Chancing it

THE AMATEUR CONTEST

 

The small café on the corner of Pinckney and Traymoor Blvd. is busy as can be. It's Monday and Karioke night! Hands holding tight to unfinished wine and beer glasses wave frantically at Bo, the ever present master of ceremonies, chief bouncer, part owner of Breaker's Bar. With the hour and a half allowed for the show, there is no way all of the would-be sensations will perform. In most cases, the singers should really be comedians. They are boastful, hot-headed and believe they are god's gift to the entertainment world. If that makes them happy, it's no skin off my butt.

 

It is well known that tall, voluptuous Carol's voice is mediocre, often misses the beat. We also know she is a personal friend of Bo. I only come here about once every other week with three or four of my close friends. We applaud, at least politely, for everyone except Carol for whom I clap with one hand. In spite of that, what I know is, if heaven forbid, I had the guts to get up and sing, I would be a disgrace. Just the same, I must always shake my head violently, 'No,' when someone tries to push another fool on stage.

 

My singing voice even bothers me when I am in the shower or luxuriating in a warm, sudsy tub. Still I sing as my childhood whistling ability disappeared without my permission. One day I could whistle loud enough to be heard across the street and then poof when my lips puckered, only drivel came out. Anyhow, I'm twenty two now and have nobody to whistle to.

 

When I sometime get a chance to dance with Ralph, one of my 'buddies', he hums in my ear. I don't think he means to be romantic but I would accept it as such and maybe dance closer. The one time I tried that he pulled back. So, if it relaxes him, I let him hum. It's been at least a month since The Breakers sprang for a combo of 5 musicians.
Several tables had to be removed for the dance floor, which made the bar stools fill up quickly. The group is made up of 'used-to-be's', the youngest maybe thirty five. They play sweet oldies, songs my mom and dad used to love. It was a time when couples held each other and felt the rhythm, pitched woo after a party. No bop, no rock, no hard ear-splitting drums to rattle our ears. The evening is easy, different. I sit at a table with my group, tap my foot to the music, sway and am engulfed in contentment. Two of my male friends ask me to dance and so does Jennie. My mood is so silky, I dance with all of them.

 

Bo takes the spotlight to announce next week's Karioke performers has an opening for a few more talented folk. The way I feel at the moment, I'd like to be a star, no matter how temporary, but keep that thought hidden deep in my brain. Anyhow next week is my week away from the Breakers.

 

My regular week only Jake and Essie join me because the rain storm is too big for umbrellas. It hasn't let up for hours. Gutters are overflowing, flooding the corner sewers, but Jake is picking me and Essie up and we go. We each have a beer, just chit chat, watch the door hoping a few more folks will brighten the evening. Two young couples swim in, shake their umbrellas like a drowning dog might do, and sprinkle me.

 

It's nine o'clock and Bo's is ½ filled, that is ½ empty to him. Nevertheless he calls for Karioke singers to come select what they want to do. Three pretty youngish gals, their hair a bit damp, sign in. Two already slightly sloshed sign in too. Essie kicks me under the table, looks at me and motions we should go sing a duet. 'No way, Kid,' I tell her but she nags and nags. Bo is aware of what is going on at our table. He comes over to push me harder. He actually offers me a freebee of beers the next time I come in. I can't let the deal pass and accept his offer if it includes  Essie.

 

Essie and I select a real oldie because it is such a simple tune, any idiot could get by doing it. 'Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time.' We sing in unison, do the second verse and sit down. The applause is so little that we aren't sure it happened. The three gals whose hair was drying out from the spot light sing individually. They aren't too bad, certainly not good. I applaud for a second. Essie doesn't clap at all.

 

Bo introduces  a handsome guy who just came in to dry off for a while who he convinces to perform for a free beer. His name is Burt and he sings 'Maria' from West Side Story. My god, he is wonderful, strong, so convincing  Essie and I applaud until our hands ache and we feel like fools. The three girls and my friend Essie know he wins the fifteen buck prize.

 

Burt joins us. What a great rainy night I have. Not only did I hear Burt's melodious voice, he is sitting next to me. Besides that I actually sang in front of someone beside my mirror and didn't die.

 

If anything else comes from this too short an evening, I will be the big winner.