I tug down at the bottom of my skin-tight dress so that I don’t flash my lady bits to everyone waiting outside of the club while climbing out of the taxi. I know it’s stupid, but I overheard my brother talking with Anders about coming here tonight and I wanted to have some fun too. I’m grateful no one is really paying attention to me, but you never know. The fabric of my dress squeaks as I attempt to maneuver myself and it rides up my thighs. In the small boutique I went to earlier today I looked like Posh Spice in the full-length mirror. The stark black liquid leather almost glowed against my tanned skin, but now I just feel cheap. I don’t know how anyone wears this crap on a regular basis, but it is what it is. They don’t call it club wear for no reason.
I was this close to leaving my fake ID at home instead of bringing it with me. Usually, when we come here for the summer I don’t really get out much because there isn’t much to do for anyone under the age of twenty-one. But my friends and I got IDs made this year so we could go dancing at a club in town and I figured I’d try it out and see if it actually worked here too. My parents would kill me if they knew about it, but they weren’t really around this last year. When the bouncer hands the card back to me, I half expect him to tell me to turn around and go home or at the least call the cops on me. But when he stamps the top of my hand and waves me in I have to fight my smile from overtaking my face. Glancing down I have to laugh at the stamp all it says is the word, “legal,” so I’m assuming that means I don’t have to pull the card out of my wallet again, I can just flash my fist and get a drink or two from the bar.
Rather than risk the potential of getting caught, I head straight to the bar and at least get one drink in me. Might as well use that power while I have it. I train myself looking confident, or at least what I think is confident, and pretend like I always walk into bars and order drinks. Like I belong here. I raise my hand in an attempt to wave down the very sexy bartender and he catches my gaze with a nod and wink. Well so far so good. He finishes pouring the drink he’s in the middle of and quickly makes his way down the bar toward me.
“What are you having, gorgeous?”
Fuck. I smile up at him and realize I have no idea what to order. I don’t ever drink back at home, I just go to the club to dance. Alcohol isn’t really my thing, but I figured why not and now I’m looking like an idiot. With the few episodes of Beverly Hills: 90210 fresh in my mind, I order the only drink I remember from the show. I offer him a smile and slightly close my eyes, looking at him through my lashes in that sexy mysterious way. I bring my fist up to show him my stamp and add, “I’ll have a banana daiquiri.”
He looks me up and down with a confused expression. He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head just as he starts gathering the ingredients for my drink. Was that an amateur drink choice? I don’t even know why I picked it, I don’t even like bananas fake flavored or otherwise. Shit, I should have gone with a Cosmopolitan…I think that’s the drink they’re always having on Sex and the City. Too bad I didn’t think of that thirty second ago. I only hope whatever he brings me is something I can stomach. Dammit, I’ll look like an idiot if I change my drink order, I probably should have had a better plan and thought about this ahead of time. Then again, I didn’t think I would actually get in, let alone be able to order a drink.
The bartender slides the ridiculous yellow drink across the bar to me and I fish a twenty-dollar bill out of my small clutch. I offer him a confident smile and hand it over adding, “Keep the change.” I wasn’t paying attention to how much the drink cost but judging by the way his eyes light up I’m pretty sure I way over-tipped him. With a shrug, I take a light pull on my straw and the fruity concoction slowly makes its way into my mouth. It’s not bad, but definitely not something I plan on drinking again anytime soon.
As I take a few steps away from the bar and scan the room for a table to put my drink down, I spy a stage and girl belting out a Christina song while the lyrics are being fed to her through a large TV screen. She doesn’t sound half bad, but she can’t hit the high notes like the blonde bombshell. I make my way to that corner and force my way through the crowd. There’s a small table next to the stage with an unattended binder. There isn’t a single person nearby and I snatch it up before anyone else can.
It might be juvenile of me, but I’ve always loved singing karaoke. The chance to get lost in a song and just forget the world around me. Even if it’s only for three to four minutes, nothing else matters. I take a small sip of my cocktail shuddering slightly under the intensity of the overly sweet drink and scroll through the songs that are available. My go to is normally something fun and old school like Cyndi Lauper, but tonight I’m feeling like mixing it up. I’m not sure what, but I’ll know it when I see it.
This bar isn’t all that big so I’m kind of surprised I haven’t seen my brother and Anders yet. Maybe they decided not to come tonight. Although Marek kept going on and on about hooking up with some girl tonight, so they should be here. I take another look around the bar, but I still don’t spot them anywhere. Oh well, maybe they decided not to come here after all.
