Chapter 5 – Bea
I’ve been so nervous all day that my hands are literally pruney from all of the sweat.
And I’ve made up my mind at least a dozen times to call Marco and tell him that I can’t do it, but part of me wants to push myself to get back up on stage finally. I do miss the rush of a good set.
“You’re kidding!” Micky says after I tell her I’m going to sign up.
“Marco made a deal with me that I have to do it.”
“Ah.” She laughs. “He withheld that ‘d.’”
I looked around to make sure none of our customers heard her.
“Mackenzie!”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“No, but the whole world doesn’t need to know that.”
“It’s fine. But I’m so happy for you!”
“Thanks. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
She takes her balled-up fist and hits my shoulder. “You’re going to do amazing. You always used to kill it.”
“But that was years ago.”
“So? That talent is still right inside of you.”
“I hope so.”
“What song are you going to sing?” she asks after draping over the counter a bit and pulling a string of gum out of her mouth.
I look at the ground and then back up again. “It’s a surprise.”
“The coffee cart is here,” my mom suddenly announces while rolling it into the store.
Given everything that happened with Caroline, we were never able to meet up with Marco to learn how to make all of the drinks, but Mom obviously owed Ernestine a favor because she agreed to do it for below minimum wage.
“Bea is signing up tonight,” Micky rats on me.
My mom’s face drops. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I am.”
I get a big maternal hug. “Honey, I think that’s awesome. But how? Why?”
“Marco convinced me to do it.”
From behind her back, Micky takes her hand, makes it into a circle, and then jams her pointer finger in and out of it.
I wave for her to stop it.
My mother clutches her heart. “Oh, that, Marco. He’s just so good for you.”
“That he is.”
Moments later, my dad walks in with a buddy, and they’re carrying the stage.
“Right over there, honey,” my mother directs.
“Here?”
“Yep.”
They carefully set it down and then step back to admire it.
“Beatrice is singing tonight!” Mom says.
“That’s really nice,” my father responds in his typical neutral tone of voice.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“So, we’ll have everyone line up around the building . . .”
“You really think there are going to be that many people here? I ask, my palms starting to drench all over again.
“Well, I’d like to think so. There isn’t an open mic anywhere else in town—not even for miles. At least one hundred people said they were interested in attending on Facebook.”
“Oh, God.” I don’t know what makes me feel more ill—my mother calling it Facebook or the fact that many people will see me potentially fail again.
“And then the coffee will go right there. Perfect.”
Then, all of us move shelves and take extra chairs out from the back room to scatter them across the floor.
“Well?” I ask the boss aka my mother.
“Looks good to me. Oh!” She puts her arms around both mine and Micky’s shoulders. “This is going to be so, so fun girls.”
The day flies by way quicker than I would have liked it to, but before we know it, the first people are filing in the door. One of them is my handsome, handsome Marco.
I wanted to run and jump into his arms, but he brought Alessia and Aurora with him, so I couldn’t.
“Are you excited?” he asks.
“That’s one word for it.”
“Oh, come on! It’s gonna be awesome. And the girls are really looking forward to hearing you sing. Isn’t that right?”
They kind of sway but also nod their heads.
“Well, thank you.”
I then excuse myself to go see the sign-up sheet. I’m secretly hoping that enough people have already entered and there won’t be any extra time for me. But there are only three or four names on it.
Dammit.
“I’ll do the honors for ya,” Micky says before taking the clipboard out of my hands and writing my name.
“There ya go.”
“Thanks,” I say through a closed jaw.
“Aw. You’re so welcome.”
I cross my arms.
“Bea! I hate seeing you so stressed out. Please relax a little.”
“Well, I’m sorry. It’s hard for me.”
“I understand. But this is for a few people that we grew up around. It’s no big deal.”
I know that she’s right, but I still can’t shake my nerves.
And it doesn’t help that the first few people to get up there are incredibly talented singers.
“I can’t do this,” I say after one of them murders a song, including several long notes and riffs.
“Yes, you can,” Marco whispers in my ear.
Then, I saw my mother walk on stage and announce that it was my turn.
I take one hard gulp, and then, with a slight push from someone—maybe Marco, maybe not—I realize that I’m going up to meet her. She hands me the microphone.
“Good luck, sweetie,”
When I turn to face the crowd, the lights blind me a little.
“Woo! Go, Bea!” I hear Micky cheer. “You got this!”
I can see that my hand is shaking. And at one point, I turn to get off, but Marco is right there.
“You got this,” he repeats.
So, I once again resume my position, and I give the cue for the music to start.
The first few notes escape my lips, but they’re quiet and forced. However, when I look over, he has the biggest smile on his face. That gives me courage, and I ask to start over.
“Sorry,” I say to the man running the machine and the crowd.
“It’s all good!” Micky yells.
Similarly, Marco gives me two thumbs up.
I close my eyes for a second and wait for the music to start again.
This second time, I completely let go and sang with such soul that I felt the vibrations of my voice in my bones. It’s a. feeling I’ve missed dearly.
When I finish, Marco storms the stage and gives me a huge hug.
“That was amazing!” he yells over the crowd.
“Thank you!”
My best friend is the next to join, and she’s holding the hands of his daughters.
“Bea! You fuck—I mean, you freaking killed it!”
“Thanks.”
With that renewed confidence, I continued performing over and over again from there on out.
But we had no idea just how far things would go. Certainly, we never anticipated getting the national recognition that soon came and threatened to change my little life in Hazelhurst for good.