Top and tails.
Called a taxi.
We were on our way.
As we pull up to the place, Nikki mentions that she had applied to work here a few weeks back and had remembered liking the feel of the place, even though she didn’t get the job. As soon as we stepped through the door we all agreed.
A sports barish feel with a trendy ‘ice fire’ place, pool table, karaoke stage floor, and a black and white photo booth. Bangerang, Rufio.
We hook arms with the barmaid and have her place us at a tall table that will, she promises, be optimal for karaoke activity. We send her away with a high five and our beverage requests. I hold down the fort while the girls go investigate the photo booth. Alone at the table, I am momentarily left feeling self conscious, but I shake it off almost immediately and take stock of our fellow bar patrons.
A dashing black man near the trendy fire is having a flirtation with a longhaired and legged blond who seems to know our bar maiden quite well. A few middle aged couples. The ‘end of the bar’ regulars were chatting up the ‘girl group’ but my eye was caught by a jovial young guy flitting between a couple groups of people near the pool table.
“He looks a little like Zach Braff.” I say to myself, “I bet people tell him that all the time. If I met him I would make a point not to tell him that.”
As I scanned the rest of the people in that last area of the establishment, I noticed the girls were headed back to the table and I thought, “The only really attractive guy at the bar…well at least Shanda will have someone to make eyes with.”
Just as the girls sat down our drinks arrived. We get caught up in drink testing and karaoke song discussions. Thoughts of the boy fade into the background of our good times. 9:45: karaoke begins.
Nikki leaves the song choosing in Shanda and I’s hands. Shanda is up at the books scribbling down her songs right outta the gates. I pow wow with Nikki a bit about her song choice. She’s adamant about not flying solo for her first jump. As I walk up to the phonebook of song choices, Shanda turns hers in. She’d down for “Love is a Battlefield”, “Like a Prayer”, and “With or Without You.” A solid line up. I pour over the lists of songs and whittle it down to “Magic Man”, “Hot Blooded”, and “Stay” by Lisa Loeb. I decide on “All I Wanna Do” for Nikki’s big debut. It just felt…right.
The karaoke starts up and quickly fills the room with a warm hum of enjoyment. Some people are good, some fantastic; the few that are bad make up for it in heart. Shanda’s battlefield stirred up the troops. I added some zest with Magic Man, and Nikki stole a thousand hearts with her Sheryl Crowing. Then that dashing black man melted every pair of panties in the joint with his James Brown scoot. Followed by a BBW who knocked all our socks off with an R&B classic. A couple of gals in their 30’s that had had too many appletini’s made fools of themselves, and I was caught up in conversation with Shanda about picture taking when all the sudden I hear the intro for “New York, New York”. I look over to see the slightly Braffy boy strutting up to the DJ stand with a rocks glass in one hand.
He fuckin’ killed it.
We were screamin’ Johnny by the first refrain. I was wowed, Shanda took pictures, and as I watched him melt back into the crowd I was distracted by Shanda’s next ditty. Nikki and I danced our feet bloody. We took copious pictures. We couldn’t stop dancing even between songs. We were the little darlings of the karaoke show. Keeping the crowd revved, egging on the performers, pulling off teen moviesque dance routines without batting an eye.
Then Fake Sinatra comes back to reclaim the floor with a rendition of Sweet Caroline to beat the bank. He was goofy, cheesy, and sparkled like a Diamond. A few songs later I was back at the mic and while I waited for the intro of “Hot Blooded” to play through, I couldn’t help but notice he had found his way back to the floor’s edge. During my little performance I made sure to throw a few ‘choice’ lyrics in his direction but still not really thinking anything of it. My song ends and I stop at the table for a swig of Amstel Light, and high five from my chics. I turn to head towards the water closets and notice my Diamond in the rough has the same idea. The bathrooms are set up next to one another down a short hall. Each restroom is a single, no stalls. You just go in and lock the door behind you. Just as he’s closing his door I walk by and knock a little rhythm against it as I hurry past to the girls room. I get one button undone, and I hear the rhythm repeat against my door. Which my heart then repeats in my chest. Quick as a flash I’m out just in time to see him slip back into the men’s room. I drum once more and dodge back into my own home base. I wait a beat holding my breath: the knocks come again. I do a silent squeal dance and then open the door, reach out, grab a fist full of his t-shirt by the chest and pull that smarmy grin in for a kiss.
