The Limelight

by Louisa Keller

  “Right,” I said, leaning in with one elbow propped on the bar. What was it about this enigmatic stranger that had me absolutely riveted?

  “So, I get here, ready to meet up and fly to Maine tomorrow, and while we’re out to dinner he starts saying he feels like shit. I crash on his couch, right, and in the middle of the night he’s super sick, in a ton of pain, insists I drive him to the hospital. Lo and behold, his appendix is ready to blow and they cart him off to surgery. I spent last night in the hospital waiting room—my neck is fucking killing me. Anyway, he’s gonna be fine, but I’m basically screwed.” The guy took another sip of his drink and reached out a hand. “I’m Levi, by the way.”

  I shook his outstretched hand, hoping to god that my own hand wasn’t clammy, and said, “Porter.”

  “Porter,” Levi repeated with a smile. “I like that.”

  “Thanks,” I said awkwardly. “So, you’re a, uh, musician? It’s too bad you weren’t here a few hours ago.”

  Levi perked up. “Why? There wasn’t a bus driver with a few months of free time here, was there?”

  I scoffed, trying not to be utterly charmed by him. “Not quite. You missed open mic night though.”

  “Aw shit,” said Levi, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I love open mic nights. Any good acts?”

  I shrugged. “Just the one. Some local bluegrass group played a few songs. It’s been a pretty quiet night, obviously.” I gestured around at the empty bar.

  “I could liven it up,” said Levi, winking. “That is, if you don’t think the rest of the patrons will mind.”

  For a split-second I thought that Levi was propositioning me. But then he was up, striding over to the tiny makeshift stage area and tapping on the microphone to test it.

  “Oh, you don’t have to—” I began, but Levi was already lowering the mic stand so that he could sing comfortably. Now that he was off his barstool, I realized that he was short—probably not even five and a half feet tall. What he lacked in height, though, he more than made up for in energy. Levi was crooning into the microphone, something that sounded like the music that I had listened to back in middle school. It had a pop-punk vibe that matched Levi’s outfit and personality to a T.

  And his voice…good god. It was unbelievably expressive, hitting every note with precision and staying strong even as he hitched up to the top of an octave. His eyes were locked on mine, skittering away momentarily before flitting back, sparkling with mischief. He gyrated his hips in rhythm with the music, thrusting for emphasis as he broke into the chorus. The words flowed smoothly, clearly etched deeply in Levi’s mind. When the first song ended he launched into another, and then another after that. I just stood there, captivated, for nearly half an hour before Levi called it quits. He sauntered back to the bar and downed the half-empty drink he had left there.

  “That was…” I tried, trailing off when I realized that I was at a loss for words.

  “Just a couple of covers,” said Levi dismissively. “I hope you enjoyed the show though.”

  “I did,” I admitted.

  “Well I should probably go about finding a place to stay tonight,” said Levi.

  “Hmm?” I asked, startled by the change of subject.

  “I don’t have keys to Gerald’s place and he’s still at the hospital. I’m sure I can find a hotel nearby.” He smiled at me, igniting a flame in my chest. I found myself wishing that he didn’t have to go. “Thanks for the drink, man. And for being a captive audience.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for the show. It’s been a while since anyone has really worked the stage like that.”

  “Oh please,” said Levi, waving the praise away. “You should see me in front of a crowd. That’s when the real magic happens.”

  Something tugged at me in that moment. A feeling in my gut, maybe, telling me not to let this perplexing stranger walk out of my life quite yet. The logical—and normally dominant—part of my brain wanted to dismiss the idea. But before I could stop them, the words were tumbling out of my mouth.

  “You could stay at my place tonight.”

  Oh fuck, why did I say that?

  Levi, who had been pulling a credit card out of his wallet, paused. He looked up at me with a curious expression on his face, as if he were trying to hold back a grin.

  “Yeah?”

  My brain caught up to my mouth—it always seemed to be a step behind—and I hurried to add, “We have a really comfortable couch.”

