Chapter 16
The rest of the week raced by. On Saturday I went early to the gym.
At home I showered and changed then went grocery shopping, splurging on a bag of pastries.
I was getting ready to do laundry, when my doorbell rang.
I had no idea who that could be. One of my neighbors would just knock on my door. Perhaps it was a delivery.
I clicked the intercom. “Yes?”
“Is this the home of Eve Lambert?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I’m Art Herzer, the piano tuner. A Mr. Jack Garcia sent me.”
“Just a moment please,” I replied, then turned off the intercom and sent a text to Jack, asking if he’d sent someone to me.
Jack: “Yes. Art. Sorry, meant to tell you last night. Good guy. He’ll take about an hour.”
I was unsure about opening my door to a stranger, but if Jack vouched for him…
It turned out that Mr. Herzer was indeed a nice man as well as a very professional, thorough piano tuner.
He chatted to me non-stop while working, telling me about his wife who worked at a beauty parlor and the antics of his twin boys.
He cleaned the keys, dusted inside the piano, replaced some pads, and then tuned.
When he finished, he sat down and played through a beautiful piece that he informed me was Chopin.
Then he packed his bags and turned to go.
I expected him to hand me a bill, but when I asked, he said that Mr. Garcia had taken care of it already. Since I couldn’t pay him, I pressed the bag of pastries on him, which he gratefully accepted, then left.
I sat down at the piano. Vaguely wondering if the tuning had somehow enabled me to play beautiful music like Art just had. I lifted my hands to the keys and tried. Nope. Dang it. I’d still have to find that cranky Russian woman at the grocery store.
In the afternoon Diane came over to help me get ready.
She dropped several shopping bags in my entryway and gave me a hug.
“Are you ready to have the best night of your life, Eve?” she asked with a grin on her face.
I led her into the kitchen, and she set up her life-makeover station on my kitchen table.
“I don’t know that it will be the best night of my life, Diane, but I am ready to have fun,” I replied, seating myself in the chair she indicated.
“Girlfriend, this is not just going to be fun. This is going to be amazing, outstanding, life changing…” She waved her hands, struggling to come up with more superlatives.
I couldn’t help but laugh; her enthusiasm was contagious.
“You are going to be the queen of the concert,” she stated emphatically.
“Jack invited you himself. No girl there will hold a candle to you!”
“That feels like a lot of pressure, Diane. I don’t want to be centerstage. I just want to see Jack perform.”
“I have a feeling he’s going to dial it up to 11 just because you’re there, Eve. That boy is smitten. I’ve seen it enough to know, and let me tell you, that man is totally into you.”
I smiled, thinking that the feeling was entirely mutual.
Diane crimped my hair, sprayed it with glitter, then troweled on so much makeup that it could have had its own YouTube channel. I put on the rest of the outfit and came out to model it for her. She gave me an enthusiastic squeal of approval with a burst of applause.
“I don’t know, Diane. This isn’t really me. I feel lame, like I’m trying too hard.”
“Pfff,” she waved away my anxiety. “Trust me, Eve, you look perfect! Can I take a picture?”
“No! I don’t want this look plastered all over social media!”
“Ok, but your loss. You look amazing,” she tossed over her shoulder as she gathered up her supplies. At the door, Diane gave me another hug and demanded that I call her soon and tell her all about it.
In my apartment I’d felt stupidly artificial and awkwardly fake, but at the concert I felt like I blended in seamlessly.
Amid the seething mass of similarly dressed females, I fit right in.
There was an electric current of energy among the PRTY girls crowding the stage as they (OK, I’ll admit I was one, too) eagerly waited for the band to come on stage.
The opening act had been pretty good, but they definitely weren’t the draw.
Then the lights dimmed and colored laser lights danced over the crowd which was whistling and cheering.
As the excitement reached a fever pitch, a drum beat started, making the crowd go berserk.
The colored lights pulsed in time with the drum.
A booming voice filled the arena. “And now…the moment you’ve been waiting for… Put your hands together for…P R T Y!”
As the band took to the stage the crowd erupted into a frenzy of excited screams, so that I was momentarily deafened.