Passionate? Yes.
His chin is rough against my cheek, but his lips as soft as silk. I can feel his heart beating as crazily as my own. I have to grip his shoulder tightly to keep my hands from trembling—then someone knocks.
We stop, looking at one another momentarily perplexed at what should come next. Then another knock and we hear this through the door, “The other bathroom is free—go in there!” We giggle, we stumble, and we fall into each other behind the other door. I push him away when my head starts to swim. Our smiles are sheepish, eyes made shy by lips so bold. Someone knocks and we pull ourselves together to face the rest of the bar with as much dignity as we can possibly fake. But our emergence meets with no sneers or rolled eyes. An older dashing black fellow was crooning “Jack and Diane”, good feeling hung thick in the air. Then Mr. DJ called out my name for a final solo. I had forgotten all about “Stay”. I was handed the mic and made some fierce “can you believe this night” type eye contact with both Nikki and Shanda as the intro played.
I thoroughly hammed up the song. I could feel him watching my every move as if he was running his hands over my bare skin. After the song ends, the colors of the world start the swirl in my memory. I ordered another beer, danced to another couple of songs, we three had another go in the photo booth. Then my dreamboat was back with a bite of pumpkin pie on his finger for me to taste. And then he was licking the whip cream from my lips against the closed men’s room door. All I could think was, “this shit never happens to me. Please, don’t let me wake up.” My name is called from the DJ stand and we scramble back out to the floor so that I can sing “All the Jazz” with Shanda. After our song, it’s pretty much a free for all dance party until last call. I get the go ahead from the girls to call a cab so I swagger outside to use my phone. The boy somehow finds his way outside too, using a cigarette as his excuse. I finish my call and saunter over where he’s smoking and talking to another bar patron. I take the cigarette from betwixt his fingers and say, “It’s Travis, right?” Taking a drag after his name and letting the smoke trickle between my lips as I ask for confirmation. He nods, “And you’re Rynn.” We exchange a few other pleasantries with the other smoker, but we keep stealing glances at one another. I mention my calling for a taxi, and Travis immediately offers to take us home. Assuring me that he’s been drinking water for the last hour and lives very close by, himself. I run it by the girls, and then we’re off. His arm slung around me, we’re dancing to the last song stuck in our heads as we four stroll off to his car. He opens our door and moves a few things around to make room in the back for Nik and Shan. I pick a copy of a Kurt Vonnegut novel up off the passenger seat, and my heart jumps to my throat. “He’s got a Vonnegut book in the front seat!” I quickly blurt to the girls over the back of the seat while he strolls around the back of the car to the driver's side. He gets in and closes the door, immediately finding music for us to listen to. “I love that you have Vonnegut riding shotgun.”
“Well, I love that you love it.” Little heart shaped bubbles rise from the top of my head and float out into the night sky via his open moon roof as I direct him home.
He pulls down our long treacherous driveway, and we all get out. Nik and Shan run upstairs. He and I fall against the trunk of his car damp with evening dew. My hair is wet and cold against my neck, but his lips and breath are hot against the other side. I push him back and move around the side of the car. We stand close, looking at each other. I ask, “I’m sorry, what’s your last name?”
We both fumble over words trying to express a general mutual idea that something like this has never happened to either of us. “As soon as you walked in the door, I noticed you. I thought; there’s a girl with fire and life. A girl with something. I was just hoping to get some eye contact with you. Seriously.”
“You were the only guy with promise in the whole place. I pointed you out right away to my friends. Then you sang Sinatra, and it was all over.”
“It’s funny how you can meet someone and just be so taken by them immediately. I even really like the shape of your nose!”
“Are you putting me on? If I give you my number, are you really going to call?”
“Are you kidding! Look, give it to me now, and I’ll call you before I even get home.”
He called me before he left the driveway.
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