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Willa
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO throw up this time, are you?” Portia asked with uncertainty.
Pieces of her arctic blue hair fell over the bartender’s eyes as she bent below the sticky, dark wooden bar to grab something.
“I hope not. Do I look like I’m about to throw up?” I smoothed down my silver beaded silk halter top. My hands already sweating.
It may be chilly out there, but under the spotlights on stage, it would be more than my hands drenched in uncertainty. Didn’t want to wear anything that showed sweat stains.
Not that it was an actual stage. Just a balcony that looked out onto the main area below. Which was absolutely perfect viewing for pit stains.
It’s only the second time I had been here. The last time Portia and I struck up a conversation. She had dreams of opening a flower shop called Portia’s Petals. She was saving her pennies from tips and hoped to apply for a loan in a year to make her dream come true.
I told her about my dreams of singing. She had no idea who I was during the day. I’d likely never see her outside this bar, which made her the perfect person to hear my dream confessions.
“You do look a bit green. Maybe it’s your makeup.”
“I only have mascara and lipstick on.”
She cringed and lifted a few bottles of beers to the top of the bar. “Maybe it’s the lighting.”
I was thankful the manager let me warm up in her office downstairs. I felt confident when I left her space but now that I was up here among the people, that assuredness was slipping away into terror.
“Let’s talk about something else or I might end up puking from fear at how I look.”
My stomach rumbled and I regretted not eating dinner. I had no idea if it was a good or bad idea that I skipped dinner tonight. Gazing at the growing crowd my nerves were causing havoc to my body.
“What song did you pick? The same as last time?”
I groaned and for a split second considered running for the door. Not that I would get very far due to the sea of people.
Why did I think my song choice tonight was a great idea? The crowd was lively, they obviously didn’t want to hear a depressing song. Oh, I knew why I picked it. Because I was still feeling crappy about Hunter telling me to fuck off yesterday.
Emmie apologized for outing me and swore she thought he’d take it better, but I knew he wouldn’t. After we had sex in his bedroom several days ago, he confided that he hated the limelight. That he fantasized about going to the grocery store and no one recognizing him. Even after he told me that he never wanted to see me again at the coffee shop, a fan ran up to him and asked for a picture, which he proceeded to say no to and stormed away.
I gave a sad shrug. “Price of Love.”
“I love that song. You know Hunter Six was trending yesterday. Some fan said he saw him in a random coffee shop near here. I think it was in the suburbs. Weird, right?”
“Totally,” I said and bit my lip before I glanced away from Portia. I narrowed my eyes on the front door. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to leave. It’s not like I had to be here tonight. No big producer or agent would show up so I could be plucked out of obscurity, like in the movies.
That sort of stuff never happened.
During the day this place was a bookstore café. At night, they turned the top floor into a stage while the main level was the bar and dance floor. Bookshelves lined the top floor and they left a table filled with books at the end of the bar so people could read while drinking. It was a cool idea, but I was sure they never put out their good books. There must have been many books that ended up covered in alcohol or puke.
The second floor only took up a third of the space and had a balcony that overlooked the main floor, so it was ideal for a stage.
I got up. “I’ll be right back.”
I lied. I was leaving. This whole night, the song, the outfit, the belief that I could win the crowd over with just my voice, was all a huge mistake.
“Okay, but hurry back. You’re next.” Her voice faded the farther into the crowd I moved.
The place was packed, and I had to push my way toward the door. At one point, I felt a guy’s hand on my boob but didn’t have time to confront him about it. I just flipped him off as I set my sights on the front door.
I was close enough I could feel the cool breeze when it opened but too far from being free of the crowd.
Standing on my tiptoes I watched as the door opened and someone walked in that caused my heart rate to pick up speed. I pivoted and pushed back into the crowd.
What was he doing here?
“I want everyone to welcome next to the stage . . . Willa Jones.”
Shit. What’s the opposite of perfect timing? Because that’s what this moment was for me. I made it back to the bar that was right by the staircase and had no time for an excuse to get out of singing. The manager of Ophelia’s grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs. My hands were slick and I was surprised I couldn’t slip out of her grip.
“I got the band all set for you. They know you’re singing ‘Price of Love.’ Just give them the countdown when you’re ready,” Diana said once we were on the balcony. Nodding, I refused to turn around to look down at the crowd below.
There was no backing out now. Hunter was down there, somewhere, and all I had to do was pretend he wasn’t.
Willa, do not look down. Do not look down!
I turned and moved to the microphone stand. With a tremor in my hand, I removed the mic. I tapped to make sure it was on and hoped the crowd wouldn’t hear the fear in my voice.
