Page 45 of Lyrics of Her

Reed: Why not?

Me: Some of us have to work.

Reed: You got a gig?

Me: Yep.

Reed: Where are you?

Me: The Salty Pig.

There’s complete radio silence for the next five minutes while I’m tuning my guitar, and I wonder if he got bored with our conversation and decided to go watch the next episode by himself.

Music starts up again out in the bar, along with more clapping and cheering. I don’t know if the crowd’s going wild for the game or for the girls, but I can only imagine the disappointment they’re going to endure in a few moments’ time when I walk up onto the stage.

I wore jeans tonight, and a floral bohemian blouse with bell sleeves and pretty fringing around the neckline. I even wore my lucky socks under my knee-high boots. I may be a little overdressed, but something tells me that’s not exactly hard at The Salty Pig.

A few seconds later, my phone pings with another message.

Reed: You shouldn’t be in a bar like that.

Me: It’s not that bad.

Reed: That place is dodgy as fuck. Get out of there.

Me: What’s your problem? I’m going on now. Can’t talk.

Reed: Brinley, don’t.

Reed: I’m serious.

Reed: Answer me.

Geez, talk about a drama queen. He’s so weird. Like he can tell me what to do? Yeah, sure, this place looks a little rough around the edges. But hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

I shove my phone back into the pocket of my jeans and check my hair in the mirror before I head out onto the stage. The lighting is terrible, fluorescent and ugly, but I take a seat and strum my guitar quietly while I get settled.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming out tonight…” My usual spiel,yada yada yada.“This song means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy it.”

I start playing, and not a single person acknowledges my existence.

Not one.

It’s just me and my music up there on the stage, and that’s perfectly fine with me. Everything else can just fall away. I finish the first song and start straight into the next one without a break. Once I’m done with the third song of my set, I reach for the bottle of water that’s been placed beside the stool, looking up just in time to see a blonde-haired man standing in front of me.

A hazy grin slides across his face, and while he’s not totally unattractive, he’s absolutely shit-faced, and that level of inebriation does nothing for me.

“Hey, sugar,” he slurs.Ugh.

“Hi.”

“You play real good.”

I nod, crossing my legs. “Thanks so much. You can leave a tip. That’d be great.”

He laughs, throwing back the last of his beer. Tossing the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, he climbs up onto the stage, all long arms and legs in a very clumsy fashion, and I look around for anyone who might look remotely like security.

He shouldn’t be up here, and a deep-seated feeling claws its way up my chest.

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