3 - The Show Must Go On

Thank ya, Lord.  I do believe this is gonna be a fine day.

Either that or she'd finally slipped to a new level of crazy - the one where you didn't know you were crazy.   Because if she thought Jon Bon Jovi and his friend were trying to pay her to sing, there was a better than average chance her cheese had gone and slipped off her cracker, 

Yes, although he hadn't introduced himself, she’d immediately recognized the man who had spent a good deal of the millennial decade on People Magazine’s Sexiest list.  A woman of her age would have to be living in a cave not to know Jon Bon Jovi, and his 'disguise' didn't offer much in the way of camouflage.  The ball cap, sunglasses and short gray hair couldn't erase the trademark chiseled jaw, clefted chin and snow white teeth that he’d been graced with – or paid for.  It wasn’t her place to judge, and she frankly didn’t care.  Bought or blessed, it was mighty fine combination. 

“Fellas,” she drawled, directing her words more at Obie than Jon, since he'd been the chattier of the two.  Either Jon didn't want to draw attention to himself, or he wasn't a chatty kind of fellow.  It was a surprise, either way.  “I surely appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t know that I have much interest in performin’ on demand.  Thank ya just the same.”

“What?  Are you kidding me?” 

The skinny, dark-headed Obie, tended to remind her of a Chihuahua.  Maybe it was the way he had been yipping around the bar since he walked in, or maybe it was his sharp nose paired with the owlishly round eyeglasses that had that little dog saying, "Yo quiero Taco Bell" in her head.

“No sir, I can’t say that I am.”

“But, but…  Lady, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but do you know who I am?  Who that is?”  His thumb jabbed in the direction of the man hunkered over the bar, seemingly more interested in his beer than what was going on around him. 

Cassidy’s mouth curled into a more active smile.  She'd spent the better part of her life in the South, but she'd wandered north of the Mason-Dixon Line a time or two.  It hadn't taken long to discover that most of those folks automatically assumed her mind moved as slowly as her lazily drawled words. 

Those assumptions were grossly incorrect.

“Yes, sir, I do.  I’d prob’ly throw my hands and panties in the air if I wasn’t on the clock, but that ain’t the case.  You’re both customers in my place of employment, and it’s my job to sell you booze.  That kinda hinders my gut reaction.”

“Alcohol liaison!” Tully chimed in from the back, where he was likely stationed next to the order window so as not to miss anything.  He was as nosy as that horde of blue haired ladies who congregated at the bingo hall.

“Ah, but see… there’s now a flaw in your logic,” Obie contradicted her over Jon’s sputtering.  He had choked on the swallow of beer he’d taken at the same time she mentioned panties, and hadn’t quite recovered yet.  “The verbal contract I just negotiated between your employer and myself makes you a subcontracted employee.  Technically, for the next hour, you work for me.”

“Huh.”  She tipped her head with a thoughtful frown.  “That sounds a whole lot like the slavery you Northern folk so adamantly abolished.  Which I thank ya for, since it means you can’t just buy me like a piece of singin’ luggage.  Much obliged.”

“Christ on a crutch…”  A heavy sigh filled the air before Obie took a deep breath in preparation to, no doubt, elaborate on the finer points of verbal contracts. “Listen here-“

“Ob,” Jon interrupted softly with a tap to his friend’s thigh.  “She’s yanking your chain.”

Her head tipped from one side to the other and she took her first good, long look at Mr. Bon Jovi.  With an impassive face and understated tone of voice he gave a distinct air of indifference, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t as apathetic as he let on.  The way he’d stroked her forearm and gently prodded her to sing had relayed an interest that she’d felt all the way to her toes.

“You’re very insightful,” Cassidy commended him.  “I was just playin’ to see how tight he could get wound.”

“Not as tight as you might think.  He’s put up with me for too many years.”

In spite of the rock star sunglasses, this guy wasn’t what she would’ve expected Jon Bon Jovi to be.   Her information about him – admittedly limited to a few interviews and videoed performances over the years – pegged him a hyper control freak who couldn’t sit still.  That assessment was in complete contradiction to the passive, soft-spoken man sitting across the bar from her.

“That’s why I take a shitload of blood pressure medication.  Cassidy, what’s the story?  Will you grace us with a song while I eat cold pickles, or not?”

Cassidy offered him her widest, most sincere smile and tossed her towel into the tiny bar sink.  “You’re alright, Obie.  I’m not sure why you’re so interested but, for bein’ such a good sport and puttin’ up with my contrariness, I'll surely sing for you.”

Lord, it’s me again.  Thank Ya for this opportunity, even though I’m not sure what exactly is goin’ on.  I’m just hopin’ that, since You arranged this, You’ll also arrange for me not to look like a fool in front of these folks.  Amen.

