felicity
I wipe angrilyat a stubborn stain on the booth’s glossy surface, my rag moving with such force I’m half-surprised it doesn’t catch fire. I may or may not be picturing a certain musician as I try to expunge the smudge from the face of the earth. I can still hear his words ringing in my ears as he warned his bandmate to stay away from me.
No sense messing up our performing schedule here by screwing some cheap cocktail waitress…
It was bad enough when he cut me off mid-sentence, without even letting me get my name past my lips. But to learn what he was calling me behind my back…
I swallow down a scream and move on to the next table.
I guess that doe-eyed, innocent look just doesn’t do it for me. I preferwomenin my bed, not little girls.
I picture him sitting there, that oh-so-charming smirk affixed on his lips, Lacey tucked against his side like cat hair clinging to a wool sweater, and slam a chair upside down on the tabletop with so much force, I’m worried it might buckle. My blood is about two degrees from boiling over.
If you want to fuck her, by all means. Doesn’t matter to me.
Where the hell does he get off, treating me like that?
Who does he think he is?
An entitled, egomaniacal jerk, apparently.
I curse him, then curse myself for ever thinking he might be a decent human being, for allowing myself to conjure up some elaborate fairytale in my mind about what might happen if I ever got the chance to talk to him again. Serves me right for eventhinkingabout dating a musician, when I’ve had eighteen years of personal experience screaming at me to run the opposite direction as fast as my legs can carry me.
Ryder Mother-Fudging Woods can go straight to heck, as far as I’m concerned.
Pushing him from my mind, I throw myself into my work as a distraction. It’s strange to see The Nightingale so quiet. Carly cleared out a few minutes ago, followed closely by Jay and Adam. Since I live upstairs, these days I’m pretty much always the last to leave by the time the floors are swept and chairs are stacked.
The first few weeks, Adam made everyone wait until I was done. Eventually — when he came to trust that I wasn’t going to rob the place blind in his absence — he started leaving me the extra set of keys to lock up, freeing the rest of the staff to go home. I don’t mind. They’ve all got twenty minute commutes to their houses on the outskirts of the city; I’ve got a thirty second walk up a single flight of stairs. It’s only fair they get a jump on the drive, rather than hanging around watching me work for moral support.
I start to hum a melody I’ve been working on for the past few days under my breath as I clear off the rest of the tables in my section, taking advantage of the acoustics in the empty bar with no one around to hear me.
“A break in the clouds, a crack in the sky.
Everyone said lightning never strikes twice.
There’s fire in my blood. A beat in my veins.
Standing out in this field, my face up to the rain…”
No, that’s not right. The last line doesn’t quite fit.
I try again.
“Spinning out this storm like a damn weather vane…”
I shake my head. That’s even worse.
No matter how many different word combinations I try, that last line feels wrong, like a puzzle piece jammed into place where it doesn’t belong. I’m glad there’s no one around to hear my fumbling attempts. I never sing in front of anyone if I can help it. It’s not that I can’t carry a tune. Truthfully, I love to sing. I simply don’t enjoy doing it in front of other people. The thought of being up on a stage, under all those bright lights, with a hundred strangers staring at me…
Soexposed. Sodefenseless.
I shudder.
I finish stacking chairs on the high tops in the front and begin to make my way through the booths against the far wall. I hum the melody over and over as I work methodically down the line — spraying down the surfaces, swinging my hips as I sweep the rag back and forth to the tempo. The music takes hold of me as the words pour out.
“A storm’s rolling in, black on the horizon.
I take shelter in you but the rains keep on rising.