Copyright
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by Robin Harper, Wicked by Design
Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Acknowlegements
Other Books by Jennifer Miller
Connect with Jennifer Miller
About the Author
To my parents for letting me blast music for hours while encouraging my love for it when I was younger. To every choir and band teacher I’ve ever had, and to all the musicians, vocalists, and instrumentalists alike that have inspired me and helped me develop my love for music. It’s touched my life, brought me joy and has become part of my creative process.
“Oh my god,” my best friend Britt cries from her seat at the bar. “I think my ears are bleeding.”
“Be nice,” I tell her despite trying to stifle my own laughter. Turning away from her, I try my best to ignore her distracting comments and pour a few drinks. She’s right though; the guy singing is pretty much…well…he’s awful. It’s even worse that he has absolutely no idea. He’s proudly giving it his all; he’s belting out a Maroon 5 song while swaying and hip jutting, likely thinking it adds to his performance. But, it doesn’t - not at all. The reaction of the crowd is mixed. Some are laughing, while some are not so discreetly making fun of him from their safe seats at their tables, but most are good-naturedly head bobbing to the music, despite his rendition. Others – I venture to say, those that have had the most to drink - are even cheering him on.
God, I love it here. The people, the atmosphere, the music – it’s my jam. I can’t help but smile as I work.
“Seriously,” Britt whines again, “isn’t this song over yet?”
I giggle softly as I wipe down the bar. “You know, you could just leave,” I tease, “problem solved.”
She rolls her large eyes making me laugh because I know that’s Britt speak for I’m not going anywhere. “You’d miss me,” she states matter-of-fact.
No matter how many times I tell her that she really shouldn’t sit here and try to talk my head off while I’m working, she doesn’t care; she does it anyway. In truth however, I’m pretty sure my boss Dusty doesn’t mind it one bit. His constant flirting and joking with her is a definite indication. Plus, when she’s not here, he clearly notices – asking where she is and if she’s coming. He even called her adorable once. Yeah, he’s got it bad for her. Problem is, Britt doesn’t seem to notice him back. At least not in the way he’d prefer.
Looking around the room while I prepare drink after drink as orders roll in from the waitresses, I see a lot of familiar faces. Friday and Saturday nights bring the crowd in here at The Hook. Discounted drinks, appetizers, and the best karaoke in town, in my opinion, make this the place to hang out for many. Maybe we’re all simple, easy to please, or maybe it’s being surrounded by others with the same interests - I’m not sure.
“Hey, Sailor,” someone yells from across the room interrupting my thoughts.
“Hey Brad, how’s it going?” I ask when I see one of our regular customers smiling flirtatiously while making his way to the bar. He’s cute, I think as I check out his smile and button up shirt. He’s too college preppy good boy to be my type, but he’s still nice to look at.
“It will be better when you get up there. When is it your turn?” he asks gesturing to the stage. “I want to make sure I get a good seat.”
Smiling, I shrug, “I’m not sure if I’ll sing tonight.”
“Don’t listen to her, of course she is,” Dusty answers as he comes up behind me. “She still doesn’t realize that half of the people here come solely to listen to her.”
“Whatever, Dusty, that’s not true at all.”
Dusty rolls his eyes at me, pats me on the back, then looks at Brad, “See what I mean?”
Brad nods, smiles, then turns to find a table while I’m distracted by Kylie, a waitress, rattling off another drink order. “Two vodka cranberry’s, three Miller Lite’s from the tap please, and a house margarita no salt.”
“Got it,” I tell her and rush to make her drinks while also smiling at a patron that comes up to the bar and waits patiently to place his order.
“Thanks, Sailor,” Kylie says and walks away balancing her drinks carefully on a tray at her shoulder.
“That guy was cute,” Britt says at the same time I ask a customer, “What can I get you?” I shoot Britt a look telling her to shut it, knowing she’s wanting to talk about Brad. Focusing back on the man, I smile. I’ve never seen him before. I wonder which type he’ll be: is he going to be in and out for a drink; sit and stay a while; or have too much to drink and start telling me his life story. If I had to guess I’d say he’s going to be a sit and stay.
“What have you got on tap?” he asks and I ramble off the beers until he interrupts to let me know which he’d like and orders two glasses. While I pour he looks around the room, “Busy night.”
“Yeah, this is how it always is on Friday’s and Saturday’s. And it’s karaoke night which tends to bring in the crowd.”
“So I hear. Rumor has it that you’ve got a great singer here. A woman. I’m told she brings in the crowd on your karaoke nights. Will she be singing tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him looking at him curiously.
“Do you know if she’s here right now?”
My brow furrows, “I’m not sure.” I know he’s talking about me, even though admitting it to myself invokes a feeling of conceit that causes me to squirm a bit, but I have no idea who he is or why he would be interested in me. Maybe it’s nothing other than an interest in hearing me sing. But, I don’t know him, and I’m not comfortable telling him anything.
