The silence in the bar is deafening. But instead of intimidating me, it gives me a boost.
