by T. Torrest
That brings a scathing glare from Sadie which is cut off abruptly when Jack’s hand wraps around her upper arm. He hands me his water bottle and says through clenched teeth, “Actually, I think I’d better get that CD back. Livia, could you please excuse us for a minute?”
He then proceeds to usher a pissed-off Sadie through the crowd.
I smile to myself as I watch her try to wrestle out of Jack’s grasp while he gives her an earful on their way out the door.
A few minutes later, Jack is back at my side. He reclaims his drink and takes a long swig. I don’t see Sadie’s friend at the bar and figure they must have taken off after Jack’s tirade. He sees me scanning the room for them both and says, “They’re gone. Can we please forget that even happened and try to enjoy the rest of our night?”
I’m actually dying to know what he said to her outside and what she meant by some of her comments. I’m definitely feeling a little pang of jealousy—I mean, Sadie is really pretty. But she’s also a spoiled brat with bad manners. No wonder they broke up.
I think I’d feel better if he cleared the air about some of my unanswered questions, but then decide it doesn’t matter. She is, after all, Jack’s ex-girlfriend.
And I’m… well, hell. I guess I’m his new one.
CHAPTER 21
Date #4: Monday, June 19, 1995
9:42 PM
The Beach House
Manasquan
Just as I’m packing up my car to leave, Jack shows up at the beach house. I’m surprised to see him, and can’t quite believe I’m watching his Mustang pulling into the driveway.
“Oh my God!”
Once he gets out of the car, I practically leap at his beautiful form to hug him hello. When I pull back, the first thing I notice is his newly-cultivated goatee. I give a pinch to his chin and ask, “What’s this? You’re like your own evil twin.”
He has his arms wrapped around my waist and he’s grinning as he answers, “I prefer ‘alter ego’.”
“Sure thing, Johnny Bravo. Oops. I mean, Tanner Jaxx.”
He groans, “That sounds like the most made-up name in the history of rock.”
“More made up than the feminine hygiene symbol that ‘The Artist Formerly Known as Prince’ changed over to?”
“Shit. You’re right. That one’s worse.”
We’re both just smiling into each other’s faces like a couple of idiots until I finally ask, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you. That okay, isn’t it?”
“Yeah it’s okay!” He had his Osprey gig on Friday, two more up north Saturday and yesterday, and then he came all the way back here tonight just to see me? “But it’s already ten o’clock. You drove all the way down here without even calling first? What if I’d already left?” I wasn’t planning to leave so late, but I’d gotten caught up watching a “Real World” marathon on Mtv.
“Lips, you forget. I’ve got spies everywhere.”
I roll my eyes. “You talked to Vix?”
“Yep,” he laughs out before adding, “I wanted to bring you somewhere.”
“Oh yeah? Where we going?”
His sly smile is raising my suspicions. “I thought we could hit Atlantic City.”
“What? Now? It’s so late!”
“Who cares? You don’t have anywhere to be until work tomorrow morning. It’s not like it’s past our bedtime or anything. Don’t try and tell me you’ve never pulled an all-nighter.”
I should probably play the responsible working gal, here, but the truth is, I’m excited about checking out a new place. “I’ve never been there.”
“I know.”
I shoot him a dirty look at that. I’m starting to think his ‘little birdie’ is feeding him way too much info about me. “Well, it sounds like fun, but I mean, I don’t even know if I’ll know how to gamble.”
His lips curl into a dastardly smirk and his head tips to the side as he fires back, “Something tells me you know exactly how to gamble.”
Cute. I make one last attempt at a rationalization. “We wouldn’t even get there until after midnight.”
“So, what’s the problem? You planning on turning into a pumpkin?”
I think about it for a minute. There’s really no reason why we can’t just take off. I look over at Jack, eyebrows raised, huge grin on his face, waiting on my answer. “Screw it. You’re right. Let’s do it!”