“God, I hope so,” he says and I frown again, even more curious now.
“Why’s that? Worried you might be wasting your time chasing a rumor?”
He laughs softly, nods a thank you when I hand him his drink, and takes a sip before replying. “Something like that,” he says, then grabs the other beer along with his and disappears into the crowd.
“I said,” Britt says once more, “he was cute.”
“Who? Him?” I ask and point in the general direction of the disappearing customer.
“Yeah, he was, too. But I’m talking about Brad the guy that was
talking to you before. The guy that is clearly into you and was flirting.”
“He is cute, I agree. You should definitely go chat him up. Like, right now. You two would make an adorable couple.”
“God, Sailor, you’re so annoying,” she says with a small grin.
“So are you! You know damn well he’s not my type. How long have you known me?”
“That’s true. I mean, he’s probably super nice and would treat his girlfriend with respect. We wouldn’t want that.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“You know I’m right. You like a little bad with your good. Problem is, you always lean toward someone who has more bad than good. That’s why you keep getting your heart stomped on.”
“You have to actually care to get your heart stomped on, Britt.”
“You pretend you don’t care, but you do. I know you.”
“Whatever, and besides, you are not one to talk. Let’s have this conversation later.”
“No we won’t, because you’ll avoid it like always,” she says and thank god right then, Kyle a waiter comes up to me with another drink order.
While I pour and mix - thanks to Britt - my mind wanders to my last couple boyfriends. The annoying thing is that she’s not wrong. It took me a long time to date once I moved here to California, but when I did, I was surprised by my apparent taste in men too, although given my past, it isn’t too surprising I suppose. My last boyfriend, Trevor, was totally hot. Tattoos for days, a cocky attitude, and he was amazing in bed. His moves in the bedroom made you endure the attitude. In full disclosure, I was willing to put up with him being so full himself in exchange for the orgasms he gave – because there were a lot. I was sporting a constant smile due to the continual work out my body was getting, until I found him in bed with another woman. And not just any bed – my bed. Clearly, I’m not the only one he liked delighting with his sexual prowess. Yeah, not a story I like to think about. It was ugly, there was crying, and screaming - his, not mine.
“Totally thinking about Trevor aren’t you?” Britt asks and when I look at her she has a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s all over your face.”
“Shut up,” I tell her with a laugh.
Just as the crowd cheers for a woman that rocked everyone out to a fun 80s song, Dusty comes up behind me, “What are you going to sing tonight?”
Turning to him, I cross my arms over my chest, “Who says I’m going to sing tonight?”
“You can’t resist. In fact, I should make it part of your employment contract considering the crowd that you draw in, it would definitely work in my benefit.”
“Great idea. Let me know how much the raise will be to go along with that contract amendment.”
Dusty smiles, “Deal. Now get up there.”
“Alright, give me a minute to think about what I want to sing.”
He nods, and I pour myself a drink while I think. I never imagined when I stumbled in here longing to escape my past, and start over, that I’d not only find a job that pays decently, but that I’d gain friends as well. I wanted to get lost in the crowd, drown in anonymity. Los Angeles seemed like the perfect place. Surrounded by actor and actress wannabe’s hoping to hit it big, I figured being a steady worker in a place that likely had a revolving staff would be perfect. I picked the wrong place, if that’s what I was hoping for, because The Hook is more like a home. Dusty the owner is great. He cares about his employees; he pays us well, treats us fair, and is kind with our hours. Turnover is low unless someone actually makes it in this dream bursting town. Plus, the bar staff has all been fantastic – not an asshole in the bunch. Add that to the large number of regulars that come in and it’s a damn family. The exact opposite of the anonymity I was looking for a few years ago, but I’m not complaining.
I never intended to sing on karaoke nights. One hot summer night when we first added it to our weekend line up it was quiet in here, which was odd considering our prime location in downtown Hollywood. Britt stumbled in and ordered a whiskey neat. After she downed the first, she lifted her finger indicating another. It was obvious she was in distress. Red, puffy eyes, she was clearly drinking her feelings, or at least trying her best to drown them. Two drinks in, she started talking. A visit to her brother in a town called Hope Falls turned into her meeting a great guy. She fell for him hard in a really short time, would have liked to stay even, but he was just coming out of a relationship and had his own business, and she had a blossoming clientele here working as a hair stylist. What started out as quiet drinking and sniffing quickly turned into a full on play-by-play recitation. Britt seemed pitiful and her story was sad. So, to make her smile and hopefully feel better, I went up on stage and dedicated an iconic break up song to her. One song went into another and soon the whole staff was cheering me on and begging for yet another. It became a thing each night we had karaoke. At some point I’d get up on stage. Dusty opened the doors and made a big sign that sat on the sidewalk in front of the bar and people would trickle in.