  “We?”

  “My roommates and me. Our place isn’t too far from here. But if you’d rather find a hotel…”

  “Are you kidding?” Levi asked, the grin breaking free. “I’d love to stay on your couch. God, couch surfing with your bartender sounds like the quintessential Seattle experience. Dalton is going to be so jealous.”

  “Who is Dalton?” I asked as I began closing down the bar. It was nice to have something else to focus on. I took advantage of the excuse to put some space between the two of us and tried to breathe deeply. Everything inside of me wanted to throw myself at Levi, but my cautious, skittish mind appreciated a moment to think clearly.

  He is just a normal guy. He is probably not even into you. Dalton is probably his boyfriend or something. Do not get your hopes up.

  “She’s like my combination best friend-sister-soulmate. We grew up next door to each other and now we’re in the band together. She’s an absolute boss on the bass, and her vocals are killer.” Levi caught my look and added, “Her girlfriend Eddie is our drummer.”

  “Is it just the three of you in the band?” I asked, relief flooding me.

  “Yep,” said Levi. “My cousin Cooper is our manager and he’ll be coming along on the tour. Plus a handful of people doing lights and sound on a second bus. I haven’t met any of them yet, but they’ve all worked with bands managed by Cooper’s company in the past so I think it’ll go well. There are going to be about ten people in all on this road trip.”

  We continued to chat about the tour as I closed up shop. Apparently, the trajectory of the tour was set to swoop down the East Coast before veering westward through the Deep South and ending with a jog up to Seattle.

  “So, I might swing by here again in a few months,” Levi concluded.

  I was locking the door, peering in through the front window to check one last time that everything was all closed up inside.

  “That would be nice,” I admitted.

  It was true; seeing him again sounded fantastic. I was drawn to Levi’s effusive chatter and intense gaze. There was something supremely satisfying about being the center of one person’s attention. It had been a long time since I had allowed myself to enjoy the attention of a man, and I felt as if I were stumbling in the dark, trying to remember how to respond to Levi’s interest. But beyond my doubts and insecurities was the sense of something falling into place. It felt right being under his steady gaze.

  We began walking through the dark night. It was less than a ten-minute walk to the house that I shared with my housemates, all former college roommates from our days at Pettygrove University. I knew the way by heart—had walked it almost every night for the past couple of years—but as I led Levi to my home, I found myself looking at the route with fresh eyes. I took a moment to appreciate the bizarre murals painted on the asphalt of the intersections; the city’s way of catching driver’s attention and indicating that they should slow down without installing speed bumps. I wondered if Levi had ever seen a tiny lending library in someone’s front yard (take a book, leave a book! read the handwritten note on the sturdy wooden structure full of paperbacks). I noticed, for the first time, how tiny the roads were, lined on both sides with parked cars which left just enough space for a small sedan to squeeze through.

  When we approached the house itself—a towering lavender Queen Anne-style Victorian with white trim and a rickety wraparound porch—my eyes flicked over the chipped paint around the front door, the bramble bushes that needed trimming, the way that the stairs were slightly slante
d. I hoped that Levi didn’t notice any of that.

  “So, this is it,” I said, opening the front door.

  Levi followed me from the cramped entryway to the living room. The house itself retained many of its original features, including hardwood floors and an absurd number of built-ins. But everything my roommates and I had brought into the place was strictly twenty-first century. There was a large sage-colored sectional couch set across from a wide-screen TV mounted on the wall. Several gaming systems were jockeying for space in the entertainment center, and the walls were covered with framed movie posters.

  “This is homey,” said Levi, sitting down on the couch and looking around appreciatively. “How many roommates do you have?”