* * *
We’re sitting in the Emperor’s Club at Caesar’s, inconspicuously trying to add up our winnings. We’d played slots and roulette all night, and the gambling gods had smiled upon us. Well, they’d smiled upon me. Jack didn’t get so lucky.
“I can’t believe you hit on double-zeroes. I never bet the zeroes!” he says in disbelief.
“Well, maybe you should start.” I pull one of my twenty-five-dollar chips out of my purse and waggle it in front of his face. “There’s plenty more where this came from.”
“Beginner’s luck.”
“Skill, baby. And don’t you forget it.”
That makes him laugh. It’s all I can do not to dump out all my chips and add them up right here. I don’t have any idea how much I won, but I know it’s a lot. I suppose we should’ve hit the teller before coming into the bar, however. The only actual money we have left on us is the cup of coins from the slots. Our bartender doesn’t seem too thrilled about being paid in quarters.
Jack grabs our container of change off the bar, takes a final swig from his drink, and says, “Time for a new location.”
“I get to pick the next place. After all, I’ll be the one paying for our drinks out of my many winnings.”
Jack throws an arm around me. “Say no more, mon amour; your wish is my command. Lead the way.”
So I do.
After we cash out at the teller, we wander around the hotel in search of a place to hang out. I stop when we get to The Libretto Bar, and Jack lets out with a groan. “Awww. C’mon, Lips. Karaoke? Really?”
“My choice, remember? Besides, it’ll be fun. We’ll throw back a couple shots and laugh at everyone.”
That seems to bring him around. “Fine. But I get to pick the shots.”
“Deal.”
Four drinks and over a dozen bad singers later, Jack and I are laughing so hard we’re almost under the table. On the stage at the present moment, there’s an overweight guy in a Hawaiian shirt belting out “Strangers in the Night.” Once he starts in with the doobie-doobie-doos, it’s about all I can take.
Jack has since switched to soda, and as the waitress delivers our drinks, she tells us the tables are for people who are going to sing karaoke. “If you want to stay, you’re gonna have to play.”
I aim a grin at Jack and suggest, “Why don’t you get up there and show them how it’s done, baby.”
“Yeah right,” he shoots back. “Why don’t we just go somewhere else instead. This place is too crowded.”
“I’m serious! Please. I love that we got a table and I don’t want to give up this spot just to go stand around in some other just-as-crowded bar. Just get up there and sing something pretty for me.”
Jack takes a sip of his Coke and eyes me curiously. “Why don’t you get up there instead?”
I practically snort. “Oh, okay. That might be a better plan, seeing as how I’ll clear the bar with my awful voice.”
“I’ve heard you singing along with the radio. You’ve got a great voice. And you won’t be able to mangle the lyrics, because they’ll all be right there on the monitor.”
“Very funny, but no dice. I’ve also got stage fright.”
“Stage fright doesn’t exist. It’s a myth.”
“Tell that to my stomach.”
He scratches at his stubbly chin. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Beginner’s Luck. Why don’t we bet on it?”
My lids tighten on a glare. “What, like, loser has to get up there and sing? I don’t gamble what I’m not willing to lose.”
“There’s no money involved, here.”
<
br /> “My pride, Jack. Having to get up there would make me lose my pride.”
He leans back in his chair and grants me a flash of those perfect pearly whites. “Since you seem to be on a winning streak tonight, this should hardly be a risk for you.”
I eye him up cautiously, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Okay, tough guy. What’s the bet?”
“Hmmm,” he replies, scanning his eyes around the bar. “How about whoever gets someone to buy them a drink first wins.”
Is he serious? I’m a girl. I have a way huge advantage over him. “Oh, you are so on, motherfucker.”
He aims a smirk at me, and we both sit there for an extra few seconds, shooting daggers into each other’s eyes. As if on cue, we both bolt from our seats and race each other to the bar.
I shove him into a table, and while he’s busy trying to regain his footing, I scope out my potential victim. Old guy… Two guidos… Bachelor party.
BINGO.