At first people were hesitant to get on stage. It was like they needed someone to break the ice each week. Initially, Dusty volunteered me to do that and each time, others would follow. Eventually, people were fighting for turns, whether they were first, last or somewhere in between. It’s been fun to watch it develop its own life, and each week Dusty still expects me to get up and sing – and I do. I admit I enjoy it. I’ve always loved music. I didn’t realize how much I missed my old high school choir days. I guess singing in my car and the shower just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I actually have found myself looking forward to getting up on stage.
Walking to the book of songs, I select the one I want to sing, and another just in case and show them to Erik, the DJ that runs our music and karaoke nights. “Demi Lovato tonight, huh? Good choices,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear you nail them.” I smile, and nod. I’ve been compared to Demi a lot and it’s a comparison that secretly makes me proud – her voice is insane. Her vocal range alone is incredible.
As I take the stage, there are cheers, claps and whistles from the crowd – looking around I smile at familiar faces. I wave at a few knowing their kindness is because they know me and have heard me sing before. It’s like my own little fan base. When the song and lyrics come on the screen, the crowd cheers again which makes me laugh, the microphone sending it around the room. Knowing that I start singing almost as soon as the music starts, I look at Erik and nod my head so he knows I’m ready. I sing the hell out of Heart Attack. It’s a song about not wanting to fall in love, but doing so anyway. I lose myself almost immediately. There’s something that happens to me when I’m on stage, when music runs through me; I close my eyes, lose myself to the music, to the words, and belt it out. I let the music fall over me and it’s as if each note peels away the façade revealing the real me underneath. And it’s saying look at me, listen to me, I have something to offer, something to say.
I’m able to become one with the song. It’s as if I’m a different person up here. The quiet, closed off person that I am more often than not, opens up. Music speaks to me in a way nothing else can. It unlocks my heart, makes me vulnerable, makes me feel. I blossom. I become the person I love to be.
Opening my eyes, I play to the crowd, I smile, I’m able to let everything that sits on my shoulders, that weighs on my mind, that can make my stomach feel heavy… go… I can let it go and just…be.
When my eyes connect with Britt’s she smiles knowingly at me. I’ve told her before, confided in her how singing makes me feel. She told me once that she can always see the moment it hits me on stage, the instant the real me arrives for others to see. She nods at me, kneels on her stool and cheers her head off. I thank the stars the day her broken heart brought her into this place. She’s become a friend I never thought I’d have. My biggest supporter, my rock, my secret keeper, someone that simply gets me; without me saying a word. She’s ridiculous in the best kind of way.
When the last note rings out, the room explodes in praise. I smil
e shyly and people immediately begin asking and demanding more. Seeking Dusty out in the crowd, I find him leaning against the bar, rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed and a big smile on his face. He nods permission, and I nod at Erik silently asking him to start the next song.
When Two Pieces starts to play, the bar cheers, rewarding me for responding to their request and singing one more. Absently looking around the room, my eyes land on the man that ordered a drink from me earlier. The man that asked me about a woman that sang here. He shakes his head at me with a smile and I shrug. He’s sitting with another man whose stare is a bit disarming. They each talk to the other, nod, and stare at me the whole time.
Looking away, I begin singing the next song, losing myself, or maybe it should really be defined as finding myself – once again. When the last note rings out, the room explodes into cheers once again and clapping. Smiling and laughing, and ignoring the request to sing yet another song, I hand the microphone to Erik, “That was amazing,” he says. “You should sing another.”
“No, that’s okay, two’s enough. It isn’t the Sailor concert last I heard.”
“It should be. I’d pay to hear you sing, seriously.”
Laughing at that comment, I roll my eyes. “Time to give someone else a turn. Thanks, Erik.” I walk past the line of waiting people. Some stand confidently, looking almost bored waiting for their turn, others look nervous, biting their nails or chatting with the person next to them about being scared to sing for the first or fiftieth time. I love it. I love the way music affects people, brings them together, speaks to them and makes them feel fearless. Good or bad I can’t wait to hear each one.
Returning to the bar, I’m stopped along the way by people telling me, “Wow, you’re amazing,” “Loved it, Sailor,” “Please sing more.” I smile and nod and duck back behind the bar and serve drinks. It appears I may be thanking people for their kind words for the rest of my shift as I’m given compliment after compliment. It makes me feel good, makes me feel like…I matter. A simple minute of singing, which is nothing really, no time at all, made a difference to these people. For a long time I felt like my voice wasn’t heard. I screamed, ranted, raved, cried, demanded and begged, but still, it’s as if I wasn’t saying anything at all. I was ignored, disbelieved, betrayed…silenced. Maybe that’s why I sing with everything I have – I want to be heard. And hearing and seeing the impact my voice brings on stage is priceless. It gives me a sense of peace. It validates me. It proves that I have a voice after all. And what I have to say is worth telling.
Broken Melody (Graffiti On Tour Series) Page 1
