“I’ll do it. I think as long as you schmooze with the people and dance with a few of the men, you’ll be all right. Watch their hands though. Old men like to squeeze great asses.”
She arched a brow at me. “Thanks for the warning.”
I took the stage with my band to set up as Trina made the rounds, saying hello and chatting with the seniors.
When we were ready, I went to the mic. “Are you ready to dance?”
“Yeah!” several of the seniors said, grabbing the hands of their partners and coming to the dance area.
“Before we start, I want to introduce Katrina Lados, Mayor Valentine’s right-hand woman. And for those of you men looking to dance with her, watch your hands. Ms. Lados doesn’t put up with nonsense.” I winked at her when she frowned at me. “Especially you Mr. Costner.”
“Aw man,” the elderly man known to have an eye for the ladies said.
“How about we start with Sinatra’s Come Dance with Me?” I counted out the beat and we started playing.
When I first formed my band, my goal was to be a country rock star. Of course, I couldn’t build that sort of career here in Salvation. I’d have had to have gone to Nashville. But my drummer married his high school sweetheart, and my bass player had to stick around to help the family farm, and I and the rest of the band ended up settling into our respective jobs. I suppose I could have gone on my own, but after a while, I found I was quite content with my life. I didn’t need fame and fortune. All I needed was a drama-free life, my family, and music. I had all that here.
But to stay in Salvation and play music, the band had to adapt. We played old standards for the seniors, more contemporary music for weddings, and on our own, we occasionally did gigs with original music. My life was good. I hoped to make it great by convincing Trina to give me a chance.
I finished the song. “On to a song that was my grandparents’ favorite. Cole Porter’s Night and Day.”
“Oh, I love that too,” a woman on the dance floor said. “Don’t you Harry?”
“When will you play, I’m Beginning to See the Light?” Harry asked.
“Bobby Darin will be next,” I said.
We started on Night and Day, and as I sang, I watched Trina. She wasn’t one for group settings, but she smiled and chatted with the seniors. The fact that the seniors were smiling and laughing back suggested Trina wasn’t being snarky or difficult. Perhaps she was like that just for me.
We moved on to I’m Beginning to See the Light, which Harry belted out with us. He didn’t have a bad voice and I wondered if maybe we should have him come up on the stage for a tune.
When we finished, I turned to the band. “What about Baby Love?”
“It’s not a standard,” Jeff, my bassist said.
“It’s a slow ballad though. It would probably fit,” Billy, the drummer, said.
The rest of the band nodded that it was worth the try to do an original song. This song wasn’t just original, it was old. I’d written it years ago based on a poem I discovered Trina had written. The baby in question was Sinclair’s child, but the words could also represent romantic love.
“For fun, we’d like to play you one of our own original songs. I hope you like it. It’s called Baby Love.” I watched Trina as we played the opening notes.
“My heart beats for you, my breath breathes for you…” I started.
Trina’s gaze jerked to me, her eyes narrow. I continued to sing the words she once wrote for my sister and her unborn child. Her breath caught the moment she knew for sure I was singing her words. I smiled, wanting to acknowledge the beautiful poem and hoping she liked the music I’d set it to.
But what I saw instead was anger. Her face actually turned red, and if steam coming out of the ears was a real thing, I was sure that’s what would be happening to her. She turned and hurried out of the large room.
What the hell? I thought, but I continued to finish the song.
“Hey, Harry. How about you come up and sing Beyond the Sea?” It was the only other Bobby Darin song we knew.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He blushed.
“Come on,” I urged, watching the door to see if Trina was coming back in.
“Yes, Harry.”
“Come on Harry.”
The room chanted for him to sing.
He came up and I relinquished the mic to him. I left the stage and rushed from the room, hoping I could find Trina.
She wasn’t in the hall. I tried several doors, but they were locked. Finally, my only option was that she was in the ladies’ room or outside. I went out into the parking lot. The air was warm and smelled of summer.
“God damn him!”
I turned to see Trina pacing, kicking rocks, and cursing.
“What’s wrong?” I said, approaching carefully in case she wanted to lash out. I had no doubt that she could do some damage if she wanted to kick my ass.
She whirled on me. “You had no right to use my poems. My private words for Sinclair. It was fucked up when you did it to make fun of me ten years ago and it’s fucked up now.”
I’d never heard her use the f-word before, so this was a clue that she was well and truly pissed.
“Whoa, wait. I’m not making fun of you.”
“The hell you aren’t. That stupid little ditty you sang ten years ago? Everyone in Salvation was laughing at me. And now? Making fun of me again…” She started to storm off, but I caught her arm, ready to duck if she swung at me.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I liked your poems, especially this one.
