Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
I KEEP MY COOL AND MAINTAIN MY STROLL , smiling tightly and saying nothing until we reach the stage.
Paolo sits down at his KJ table. I say to him, “Whoever you think I am, you’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not,” he replies. “I can see you, Rex. Plain as day.”
I lean over close and hiss into his ear, “I don’t know how you figured it out, but if you tell anyone, this microphone of mine is finding a new home.” I look down at his behind.
His eyes widen. “Yikes.”
Eva runs up to the stage. “What is up with you two?” she says. “Quit flirting!”
“We’re not flirting!” Paolo and I say at the same time.
“Then get your act together. People are waiting,” Eva says. I look out at the bar and see Aaron and Bryan watching us curiously.
“We’ll talk about this later,” I say to Paolo. “Just get things ready. And here.” I hand him an already filled-out request slip. “Queue this up for me.”
Paolo’s eyes light up, reminding me of the first time I talked to him, when I’d told him the title of my favorite karaoke song. He smiles and proceeds to click a series of controls on his laptop screen. The house lights go down to half, and the colored lights above me turn on, swirling in a slow, seductive tempo.
I move to the center of the stage and tap my microphone. The dull thump sounds through the speakers and bounces around inside me. My heart beats faster. Mom, Eva, Kat, and her friends in the front row sit in anticipation with huge smiles. But beyond them, the rest of the crowd melts into a sea of semi-darkness. I can’t see the looks on their faces. Can’t determine their feelings. Or their intentions.
But I can see Paolo. I look over at him, and he’s glowing. Literally. He’s messed up the light controls and has aimed the roving spotlight on himself. He’s on the edge of his seat, waiting for the night to begin, for me to introduce myself, and to finally sing.
The spotlight wanders off him and inches across the stage, finding me. But unlike the one he’d shone on me our first night, this one is soft and inviting. I take a breath. I tell myself, Eva and Mom are here. Kat and her friends are, too. And Aaron. And Bryan. They’re all rooting for you. Just take a deep breath and focus on that old familiar feeling, just like riding a bike. A more glamorous bike with handlebar tassels, and a sequined seat, and lots and lots of padding.
I try to decide what to say. How do I reintroduce myself? Long explanations of where I’ve been all these years run through my head. Do I tell them all why I’ve been hiding? And why I’ve decided to come back by hosting karaoke night at a dive bar in Oakland?
In the end, I address none of these things. I just singsong into the mic, “I’m baaaaaack!” and my ears fill with the sweet, sustaining sound of the audience’s roar.
“Sounds to me like you’re ready for the first song of the night!” I say. “So let’s start the evening off right.”
My mother, for some reason, begins to stand up. I shake my head and smile aggressively at her to make her sit, but she seems oblivious to my warning. Thankfully, Eva pulls her back down into her seat.
I turn to Paolo and mouth, Hit it .
“I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross lights up the video monitors. The guitar riff starts, and I let my voice fly. The voice that always had people mistaking me for being a girl on the phone. The voice I’ve been trying to force downward into a more masculine range for the past few years. Now I can finally use it to do what it was meant to do: sing in my natural range.
In the now exuberant lights that Paolo’s turned on in the rest of the room, I see how stunned Kat and her friends are. And even from a distance, I can tell from the way that Aaron’s and Bryan’s mouths have dropped open that they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. But the grins on everyone else’s faces tell me that they’re all fans who know what I’m capable of. So I give the audience what they’ve been waiting years for. No twirling, or kicking, or over-the-top flourishes. Just me connecting with them. I sing about how much I have to give, about all the things that I want the world to see and hear. That there’s no need for me to fear. I’m coming out.
When the song fades, the room erupts. Eva looks as if she’s barely able to restrain herself from rushing the stage to hug me. Kat is shaking her head in disbelief. And back at the bar, Bryan and Aaron are clapping heartily.
“Thank you all so much!” I say. “Now let’s keep the fun rolling. Next up is a known crowd pleaser—”
My mom stands up again. And my sister pulls her back down.
“Can I get Kat up onstage?” I ask.
Kat runs up, throws her arms around me, and says, “I fucking love you so much.”
“My my! What appreciative patrons you have here at the Pink Unicorn,” I say into the mic, motioning Kat with my head to tell Paolo what she wants to sing. “Folks, if the powers that be are happy with me tonight, I might be able to extend my hosting residency here. So drink up and be sure to tip that hunky bartender back there, would you?”
Kat rejoins me in the center of the stage.
“So what have you got for us tonight, Ms. Kat?”
“‘Get the Party Started’!” she says, grabbing the mic and punching the sky.