From the time her grandmother had realized Cassidy could sing, she'd sung for friends, family and strangers alike.  Every performance had gone off without a hitch, so there was no justifiable reason to believe she was going to embarrass herself this time.  All the same, she figured it didn’t hurt to hedge her bets.

“Repeating my earlier question, do you take requests?” Obie inquired before popping a fried pickle slice into his mouth. 

“Depends on what you’re requestin’, I suppose.  I’d like to sing one I’m comfortable with first, if ya don’t mind.”

“Wow.  All that ball busting and now you’re going to give me two?”  He picked up a chicken wing and cordially waved it at her.  “Who am I to complain?  Knock yourself out.”

Nodding, she made her way from behind the bar toward the tiny stage that was reserved for Saturday nights, and wished that Jon would take off those sunglasses of his.  Considering how often she'd given impromptu performances in her life, stage fright wasn't an issue, but it was still disconcerting not to be able to make eye contact.  She'd never sung for a famous vocalist and, while seeing his eyes might not allow her to read his every thought, it might offer a little idea as to how he was receiving her performance.

Jon was glad to be hidden behind his sunglasses.  It allowed him to covertly ogle Cassidy’s ass as she twirled on those skyscraper-high heels and surveyed the bar for acoustics or whatever.  Maybe he was just  a simple guy, but he appreciated the plain Levi's.  They were a nice change of pace from those jeans that everyone was wearing nowadays - the ones with enough bling on the back pockets to outfit Liberace's chandelier.  Cassidy's ass didn't need any enhancement beyond the supple faded denim that cupped her rump.   

“I guess this’ll work.”  The object of his ogling was pivoted out of view when she selected a spot on stage and turned to face her audience.  “Do you want a whole song, or just part of it?”

“Just pretend you’re auditioning on that TV show,” Obie instructed around a bite of chicken wing.  “Sing until I tell you to stop.”

“Alright.”  She smiled widely.  “Sorry I don’t have any accompaniment.”

Before he had a chance to wonder why he cared, Jon asked, “Do you play an instrument?” 

“A little piano.”

He nodded.  Her answer was irrelevant except to satisfy his inquisitiveness.  Obie would love for her to be an all-around musician if he chose to take under his wing, but if she was good enough on vocals that was a minor detail.  

Inky eyelashes fluttered down to rest against her cheeks and Cassidy softly hummed a few bars before launching into her selection.

“If I… shouuld stay

Well I-I would only… be in… your way”

Whitney Houston.  Not what I would’ve expected.

“So I’m gonna go

But I know

I'll think of you… each step of my way

And I-I-I wi-ill alll-waays love youu

Yes I… will all-ways… love youu”

He was… impressed.  She could hit notes that some vocalist found unreachable in this context and the quality was pleasantly unique.  She had a slight vibrato that lent the delivery a musical quality and made him forget she wasn’t being backed by a band. 

“Bittersweet… mem-or-ies

I guess that’s allll I'm taking... with me

Goodbye

Please… please don't cry

‘Cause we both kno-ow… I'm not what… you nee-ee-ed

But I-I-I wi-ill alll-waays love youu

I-I will a-all-ways… love you.”

Even though her voice held firmly to that last note, Jon thought her big blue eyes looked damp and he was relieved when Obie held up a hand to stop her. Something about this song obviously hit Cassidy on an emotional level. 

He was also glad that Obie was the one to verbalize surprise at her song selection.    

“Funny, I wouldn’t have picked you for a Whitney Houston girl.”

Cassidy chuckled as she sniffed and dabbed at the corner of one eye.  “My mama sang me that song long before Whitney ever thought of buyin’ it from Dolly.”

She was right.  Now that she mentioned it, Jon recalled that the songwriting credits on that tune belonged to Dolly Parton.

“So you’re a Dolly girl then,” Obie corrected.

“They won’t let you live in Tennessee otherwise.”  She smiled sweetly.  “But if you’re askin’ whether I’m into country music, the answer is no.  My favorite band is Queen.”

That was an interesting little bombshell.  Jon would’ve pegged her as a Reba McEntire type.  Or Bonnie Raitt.  Then again, his perception could conceivably be influenced by her hair color.

“Well.  I guess that makes my requested song pretty obvious, then, doesn’t it?”  Obie popped one of those foul-smelling fried pickles in his mouth and grinned at Cassidy. 

“’Bohemian Rhapsody’?”

She’d sufficiently proven her ability, in Jon's opinion, and he didn’t have much interest in hearing “Bohemian” mangled today.  It was hard enough to pull that one off with a full orchestra, but acapella?  No, thank you.

“Nah.  Too cliché and a bitch without music.  I was thinking something a little more fun.  Like…  ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’.”

Now it was Cassidy’s turn to grin.  “Yeah.  I can do that.”