And just when I thought it had reached a peak, the spotlights rested on the members of the band, and they played the opening chords to “PRTY GRLS”.
The sound wave was like a physical thing.
I could feel it in my chest as the band played and the crowd cheered, screamed, and sang along.
“PRTY GRLS” had been the band’s first big hit. It was released 5 years ago in the summer, and had quickly become a party anthem, a mandatory part of every party playlist.
The party doesn’t start
Till the party girls arrive
Pumping up the tunes
They make you feel alive
Short skirts, tight tops,
Sassy pink lips
Gonna set the party rhythm
When they sway their hips.
Party Girls, Party Girls
They make every party fly,
Party Girls, Party Girls
They make everyone feel high
It seemed like every fan here had the song memorized and swayed, danced, and sang along.
The band was into it, nodding at the crowd, winking, and grinning.
But I only had eyes for Jack. He was like a magnet, drawing and holding my attention.
He was wearing black jeans and a bright, tie-dyed t-shirt that was stretched taut across his chest and biceps.
His curls were bouncing around as he moved with the music.
How he could play keyboards, sing, and flirt with the audience all at the same time was beyond me.
He loved the crowd, and they loved him right back.
His gaze was constantly moving around the audience, but when he saw me, I could tell.
His eyes widened a bit and his smile got bigger.
Then he winked. It might have been for anyone.
But I knew it was for me. He was acknowledging that I was there and letting me know he was glad.
Just that little wink set off full body shivers for me.
And they weren’t even finished with the first song!
I’d be done for by the end of the concert.
The next three songs were also from their first album. The crowd, almost exclusively female, were ecstatic with the song choices, screaming as each new song began and they recognized the opening. Their throats were going to be raw by the time the concert was over. Probably mine as well.
Then the screen behind the band was lit with a flickering light, like the beginning of an old-time film reel.
On the left hand side, a man moved into the frame.
He was dressed in loose, pleated pants, a button-up shirt, a bow tie, and suspenders.
He walked casually to the halfway point on the screen, then held out his hand towards the other side.
Just then, the bass started playing, a driving beat.
The drummer picked up the beat and carried it.
Then the keyboard came in with a syncopated beat that had my toes tapping.
And at that moment, from the right side of the screen, a beautiful girl with her dark hair side-parted, curls cascading down to her shoulders, wearing a cherry red, polka-dotted dress with a fitted bodice and a full skirt walked gracefully over to the man, took his hand, and they began to dance the jitterbug.
Their movements were so fast, so precise, that I was watching in amazement and it took me several seconds to register that Jack was singing.
Don’t have time to Jitterbug
Don’t have space to cut a rug
I’m snuggling with my baby,
My little Huggle Bug.
I was both laughing and crying. I loved the song; I loved the dancing.
But what was most incredible to me was that Jack had taken a time of conflict, loneliness, and comfort and turned it into this raucous, bouncy tune.
He truly had a gift for fun, for making everything better.
This must have been the song he was writing on the plane.
I knew that the moment had come, and I dug out the Scoobie Doo panties from my cross-body bag, hooked a finger through the elastic and launched them straight at Jack.
As much as I would have loved to see them whap him in the face, it was probably for the best that they landed on the ground by him.
He clocked them lying there and turned to give me a wink before launching into the next verse.
Giddy shivers of excitement went up and down my body. Holy cow, he was good!
The show went on another hour after that. I don’t know how the band was able to maintain that level of energy and enthusiasm for almost 2 hours. Maybe the excitement of the crowd fed them.
To close out the show Jack had a stagehand bring out a stool and a large shoe box.
“I’m going to dedicate this last song to a friend.
She and I had a disagreement about the meaning of this song.
I said that since I wrote it, I knew that it was about…
” he paused, scanning the number of preteens in the audience, “…alternative forms of affection. She claims it’s about the torture of the fashion industry.
So, to prove a point, and also, to make her laugh, I will be performing “Beat Me, Whip Me (Make me wear plaid)” while wearing 4” Christian Louboutins. ”
I was just taking a sip from my water bottle, and I almost choked laughing.
Jack sat on the stool, took off his boots, and squeezed his feet into the shoes.