Nine
NINE
HOT LIKE ICE
Kick and I pass each other as I make my way up the stage stairs.
“Was it good for you?” he asks, knocking his shoulder into mine.
Does he want me to comment on his performance? The fact that he sang about the alcove? Even if I had something clever to say, which I don’t, I’m about to do the exact same thing. I’m basically swan diving into my biggest humiliation while also hoping it’s my moment in the sun. The duality of the moment has me wound so tight I’m on the verge of passing out and rolling off the edge of the stage.
I smile up at Kick and bat my eyes, nothing but sweetness.
“Watch and learn, Ice Boy.”
The room settles, waiting for me to begin. I plug my father’s guitar into the amp and adjust the strap across my shoulder. I can’t see Deacon and Don through the stage lights, but I hope they’re watching.
“Hi, I’m Mari Gold.” My voice rings out confident and clear over the sound system. “This is ‘Hot Like Ice.’ Thank you for voting.”
I can feel the room shift as I play my first chords. Everyone else was loud and energetic, playing like they were hanging off the back of a speeding train. My toned-down, acoustic approach is giving me space to draw them in, and I do, one note at a time.
Springtime night, but heat so high
Distraction on my mind
Cicadas singing, moon dark sky
Not knowing what I’d find
He came wandering, looking like a wish
Made conversation so nice
Heat was rising, moving us close
Between us we could melt ice
Then we kissed inside the alcove
His kisses sweet as honey
Who he was I really don’t know
But I loved the way he wanted me
Inside that alcove
Inside that alcove
Inside that alcove
I hit the chorus like I’m falling in love in this moment, on stage, in front of the cameras. When the first inside that alcove hits, the high note soars as I draw out the word through the measure. I think it sounds amazing. I know it feels amazing.
I don’t look at Kick. I keep my focus on my lyrics, my guitar, the camera. Because this moment is for me. For the memories I never got with my father. For every moment like this we never got to do together.
I howl the bridge, my voice filling the room.
In the alcove, secrets don’t matter
In the alcove, we don’t need to know
Anything but each other
‘Cause anything goe s
As my song ends, there’s a too-long pause and I worry no one liked it. But then the applause starts, loud and enthusiastic. I smile wide to the camera and take a half-bow.
Beat that Mr. Kissed Her In An Alcove foot-stomper, microphone-seducer.
“Great song,” Don Sparrow says as I step off the stage. “Really glad you made it here.”
“Thanks to you,” I say with a big smile.
He shakes his head. “You earned it.”
I freeze in place. It’s impossible for him to know what those three words mean to me, but they mean the entire world.
“I’m just glad we ran into each other and that you’d seen me play. It’s an honor to be able to audition for you.”
He shakes his head, refusing the compliment. He looks around before he says, “We need new blood on the tour to help us sell tickets. So, we need you as much as you might think you need us.”
“I can’t imagine a world where I would be a ticket draw for you guys. You’re legends.”
“Suck up to the voters, not me,” he jokes.
Since I have his attention, I dig a little. “Your song ‘In A Dark Wood’ changed the game. It won Record of the Year, didn’t it?”
“You know your history,” he says with a friendly smile. He doesn’t mention my father, who wrote the song, and I’m not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a fangirl.
I shrug, casual. “I dabble.”
“Don,” Deacon calls from the doorway.
“You’re being summoned,” I say.
“Your audition was really good, Mari. I’m sure you’ll get lots of votes.” He pats my shoulder reassuringly. “I hope to see you out there. Good luck.”
I thank him as he leaves to meet up with Deacon and, for the first time in a long time, it feels like my life might finally be on the right track.