  At that moment, the backdoor banged open and all four of my roommates came streaming through the kitchen and into the living room. Dom was slim but muscular, with dark well-coiffed hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Carson was a smidge taller than Dom, with sandy hair, tan skin, and a lithe swimmer’s body. Finley, a Zumba instructor, was lanky and flexible with chocolate-colored hair that was shaved at the sides but curly on the top. Leo was stocky, constantly wearing snapbacks over his black hair. As individuals we all had markedly different personalities and interests, but the six years that we had spent cohabitating had drawn us all together and spit us out as a conglomerate group.

  Leo stopped abruptly when he saw Levi and cocked his head to the side. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I’m Levi,” said Levi, standing to shake his hand. “And you are…?”

  “Leo,” he said, looking Levi up and down brazenly. Then Leo looked over at me and asked, “Where’d you find this hottie?”

  “Jesus Christ,” I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

  “Aw, give him a break Leo,” said Dom, snatching the snapback off Leo’s head and tossing it across the room before turning to introduce himself to Levi.

  “Hey,” snapped Leo, bounding off to retrieve his hat.

  “So, get this,” said Dom excitedly. “We’re out back playing pong and Carson somehow manages to launch the ball up into the tree branches up above the table.”

  “Typical,” I muttered.

  “Right, but then like two minutes later the damn ball falls back onto the table, bounces twice, and lands in a cup. I swear to god.”

  Levi cracked up. “So what’s the verdict? Does that count?”

  “Um, obviously it counts. It’s a beer pong miracle. Except Finley and Leo are arguing that it doesn’t count since he didn’t actually toss the ball, the tree did. So, we need a tie-breaker.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but Finley cut me off. “Before you say anything, I want you to keep in mind that Dom and Carson are a force to be reckoned with. It’s not like they need the point.”

  “It’s true,” I told Levi. “They’re practically mind melded, they win at everything when they team up.”

  “Oh, come on,” argued Levi, “this decision shouldn’t come down to who needs the point. It should be made strictly on the merit of the shot itself. And from what we’ve heard, I have to side with Dom and Carson. He tossed the ball into the tree, it’s not his fault it took two minutes to come back down.”

  Carson nodded. “I like this guy.”

  “I for one can’t believe neither of you swiped it off the table when it bounced,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Leo and Finley.

  “We weren’t expecting a ball to fall from the damn sky,” grumbled Leo.

  “There’s an obvious solution here,” Levi said. All eyes snapped to him. “Have a shootout. Winner decides if the tree point counts.”

  Which is how the six of us ended up in the backyard, standing around a battered ping pong table. There were several cups left on each side, and my roommates argued good naturedly about whether or not to rerack.

  I didn’t pay much attention to the game itself. In all honesty, I was more concerned with watching Levi interact with my best friends. They all towered over him, of course. I was more than six feet tall, and they all had similar builds.

  We were usually perceived as unapproachable when we were together in public…generally speaking, we were more interested in spending time together than meeting new people. But Levi seemed thoroughly unintimidated by the group dynamic. He argued with Leo, teased Dom, coached Carson on his shot, and drew Finley into a conversation about how to stretch within the confines of a bus. The night inched toward morning, and after the pong game wrapped up we traipsed back inside.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat,” said Dom around a yawn.

  “Aw Dom,” teased Carson, “you’d better head off to bed. Don’t want to skimp on your beauty sleep.”

  Dom punched Carson on the shoulder affectionately. “You know that my fame depends on my dashing good looks. We can’t all get by on being smart.”

  Levi laughed. “Fame?”

  “He thinks he’s hot shit because he has, like five hundred thousand subscribers on YourTube,” said Leo, collapsing onto the couch.

  “That sounds like a lot to me,” said Levi. “What kind of videos do you make?”

  Dom grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose and launching into a diatribe on his illustrious career as a queer YourTuber.

  “I talk about pretty much anything related to the queer community. My channel started off as a sex ed blog for gay guys since most of us don’t get any kind of accurate information in high school. But by the time I had covered the ins and outs of gay sex—so to speak—I was starting to get a pretty big following. So, I asked viewers what they wanted me to talk about and they suggested all kinds of stuff. I’ve somehow managed to keep up the momentum for a couple of years now.”

