A Dream for Two (3 page)

Thursday arrived faster than Elise would have liked. That morning as she worked her shift in the diner she couldn’t stop thinking about her upcoming performance. She’d never attended an open mic night before and had no idea what to expect. She wondered how polished the other performers would be, how kind the audience were. All these thoughts rattled around her head as she dutifully poured coffee and took what felt like countless breakfast orders.

“It’s a what, now?” Annabelle asked in her prolonged drawl. Elise was propped up against a wall in the alley behind the diner, calling her grandmother during her break.

“An open mic night,” Elise repeated.

“What does that do?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Elise admitted. “But I guess you go up on stage and sing some of your songs before a live audience.”

“Ooh, I wish I could be there.”

“Me too,” Elise smiled sadly.

“Have you decided what you’re going to sing?”

“Um…” Elise hadn’t given much thought to which song she’d actually perform, she’d spent too long worrying about how the event would unfold and how many people would be there.

“I love ‘Where the River Parts,’” her grandmother suggested helpfully. It was a bittersweet song Elise had penned when she was a teenager about loss and moving forward.

“Do you think?” Elise frowned and moved her cell phone to her other ear as her arm was growing numb.

“You don’t think that song is too sad?”

“No!” her grandmother exclaimed dramatically. “It is a beautiful song, honey. You always perform it so beautifully too.”

“Okay, I’ll go with that then.” Elise felt a little better to have a plan formulating with regards to her performance.

“Break a leg, isn’t that what they say in the business?”

“I think that’s in theater, but thanks.”

Elise ended the call and shoved her phone back into her jeans pocket before heading back into the heat of the kitchen. She had a slight spring in her step as she walked. As nervous as she was about the open mic night, she was excited to share her music with the world. No one other than her grandmother had ever even heard “Where the River Parts.” In a few hours, new sets of ears would hear it and Elise was giddy with both nerves and excitement at the prospect.

***

“You look great,” Gloria took a moment to give Elise’s outfit her seal of approval before she headed out to work.

“Do you think?” Elise looked down at her skinny jeans and pink vest top. She had worried that she’d look too casual but she wasn’t really sure what she should wear to an open mic night.

“You look casual yet stylish,” Gloria grinned. She was still wearing her bright red uniform.

“Thanks.”

“Want me to walk there with you?” Gloria offered, eyeing the large guitar case resting by the front door to the apartment. Elise was tiny in stature and almost dwarfed by it.

“I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” Gloria frowned at the case. “That thing looks like it weighs more than you!”

“I’m used to carrying it around,” Elise blushed. She actually found hauling around the weight of her guitar case oddly comforting. Feeling its immense weight against her back as she moved made her feel less alone, almost like she was protected by armor.

“Okay. Promise to text me how tonight goes?”

“I promise,” Elise nodded sincerely.

“And remember,” Gloria placed her hands upon her friend’s slim shoulders, “when you get up, you’re singing only for you, don’t go forgetting that.”

“I won’t.”

***

People were already milling around on the street outside Eagle’s Bar when Elise approached with her guitar strapped to her back. Even though it was now dark she’d hadn’t felt any apprehensions as she boarded the subway alone. She felt safe with her guitar.

Everyone outside the bar was dressed in a trendy yet casual style. Some of them were smoking, some were just talking. A few pairs of interested eyes looked up as Elise walked by but no one said anything.

Inside the bar was dimly lit. There was a main room, filled with two-seater tables on which candles burned. On the right-hand wall there was a bar seemingly offering every drink imaginable. Elise briefly scanned the rows of liquor bottles, amazed that so many different types of alcohol even existed. Then at the far end of the room was the raised platform which was the stage. On it there was a solitary chair behind a microphone on a stand. It was so stripped back, so exposed. Elise suddenly felt sick. For a brief moment she considered running back into the dark of the New York night when a hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around.

“You here for open mic night?” a bearded man seemingly in his late thirties asked. He had a diamond earring which sparkled within his earlobe.

“Umm…” Elise felt the weight of her guitar against her. It was blaringly obvious that she was there to perform.

“Yes,” she sounded as timid as a mouse as she squeaked her response.

“Okay, sign up here.” The guy handed her a clipboard upon which half a dozen names had already been written down.

“If you want to throw up, the restrooms are over there,” he pointed to the left side of the bar.

“I’m fine,” Elise confirmed as she scrawled her name with a shaking hand.

“Take a seat and we’ll give you a shout when it’s your turn. Also, you might want a drink, take the edge off.”

