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If he thinksI’m going to be subdued by sexy good looks and charm out the wazoo, well, he’s almost right. But I have a list to complete. And no amount of being waltzed around a dance floor or goodnight kisses is going to distract me.
That’s why I’m sitting alone at the bar on a Friday night manifesting Harmony Ellis.
Who is Harmony Ellis you might ask? Word has it that Harmony launched her music career by getting drunk in high school at one of the parties and busting out an award-winning performance of Kelly Clarkson singing the national anthem while standing on a picnic table. Someone recorded it and sent it to one of those talent shows. The rest, as they say, is history. Or that’s what I think happened. I wasn’t there; I was never there.
Anyway, it became a thing of legend. Kids have been trying to emulate it ever since. I know I’m no Harmony, or Kelly either, for that matter. But I still put it on the list. Therefore, I’m sitting at the bar waiting for the bartender to bring my drink. This is going to take a lot of alcohol if I’m dancing and singing on one of these tables.
You’ll be happy to know I did not drive to this event. I have a rule about never driving drunk. I don’t want my sisters to talk me out of this, so I had to walk. It’s why I’m sitting in the very bar I shot fireworks in front of. A shot of tequila is set in front of me.
“Hey, Eliot.”
“Hey, Kev.” The bartender, Kevin, graduated the year after me. We were friendly in the hallways, and I see him enough around town to say hello, but we’ve never been close. Just different social groups, I guess. He was probably there to see Harmony’s breakthrough moment.
“What’s brought you out tonight?” he asks. What? A girl can’t just drink on her own for no reason?
“Just hanging,” I say.
“Anybody else coming, or are you just going it solo?”
“Solo.”
“Huh. I thought you were hooking up with the new guy at the sheriff’s office.”
“Walk away, Kevin,” I answer, making a swooshing sign with my hand. He grins, but he’s smart enough to head to the other end of the bar.
He’s left a lime wedge and salt. Here goes nothing. I lick the back of my hand, sprinkle some salt, lick it off, toss back the tequila, and suck on the lime. And I bet you didn’t think I could party. I can party.
“You’re not supposed to grimace,” Kevin says as he sets down the next shot.
“Kevin,” I warn. He scurries back to the other end with an even bigger grin. Stupid Kevin. I repeat the salt, lime, tequila thing again. It goes down a little easier this time.
“Are you trying to get drunk?” he asks as he sets round number three on the bar.
“Liquid courage.” I can feel the tequila buzzing through my bloodstream.
By round five, Kevin doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I’m not sure why we never hooked up. He’s totally doable. At this point, everyone in here is totally doable. Even old man Costello, and he’s my grandpa’s age.
“I’m going to have to cut you off,” Kevin says as he watches me slurp the lime. Jerk. It’s fine. I think I’m almost ready anyway.
I weave over to the jukebox. I love a bar that still insists on keeping a jukebox instead of going digital. There’s a button that flips through the songs. For some crazy reason, it takes several tries before my finger makes contact.
“What song are you looking for, darling?” some burly guy asks. Wait, I know him. He works at the feed store, I think. “How about this one?” He punches some buttons, and the perfect song comes on.
I join Shelly West belting out “Jose Cuervo.” Now, I just have to figure out how to get on one of these tables. Fortunately, the burly feed guy helps me up.
I’ve got to tell you; I nail Shelly West. The song, not the woman. I never knew I could sing this amazing. When the song ends, another one comes on. This time, several of the other patrons join in when Toby asks “How Do You Like Me Now?” It seems like everyone likes me just fine now.
This is an amazingly free feeling. I’ve transitioned to beer between songs. There’s a whole group of men standing around the table I’m on cheering for me. And every time I get too close to the edge several hands steady me by holding my thighs. They’re so nice. I might do this every night.
“Hey, Eliot. You might want to come down from there,” Kevin yells over the song. I swat at him. He’s just jealous he doesn’t have the chops I do for singing.
“Eliot,” he yells louder. I shush him. He’s interrupting my duet with LeAnn Rimes. There’s a chance they need to update their jukebox. Doesn’t matter. I’m still rocking this place.
“Here you go, sweetheart. You’d better wet those vocal cords.” Burly feed guy hands a beer up to me. I throw it back in several hard swallows. Everyone goes wild for some reason. They get even more excited by the manly belch I let out. I should probably stagger to the restroom, but that seems hard.
“Eliot, how about something to eat?” Kevin tries.
“She’s fine. Leave her alone,” someone answers. My buddy, Garth, comes on this time. Everyone sings along. It’s like one, big Karaoke night. Someone begins banging the tabletop in time to the music.