I walk up to them casually—well, at least I think it’s casually. My gait is hovering somewhere between “stumbling” and “staggering.”
“Hi guys!”
The group of five turn at my greeting as I prop an elbow on their hightop table. How do I play this? Sly and sexy? Ever since I started dating Jack, I haven’t had much opportunity to work my charms. At least on anyone new. I’m already feeling out of practice.
I arch my back a little bit, shoving the girls out front and center. I’m not very blessed in the boobie department, but I’m wearing a Wonderbra and a low-cut shirt. I can work with this. I’ll have to, because there’s no way I’m getting on that stage. I flash a come hither grin at the drooling men, and steal a look at Jack, trying to work over a pair of middle-aged women on the other side of the room.
Oh, man. I’ve got this in the fricking bag.
* * *
I wend my way across the room toward Jack as he’s busily trying to charm the pants off the two women he’d targeted at the bar. The poor broads look to be half in the bag, an observation that is reinforced when I hear one of them slur, “Oh, you are just adorable! Donna, isn’t he the cutest thing?”
Torn between letting the train wreck play out for my sole entertainment and wanting to save him from it, I opt for the latter as I nudge his back with my elbow.
“Hi, baby. I got you a drink.”
I know my face is sporting a shameless shit-eating grin, but I can’t help it. Not only did I manage to weasel a drink out of those drunken idiots, but I even got them to buy one for Jack.
His eyes tighten as he begrudgingly accepts the drink from my offered hand. His lip quirks as he introduces me to his new friends, a steady glare trained on my face. “Donna, Barbara… this is Livia. If you’ll please excuse me, I owe her a song.”
I’m finding it hard not to break out into a full-on giggling fit as he ushers me back to our table, grabbing the song-list binder from the emcee as we pass. He won’t even let me look at the thing, so I have to content myself with sipping my vodka tonic as I wait patiently for him to make his selection. Once I see the smirk decorate his face, I know that he has. He brings the book back to the emcee’s table and adds his name to the queue.
I’m drawing little imaginary circles on the tabletop with the tip of my finger as he slumps back down in his chair. I’m feeling sort of guilty about something, and figure I better ‘fess up before things go any further. Jack must’ve picked up on my shame, because he asks, “What’s the matter, Liv?”
Once I’m finally able to meet his eyes, I confess. “I cheated.”
His eyes narrow into slits as he snarls, “What did you just say?”
“With the drinks. I thought I saw one of those ladies going for her purse and I panicked.”
He doesn’t respond, but his expression softens as he lets out a heavy breath. I can’t understand why he seems relieved to find out I’m a dirty cheat, but I swear, he’s almost smiling.
I bite my lip and scrunch up my nose to add, “I may have blurted out that I’d flash them for a drink.”
“Livia! Jesus!” My admission surprises him, but thankfully, he can’t seem to do anything other than laugh.
I’m laughing, too. “I guess they were impressed. They bought me two drinks!”
While we’re cracking up over that, the emcee announces, “All right! Up next, we’ve got Tanner Jaxx. Come on up, Tanner!”
I stifle a snicker as he raises his eyebrows at me, then throws back the last of his drink before hopping up onto the stage.
I recognize his selected song from the first note.
“You” is Candlebox’s on-the-road lament song. It’s their Seger’s “Turn the Page.” Their Jackson Browne’s “Load-Out.” Hell, it’s their Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” But if you don’t listen to the lyrics too closely, it’s simply a tortured love song.
Appropriate, because Jack is simply torturing me.
He groans the lyrics into the mic, and my heart cracks as I watch him. I can’t help but smile into his face as he sings; not only is he a mesmerizing performer, but he’s belting out every word directly at me. It’s as if he isn’t even aware there are other people in the room.
And so help me God… the look on his face while he screams out the chorus
And I’ll cry for you, yes I’ll die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I’ll tell you know how I feel inside
Feel in my heart it’s for you
makes me think he’s dying inside just as much as I am. I swear, if I was capable of falling for someone, I would fall undeniably at this moment.