I’m briefly pulled from the binder as a loud screeching comes from the corner where a group of girls is laughing like hyenas. I can’t really see their faces, but you know it has to be bad when the guy up on stage is belting out a popular song from The All-American Rejects. Do guys actually find that attractive? All that cackling? If anything, it’s just annoying. I take a second glance and while they’re pretty far away, I do spot a very familiar fedora with sandy blond hair underneath. So that’s the kind of girls he goes for? No wonder I’m not good enough.
Whatever.
I continue flipping through the sticky binder albeit a little more on the angry side now, I don’t even want to think about what kind of substances have touched the sheet protectors. Just as the guy up on the stage brings “Swing, Swing” to a close, I stumble upon the perfect song. It might be childish but I don’t even care at this point. Plus, whatever is in my daiquiri is doing its job a little too well. I’m feeling pretty good and I take another sip bringing it down to the halfway point. I don’t usually drink this much or at all for that matter but life is short and I might as well live it up while I can.
There is no line for the stage and I program my song in and then get up onto the stage. Nobody is really paying attention to me right now and that’s perfectly fine with me. I take another gulp from my daiquiri and place it on the floor next to me.
The familiar music starts up of one of my all-time favorite songs and I close my eyes and get lost in the music. I have no idea if he’s paying attention to me, but I sing this song as if he’s looking right at me and knows I’m singing right to him. I want him to kiss me and I want him to know that I do. It almost feels cliché to sing the popular song, but I don’t even care. I feel like Rachel Leigh Cook at the end of She’s All That when she’s talking to Freddie Prinze, Jr. in her backyard. If Laney Boggs got the guy in the end, why can’t I? I know it’s probably a little ridiculous that I’m singing this song to him in hopes for a kiss, but I’ve spent this long of the summer trying to get one and desperate times call for desperate measures.
And then the song is over with quicker than I realized. I’m grinning as I step down off the stage with my drink in hand and my brother is fuming. His arms are crossed and the vein on the side of his neck looks like it’s going to burst open. The scene waiting for me off to the side of the stage is almost comical. Marek is pissed off, Anders looks indifferent, and the bitches are trying to get both of the guys’ attention.
“What the fuck are you drinking, and you better say it’s virgin. If you tell me that’s alcohol, I’m going to beat the shit out of whichever douche in here bought my very minor sister booze.”
I shrug my shoulders and when Marek releases a puff of air, I mumble,” I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Did some random dude just hand you a glass? I thought you were smarter than that, Giselle.”
He reaches for my drink and I pull away from him downing as much as I can in one very large gulp. The liquor burns, warming my throat all the way down to my belly. I start to sputter but refuse to let him see how it affects me. I slide my tongue out wiping the little bit that dribbled out and I don’t miss Anders’ intense stare. I offer him a wink before turning to my brother and saying, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, big brother. No, I didn’t take a random drink from a stranger. I ordered the drink myself with my fake ID. I didn’t know what to get, so I ordered something I heard on a show once. It was the first drink to pop in my head.”
“And what was that?” Anders asks as he takes a small step toward me.
With another shrug, I say, “It’s banana daiquiri. I don’t really know what’s in it though other than the banana part, which is definitely very fake. I would have guessed it was a virgin daiquiri since I can’t taste any alcohol in it, but judging by the warmness traveling through my body, I’m going to say it’s definitely filled.” As I say those words, I take the straw out and tilt the glass to my mouth and down the remainder of its contents. I watch Anders over the rim as I bring it down and I run my tongue along my lip and soak up the slush that was left behind. I wasn’t much of a fan of the fruity concoction with the first sip, but now I kind of like it and would totally go grab another if my brother wasn’t standing right in front of me giving me the death glare.
I don’t know why I choose that moment to look back up at the stage, but the previous song ends and a familiar bubblegum pop song starts playing. I’ve heard the popular song by Dream on the radio so much I could probably recite the words by heart. What I’m not prepared for is the girls who were hanging out with Marek and Anders are on the stage and they’re all looking straight at me. They giggle as they dance around the teeny tiny stage like they’re suddenly pop stars strutting their stuff in front of ten thousand fans. The stringy blonde seems to be the ringleader of the group and when she belts out, “He Loves U Not,” at the top of her lungs she points her finger right at me.
Rude bitch, nobody asked her.
My shoulders quake and I can’t take the laughing faces of the bimbos on the stage. I shake my head at both guys and without another glance, I pivot on my heel and head toward the bar entrance. I push through the crowd and cover the distance quickly. When I hear my name being called from behind me, I quicken my pace and gasp when I break out into the chilling night air. I don’t look back as I race toward the beach and hope I can lose whoever was following me.