  “That’s so cool,” said Levi, looking fascinated.

  “Thanks, man. I actually just registered for this huge YourTuber conference in Paris next year…”

  I smiled as I watched my roommates interacting with Levi. In a few short hours they had incorporated him seamlessly into the group, and it was making something warm and content bloom inside of me. I wished fervently that Levi didn’t have to go in the morning.

  “—right, Porter?” came Finley’s voice, pulling me from my reverie.

  “Huh?” I said, shaking his head to clear it.

  Finley smirked. “Don’t let me interrupt your daydreaming.”

  “Fuck off,” I muttered with a smile.

  Levi chimed in. “Finley was just telling me that you used to drive buses in the summer.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “during college. I worked for a tour company…most of the people were ridiculously rich and WASPy.”

  “He pretended to hate it, but I’m pretty sure Porter loved all the women doting on him,” said Finley conspiratorially.

  “Oh, screw you,” I said lightly.

  Finley grinned, pressing on. “I told him to find himself a sugar daddy. Just imagine…a clandestine affair with a silver fox, furtive hookups in the back of the bus while everyone else was off exploring—”

  “Annnnd I think it’s time for bed,” I said loudly. “Don’t you have to be up early, Finley?”

  “Not particul—ow!”

  Dom had grabbed Finley by the ear and was towing him away from the living room.

  “Goodnight!” Dom called cheerfully over his shoulder.

  As they disappeared down the hallway Finley groused, “You’re embarrassing me in front of company.”

  “You’re embarrassing yourself you little shit.”

  “What are you gonna do about it? You gonna spank me?”

  “Don’t be asinine—”

  A door closed loudly behind them and I turned to Levi, my cheeks flaming. “I’m so sorry about them.”

  Levi, who was making a valiant effort not to laugh, waved away the apology. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. You should see Eddie and Dalton arguing.”

  Leo, who was lounging on the couch smoking a joint, chimed in.

  “Who’re Eddie and Dalton?”

  “His bandm
ates,” I told Leo, reaching for the joint and taking a hit before passing it on to Levi.

  “What’s the deal with this band?” asked Carson, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor and sipping at a juice glass full of whiskey.

  Levi grinned, plopping down next to Carson. “We are just about to launch our Big Break Tour. My cousin, Cooper, works for a management company and they agreed to send us on our first headlining US tour. We’ve released all of our music independently, and we’re hoping this tour will help us get the attention of a big label.”

  “What is your band’s name?” I asked.

  “Serotonin Sindrome,” said Levi with a smile. “We bastardized the spelling slightly, because Dalton thought it looked cooler that way.”

  “What kind of music do you play?” asked Leo, his voice slow and stoned as he exhaled an impressive plume of smoke.

  “It’s pop-punk. Think all the big names from the early 2000s…we’re a bit like Fall Out Boy, a bit like Simple Plan, a bit like New Found Glory. We grew up listening to Motion City Soundtrack and Brand New and My Chemical Romance. And obviously there are newer bands like The Wonder Years and The Front Bottoms who have influenced us a lot. We’re basically just in it to put on a damn good rock show.”

  “That’s…cool, I guess,” said Leo. I made a face at him that I hoped convey, behave, or else.

  Carson grinned. “Don’t mind Leo. He only listens to Macklemore. I’m pretty sure he’s never been to a rock show in his life.”

  “I have too,” griped Leo. “You made me see Hozier when he came to town.”

  “I rest my case,” said Carson, rolling his eyes.

  Levi turned to me, his smile open and unabashed, and something in my gut clenched. I could have spent all night staring at Levi’s beautiful face, basking in the light of his grin. His happiness was infectious, filling me to the brim.

  God, I was turning into a greeting card.

  “You guys are so great,” said Levi without an ounce of self-consciousness. “I’m really glad I met you all.”