Everything was working. Normally, that would be a tremendous relief but right now I wanted a freak fire to break out, which wouldn’t cause damage or hurt anyone, just close down the bar for the night. In fact, if someone pulled the fire alarm, I wouldn’t be mad at all. Was this place up to fire code? Perhaps I should pull the alarm just to make sure.
That’s when it happened. I lowered my eyes to find any alarm and my gaze landed on the crowd below. I knew they weren’t all staring up at me in silence, waiting for me to entertain them, but it sure felt like it. And when my eyes found a rock star, his brother, and another man in a suit staring up at me, everyone else disappeared.
I was going to be sick.
“When should we start?” I heard someone say from behind me.
I turned my head and saw a short guy with a guitar waiting for me to respond.
“On my count.” I don’t know how I got the words out, but I did. And when I lifted three fingers, then lowered one, until I only had one finger remaining, I thought I would pass out.
The band began to play, and I was thankful they were loud enough to drown out the ringing that started in my ears the moment I laid eyes on Hunter when he walked into Ophelia’s.
It’s not as if Hunter wanted to ever see me again. The worst that would happen was I’d humiliate myself in front of the singer and songwriter of the song I was about to sing, and he’d have a good laugh. By next week, I would be some joke he told his friends about, and the people who’d laugh would never know what I looked like or where I lived.
Now that I think about it, that would be terrible. It would be the worst thing that could happen.
Fuck it.
I shut my eyes and began to sing, “Quiet. There goes the bell. As they all speak in hymns. They say light. It’s not. I want to sleep. I want to be. With your arms big and wide. The ache’s come out to play. Don’t worry, I’ll entertain you away. How will I be. I just want you . . .”
I don’t remember going into the chorus or singing the rest of the song. Only when I heard clapping from below and a few whistles did I finally open my eyes.
Smiling because it was over, I gave a short bow. When I gazed over the crowd, I noticed that Hunter, his brother, and the other guy they were with were gone.
Sighing, I put the mic back on the stand and thanked the band. The guitarist grabbed my arm before I had a chance to move toward the stairs.
“Hey, you were great. I play these open mic nights all the time and you’re the best singer we’ve had. Would you consider playing with us on a regular basis?”
My lips parted with surprise. After a few blinks as my brain processed his words, I nodded. “Yes. Yes. I’d love that. Are you sure?” I leaned closer so his bandmates wouldn’t hear. “Don’t you need to discuss it with them first?”
“Who do you think brought up the idea?” He threw his thumb behind him as the drummer and bass player waved at me.
How long did I have my eyes closed for after the song?
He shoved a business card in my hand. “If you’re interested, we rehearse at the address on the card every Thursday at eight p.m. Come by and check us out.”
Wow. This was my dream come true. Playing with a real band. I had some ideas for songs but never dared sing them to anyone, even at an open mic night.
But with a band, perhaps they’d be interested in playing some of them.
With a ridiculous smile plastered on my face and a business card pressed against my chest, I made my way to the stairs. But just before I got there, I was stopped by a man in a sharp suit and a dashing smile.
I realized right away he was the guy who stood with Hunter in the crowd.
“Hi, I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Jonathan Harrington, talent agent. I saw you perform, and I have to say, I was impressed.”
Glancing around I tried to find Hunter, but he wasn’t there. Was this a trick? Was he getting me back for not informing him that I was a journalist? Well, ex-journalist, but still, he didn’t know that. Not that I had time to tell him before he ran off.
“I’m sure you are. Tell Hunter I had no idea he’d be here or I never would’ve sung his song.” Then I mumbled, “Or even shown up tonight.”
His brows knitted. “You know Hunter? He didn’t mention you.”
This must be all a part of the joke. Hunter got his agent to mess with me—if this guy was even an agent at all.
“Right. So, what? You want to represent me now, after hearing just one song . . . and a cover at that? You gonna promise me the world? Look, this band just offered me an actual singing gig, not something fake to mess with my head.”
“I’m not messing with anything. I really am an agent.” He pulled out a business card from his pants pocket and held it up. I plucked it from his fingers and read it over.
“I see here you live in New York. I’m sure there’s lots of talent there to choose from. Why Maryland? Why look here in this place for someone to represent?” I was about to rip the card in two when I noticed someone walking up the stairs.
My nipples perked up at the sight of Hunter. Even in the dim light, he was breathtaking. I hated that as mad as I was, my body still responded to his.
He stared at me with what looked like regret. Maybe he was unhappy his prank couldn’t fool me. Or perhaps he grew a heart and thought the joke was going too far. Either way, he was a jerk face. A spoiled little rock star who got butt-hurt.
My nipples and the quiver between my legs be damned.
“I did what you said. I stayed away from you. There’s no need for this.” I waved at the agent.
“I have no control over what Jon does. I warned him to stay away from you, but he wouldn’t listen,” Hunter said as he reached the top step and broke my heart all over again.