And it’s pretty fricking incredible to watch him fall, too.
Jack punctuates the song with its final, haunting note, and the room goes completely silent. I can hear nothing in the brief pause but the distant dinging of slot machines until—finally—the place erupts in applause.
Damn. Stunned them into silence. Nice.
He gives a nod in acknowledgement to the crowd as he hops down off the stage. He’s wearing that elated grin, that post-performance, just-kicked-ass, sexy-as-all-hell smile as he makes his way back toward me.
I get up from my seat to throw my arms around him in a proud hug. “That was insane! Jack! Oh my God!”
“Karaoke’s for pikers,” he says against my hair.
I pull back to look him in the eyes when I counter, “Maybe. But you turned it into art.”
He kisses me for that as the applause dies down and we take our seats. The poor girl on stage trying to follow up his act with a nervous rendition of “I Will Survive” is all but ignored as Jack reaches across the table to take my hand, caught up in our own little bubble. His eyes are sparked with euphoria, and I can tell that he feels his little performance was a pretty big deal between us, too.
While we’re smiling into each other’s eyes like a couple of sappy dorks, some suit comes over to our table.
“Hello, you two. Looks like you’re having a good time. My name’s Lutz Hamburg.”
Lutz puts a hand on my boyfriend’s shoulder as if they’re old pals, and instead of shaking it off and telling the guy to take a hike, Jack decides to take some liberties with the introductions. “Nice to meet you, Lutz. I’m Johnny Bravo and this here’s Phoebe Cates.”
That sends me into a fit of giggles, but Jack somehow manages to keep a straight face.
“Well, Johnny, that was pretty impressive what you did up there.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m the Events Manager of the hotel. I’m going to go ahead and assume that you’re fairly comfortable up on stage?”
The jig is up. Jack gives a shrug and offers, “Yeah, actually. My real name’s Jack Tanner. Nice to meet you again, Lutz.” He shakes the man’s offered hand and adds, “I’m in a band called Thunderjug. That’s okay, right? I mean, it’s not like I broke some casino law by entering an amateur Karaoke competition, right?”
I can’t even breathe, trying as hard as I am not to pass out fr
om holding in my laughter, my hands clamped over my mouth.
Lutz isn’t fazed. “It’s more than okay. In fact, I’d like to invite Thunderjug to come play my venue.”
Jack’s brows draw together as he replies, “The disco? Thanks, but we’re more of a rock band.”
“I know exactly who you are and what you play. I recognized your voice and realized I’d seen you before. Caught one of your shows at The Ketch down in LBI a few weeks back. Yes, Dusk is a dance club. But I’m talking about the Circus.”
“The Circus Maximus? The arena?”
Jack’s eyes meet mine in a disbelieving pause. I don’t have any words that will help him make sense of this crazy conversation. I don’t have any words at all.
Luckily, Lutz does. “We host a lot of local talent, but we’ve had our fair share of big names, too.”
“Like who?” Jack asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. Ever hear of Bruce Springsteen? Elton John? Paul McCartney?”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
Jack looks at me wide-eyed, his face mirroring exactly what I’m feeling.
Lutz starts in again. “I’ve got Stevie Wonder headlining here Fourth of July weekend. My opening act just cancelled and I don’t really need a replacement, but I’d like one.”
What kind of numbskulls would cancel on Stevie Fucking Wonder?
And wait. Is this guy actually asking what I think he’s asking? Jack must be wondering the same thing, because he attempts to clarify the offer. “Sooo, you want Thunderjug to play. Here. At Caesar’s.”
“Five thousand seats are going to be filled, and like I said, I’d like an opening act.”
“An opening act for Stevie Wonder. Are you serious?”
“Sure am.”
“You know we’re just a cover band, right? I mean, we’ve got originals, but—”
“Backyard. I’ve heard it. It’s good. Any others?”
“About ten or so.”
“Can you mix them in with a few covers, enough to fill an hour?”