The intro to Pink’s dance-pop anthem starts up. The lights go wild again, slightly out of control in that Paolo way. The lyrics to a completely different song, “Get Down on It” by Kool he’s smiling, but in his eyes, his sorrow shows.
At just that moment, a roaming stage light lands on Paolo, illuminating him. My breath catches.
“Hey,” Eva says. ”What should I say?”
I blink rapidly and look away from Paolo. “Tell Aaron yes ,” I say.
She nods and sends Aaron a thumbs-up emoji. I sneak a look back at the bar and see Aaron pull out his phone. He glances at it, smiles, and continues shaking his cocktail tumbler.
At around 10:55 p.m., as the current singer ends her number, I’m about to announce the last song, when feedback squeals through the sound system, making everyone in the bar cringe.
Tap, tap, tap. “Is this on?” Paolo says into another mic that he’s pulled from under the KJ desk. “First off, I want to thank the beautiful Regina Moon Dee for hosting. She’s really brought something special to the evening.”
The way Paolo says special makes me get hot under my corset. I smile awkwardly at him and grab a nearby bar napkin to blot my suddenly sweaty forehead.
“I’ve had so much fun tonight listening to all the fantastic singing. So I’d like to try a little song of my own, if you don’t mind?” He looks at me as if he’s asking for my permission specifically. “Because this is one of my favorite songs.”
Instrumental music starts. The unmistakable intro to Celine Dion’s version of “All By Myself.” The song Paolo had queued up for me to sing last weekend by surprise.
I lean back against the bar counter to listen. My interest is piqued. “All By Myself” is not easy. At least not for a woman. For a man, the song sits a bit lower, in the baritone-tenor range. The highest note is hard for a guy but not unattainable. Not like it is for most women attempting to belt it.
The song begins, and Paolo sings.
Except, for some crazy reason, he is, in fact, attempting to sing it in Celine Dion’s range. So what are low notes for a female singer are already high notes for him. I shake my head in disbelief. I’m the only man I know who can actually do this. That’s why it’s one of my go-to songs. People are always gobsmacked by my ability to sing it in the right octave.
Though a bit breathy, Paolo actually starts on pitch. But the notes only go upward. And from the way Paolo’s face strains—his nostrils flaring and the veins on the side of his neck hardening into steel—I can tell what comes next is going to be rough. My fingers grip the sides of my barstool. I’m going to need to strap in for this ride.
Paolo squeezes the microphone. His body compacts into a rigid mass. The refrain begins its familiar ascending phrase, and he attempts ( All ) with every note ( by ) to launch them high enough ( myself ) onto the right places on the music staff. And every note falls well short. ( All ) In one case, ( by ) almost by several steps, ( myself ) causing my testicles to tighten and shrink until they’re tiny marbles.
Paolo takes a deep breath. Here it comes.
Anymore!! he screams. The entire bar reels backward in their chairs. I see Kat almost fall over in hers. My mom actually sticks her fingers in her ears.
The long-held note of the last syllable of anymore goes on and on, getting more flat as it goes.
But the funny thing is, I sort of like it.
Sure, Paolo is so far away from the original key now that he’s defied the laws of physics. But he doesn’t seem to care at all. It looks like he’s enjoying every second he’s onstage. He’s selling that song, actual notes be damned. It’s kind of sexy.
And I’m not the only one who appreciates Paolo’s performance. When he’s done, people reward him with applause. Kat and the Nine Tails gals even stand up and hoot.
Their response reminds me of why people love karaoke. Not everyone is a trained singer. But anyone, given the right amount of courage (liquid or otherwise), can take their turn at the mic and share what they have with everyone else. It doesn’t have to be pretty or perfect. It just has to be them. And I think it was obvious to everyone at the Pink Unicorn that what we saw was truly Paolo. Every last off-pitch bit of him.
He sits back down at the KJ table, and I realize something. The anxiety that I felt at the beginning of the evening has disappeared. Eva, Mom, and Kat being here has helped. And the fact that Aaron and Bryan seem pleased has definitely made me feel a lot better.
But somehow it’s Paolo’s performance that has wiped away every last trace of the fear that I had. I’m not sure why.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in between and beyond,” I announce onstage, “I’m sorry to say, but it’s almost time to say good night.”
A huge awwww from the crowd.
“Thank you all so much for coming. I’m so happy to have been your karaoke queen tonight. Let’s all close out the evening by singing this last one together, shall we?”
The screens light up with the title card to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I invite Kat onstage, pointing at the second microphone. She squeals with glee and hops up next to me.
