"I don't want to walk in here by myself. Pretend that we're in a group together and I'll buy you each a drink." The woman was fifty-ish with a darkly-dyed bob haircut. She looked tired and a little despaired.
Laurie and I looked at each other. Free drinks just for walking in with some random woman? It sounded good to us.
As we walked in together we introduced one another. She was new to the area and divorced. Were we in college? What did we do? She was slowly taking classes to earn a degree in psychiatry. She looked at us like she was studying us--a social experiment.
Per the agreement, she happily handed us each an amaretto sour. Laurie and I made our way to the karaoke portion of the bar--it was the reason we were there. Karaoke on a Monday night: a good start to the week and a tradition among us and some of our friends.
We were followed by the divorcee'. Did this always occur, this karaoke in this little bar? Did those skanky-looking girls always act like that? Are you going to sing?
We answered her questions. She launched into her life story, freely telling us how long she was married, why she left, what horrid things her ex did to her. The story vaguely sounded familiar to me, like a mix of what happened between my parents and a Lifetime movie of the week.
I listened, both amused at how easy it was for her to spill her story and not at all surprised that she was. Clearly she needed an outlet. Laurie and I are nice girls, she must have sensed that.
After a while, I started to wonder when we'd be up to sing. I'd put in a couple of slips and people who'd submitted requests after me were done singing their songs. I whined. Laurie whined. The divorcee' asked which song we were singing. As she did she pulled a ten dollar bill out of her purse and started dancing her way towards the DJ like he was a Chippendales dancer on display. We watched as she muttered something to him and slipped him the cash.
"I think she just bribed the DJ for us." Laurie looked stunned. I almost fell off my seat laughing. We hadn't asked her to do that; it was done on her own free will. Had that ever been done before? Not that it really mattered. Our names were called two songs later.
After singing our hearts out to Ace of Base, we returned to our seats and our new friend. She just looked at us.
"Wow. You were bad."
I personally thought we'd done a great interpretation of a classic 90s hit. We'd gotten some "wooo!"s from the crowd. It wasn't the worst song we'd ever done. (That honor probably goes to our rendition of Ashlee Simpson's "LaLa" that we butchered last week.)
"Haha!"
She looked serious. She wasn't joking?
"I don't think I'll be bribing the DJ again."
She wasn't joking.
"Well, it's just a fun song. We're just having fun." Why I felt the need to defend our karaoke abilities to an older woman in a smoky bar on a Monday night was beyond me. But I felt that I must.
I excused myself to call my sister and let her know what a treat she was missing. When I returned, our personal Simon Cowell decided we needed more drinks. She started for the bar then whipped around, exclaiming she needed my help to carry them. Her grasp on my arm was more firm than I'd imagine a cop's would be.
The divorcee' scared me.
While waiting for drinks she told me more of her life story. She used to be a stripper, which is where she got her sweet dance moves from. (She'd pulled Laurie up to dance with her during a couple of songs.) I told her that she should write a memoir with all of the stuff she's seen and experienced. She looked at me like I was crazy. When I said I was a writer she gave me a look. What did I write about? I told her that I wrote about myself. Another look was sent from her aged face.
"Oook. You're young. That doesn't make a lot of sense." Neither did her insulting people she'd just met, but I held my tongue and downed the drink she bought me.
A few minutes later, the dynamic singing duo dedicated "Free-falling" to our new friend. When we finished, our critic was clapping. But she stopped before we sat down.
"You guys aren't good! You could have potential if you sang in a key, but you don't!"
An ex-stripper divorcee' was giving us singing tips. This was not an average Monday evening.
We left a few minutes after she shelled out her advice. Before we did, Laurie and her exchanged numbers and she invited us over for a home-cooked meal. We may or may not contact her. It could be another social experiment. Or at the very least, another story for this young girl to tell.
Ciao, dahling!
~*Krissy*~