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“Done,” I say, without hesitation.
“And if I win,youhave to.”
I hesitate for a beat, only because I don’t know if I am up to hearing the inevitable boos tonight, but I’m positive I’ll win.
“Fine. Stop stalling and give me your next song.”
“‘Fancy,’ Reba.”
A chorus ofOooooooohs breaks out around the table. For good reason. “Fancy.” Fuck.
I scramble my brain for something similar. “‘Ol’ Red,’ Blake Shelton.”
“‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’”
My jaw drops, because like the devil, I know that I’ve been beat. Huck knows it, too, from the glint in his eye. He remembers I was raised on Charlie Daniels and I’ve forgotten. Alas, I’m honor bound to cave.
“That was sneaky, Boseman.”
He folds his arms over Tom Petty, inordinately pleased with himself. “All’s fair, Jones. What’re you gonna sing?”
“A cappella?” My stomach flutters with nerves. I mean, I can do it but…
“With a full band,” Annie pipes up. “Or at least a fiddle player and a backup singer.”
“I know just the song. I’ve been practicing the strings in ‘Toxic,’” Kacey says, getting to her feet. “How are you with Britney Spears?”
I’m so touched I could cry. I mean, obviouslywon’t,but my smile is full-blown. I don’t know what I did to deserve the loyalty of these insanely talented people, but I’m not gonna question it tonight.
“I fucking love Britney. Let’s do it.”
27LORELAI
FOLLOW YOUR ARROW
Minutes later, we’re situated on the small stage and Jefferson is introducing us. “Esteemed patrons! We’re gonna have a special treat tonight because these three exceptionally fine ladies who shall remain nameless, but I’m betting you’ll recognize, have, well, not prepared per se, but are gonna perform a little ditty for us anyway. So put your hands together for…”
Annie stage-whispers from behind me, “Neil Young’s Bitches!”
“NEIL YOUNG’S BITCHES.”
With that, Jefferson jumps off the stage to join the rest of the guys and Trina at the table and I remove the mic from the stand, thanking the good lord I drank that third gin and tonic.
One gin to remember, two to forget, three to sing Britney like your heart depends on it.
Kacey drags her bow across the strings with a powerful motion, somehow pulling out the very familiar melody. Ilet her go a few counts. Long enough that the rowdy crowd starts clapping and stomping along with me and Annie, giving us a nice little backbeat to work off of.
I lift the mic and strike a sensual pose before allowing my mouth to fall open, and then I sing the first line to uproarious applause. By the time we’ve made it to the familiar chorus, Annie and I are both center stage swerving our hips and channeling our inner pop stars. If pop stars had souls made out of three chords and the truth twisted with twine. Really the star of the show is Kacey and her biceps.
I’ve nearly made it to the end, the final repetitious chorus, and the adrenaline is starting to wear off a little, but that’s when all my earthly focus narrows to a single point. One man and a wolf whistle piercing the air. He sustains me.
The entire bar is on their feet when we strike our final pose and take our bows before dragging Kacey to the forefront and clapping. She jumps off the stage onto Fitz’s back and we make it to our table amidst the glow of smartphones and cheers.
Even still…
I try to hold on to the fizzy, happy feelings of being onstage and performing to a rambunctious crowd, but it’s tricky. Like trying to hold on to bubbles: the ones that don’t burst immediately float away until you can’t follow them any longer and you’re left empty-handed with soapy fingers.
Even after I was canceled from country music, I never actually believed that was it for me. That I was done. In my heart, I knew I had more to give and I’d be back, and things would eventually right themselves once more.