To say the subsequent group singalong is anything less than a total train wreck would be lying, even with us leading it. Our take on Freddie Mercury’s opening slow bars is solid, but as soon as the other people start chiming in with the choral parts, it’s all downhill, right from the first “scaramouche.” But it doesn’t matter at all. Everyone’s faces are shiny and happy as they sing their lungs out.
As the final piano chord sounds, Paolo expertly fades the stage lights and turns the house lights back up, gradually transitioning to lo-fi hip-hop. He already seems more at ease behind the table. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to focus on the controls while I host. Maybe it’s because of something else. All I know is, he looks extremely content, which is good. Because our kiss in the bathroom, even though it was fake, was still something he didn’t ask for. And I’ve been thinking about it all night.
Because of how rude it was of me, of course.
Kat hugs me. “Babe, that was lit! They’d be insane not to hire you permanently.”
“Thank you, darling,” I say. “I would tend to agree. But I should confirm with the powers that be.” I give her two air kisses and let her rejoin her bandmate friends.
Mom leans against Eva at their table, looking tired and a little tipsy.
“Time to get Tita Sharon to bed,” I say.
Mom perks up. “Che! I can sing and dance all night!” she says, and begins to sing the soundtrack to My Fair Lady .
“Yep, time to go home,” Eva says. “I’ll drive her. You okay getting home?”
“I’ll take a rideshare. You just take care of Mom.”
She puts her arm around our mother’s waist and pulls her up. I accompany them to the front door. As they walk down the sidewalk, I can hear Mom still singing “I Could Have Danced All Night.”
“Your aunt is quite a character,” Bryan says, setting a colorful cocktail in front of me as I take a seat at the still-busy bar.
“Yes, she is.” I sip the drink, leaving behind a trace of gloss on the glass. “Mm. Extra sweet. Just how I like them.”
Bryan winks at me. “Me, too.”
I smile. “So, how’d I do, boss?”
“You know, I’ve seen many a celebrity come through here. But not one of them can compare to you.”
“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “Want to know why? Because with everyone else, you can tell it’s all about them. But not with you. You make everyone else feel like they’re the star. That’s why you’re so special.”
I look around at the patrons, still enjoying the afterglow of the evening’s festivities. “You’re too kind,” I say.
“Just calling it like I see it. But what do I know? He’s the one you have to please,” Bryan says, jerking his head toward Aaron at the other end of the bar. He retrieves a bowl of snack mix from under the counter and places it in front of me. “In case you’re hungry,” he says with a tender pat on my hand, before attending to people waiting for drinks.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Regina?”
I turn around. It’s Eva. “What are you doing back here?”
“Mom and I—uh, I mean my mom and I were about to leave but then realized I forgot to give you back your phone,” she says, handing it back to me. “Good thing, too. Check the last text.”
“Sure. I just need to talk to Aaron,” I say, taking the phone and proceeding to the other end of the bar.
“You should really read it—”
“In a minute. After I’ve—”
“REGINA,” Eva says.
I stop in my tracks and turn around slowly. “Yes?”
“Read. The. Text.”
I glance down at my phone. Aaron has sent me another message. Good news. Bryan’s closing up for me so I can meet up with you earlier. My place at midnight?
And Eva has responded: Sounds good! See you then. :)
“Why did you say that?” I ask. My scalp goes hot. God, I’ve got to get this wig off me. And now I have precious little time to do it.
“You seemed pretty raring to go!” Eva says.
“Yeah, but now I only have half an hour tops to get ready!” I whisper. “Crap, crap, crap.”
I look around and see that Bryan has already taken over all the bartending duties. Aaron is nowhere in sight.
“Regina and Eva,” Aaron says from behind me, making me jump. He’s got his jacket on and his keys are in his hand. “Please stay and enjoy. Drinks are on us. And here—your fee for tonight.” He hands me an envelope of cash.
“Thank you, darling. Should I plan on coming back next week?”
Aaron looks to Bryan behind the bar, who nods and gives him two big thumbs-up. Aaron smiles at me and says, “Yes.”
I smile back. “Wonderful.”
“I hate to be rude, but I’ve got to run,” Aaron says.
“Hot date?” I ask, winking slyly.
“Something like that.”
Now I’ve really got to take all this stuff off. For many reasons.
“See you next week,” Aaron says.
“I’ll be counting the days,” I say to myself as Aaron leaves.
I swivel to go say goodbye to Kat and check in with Paolo, but Eva pulls me away before I’m able to do either. “No time, big bro. You have to go!”
As we hurry out the door, the last thing I see is Paolo, now strangely sad, watching me as I leave.