Elise wasn’t a big drinker but she had to admit that she did need something to take the edge off. She nervously headed over to the bar where six or seven people were already standing. She ordered a neat vodka. She knew it would burn as she knocked it back but she also knew that it should be enough to dampen any of her nerves. She took a second shot of vodka over to a table with her and settled down towards the back of the room.

As it drew closer to the opening act starting, more and more people began to filter into the bar. Soon almost all of the tables were occupied and the whole room buzzed with excited energy. People were talking among themselves but Elise was sitting alone with just her guitar for company.

“Okay, let’s get things going.” The guy who had handed her the clipboard came out onto the stage and a hush fell over the crowd. A crude spotlight was directed onto him which he seemed oblivious of. He leaned forward and spoke directly into the microphone:

“Thanks for coming out to Eagle’s Bar tonight, we appreciate your support, and money well spent at the bar.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“We always have some real talent up on this stage and this Thursday night is no exception. And so, to kick us off is one of our regulars. Let’s give it up for Dylan Cornish.”

The crowd applauded vigorously, some people even cheered as the clipboard guy was replaced by the first act. Elise couldn’t quite believe her eyes when he stepped up to the microphone. Dylan Cornish was the same Dylan from the diner, the same guy who had labeled her just a waitress. Anger made Elise’s body tighten.

“Evening all,” he spoke confidently into the microphone and some women in the crowd wolf whistled at him.

“This is just a little number I’m working on,” he explained as someone near the front of the stage handed up to him a large keyboard on a stand. He carefully placed it in front of him, drew the microphone close and then lowered his hand to the digital keys.

Elise watched in shocked awe as Dylan Cornish performed two beautiful songs. His voice oozed emotion and had a rustic quality but his melodies were upbeat and infuriatingly catchy. He sung about the frustrations of being employed and in his second song, the beauty of making love to a girl you’d been crushing on. The second song made Elise blush. When he was finished the crowd erupted into applause. Dylan Cornish was clearly a hit but evidently he wasn’t quite as big a star as Elise had originally believed. After all, he was here at the same bar as her trying to catch the same break.

As Dylan confidently sauntered off the stage Elise sank down in her seat so that he wouldn’t see her. She realized how foolish that was considering that she’d soon be up on stage and then of course he’d see her. But she wanted to avoid facing him for as long as possible.

Four performers and an additional shot of neat vodka later, Elise’s name was called. Taking a deep breath she picked up her guitar and approached the stage.

“Elise here is a newcomer,” clipboard guy explained to the crowd. “So go easy on her.”

“You need to hurl, sweetheart?” someone kindly heckled. Elise ignored them. The walk towards the stage felt like the green mile but she kept her head down and remained focused. Her hands wanted to shake as she set her case down and popped it open but she refused to let them.

She sat down on the chair, and clipboard guy lowered the microphone to her level as she was the shortest performer that night by far. She placed the guitar strap around her neck and the spotlight was directed at her. It was so bright that it blocked out the crowd. If Dylan had spotted her by now, she thankfully couldn’t see his reaction.

An anticipated hush fell over the crowd. Elise positioned her fingers upon the strings. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of all the times she’d played this song, all the times she’d strummed the music, sung the lyrics. She didn’t even remember to introduce the song, she just played.

Elise played as though she was sitting in her grandmother’s garden, beneath the willow tree with no one there listening. She was alone with just her music. She sang “Where the River Parts.” At times her voice cracked with pain but it always retained its sweet, strong pitch. She strummed the final chord and held her breath. Silence.

Her heart began to hammer against her chest. Had she been so truly awful that the crowd couldn’t even bring themselves to applaud? Surely they’d applaud her out of politeness, or even pity. And then all of a sudden the silence was shattered. People applauded and cheered as emphatically as they had after Dylan’s set. Elise beamed with surprised joy as she carefully stood up, picked up her guitar case and left the stage.

“That was actually okay,” a familiar voice declared loudly as she neared the sanctuary of her table at the back. Dylan was casually leaning against the wall. He turned away from the stage to look at her.

“Just okay?” Elise asked. Buoyed by her performance, she felt invincible. She wasn’t about to let some cocky guy bring her down, no matter how handsome he was. And he did look handsome. He had on his usual leather jacket and dirtied jeans with work boots. His blue eyes regarded Elise with interest and he raised a hand to move some of his dark hair out of his line of sight.

“You should take okay,” Dylan pointed at her, smiling wryly. “Okay is decent, especially for a waitress.”

Elise narrowed her eyes at him, willing herself to remain composed.

“I told you, I’m a musician.”

“So if I head to Deena’s Diner tomorrow you won’t be there serving coffee?” Dylan raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’re one to talk!” Elise fired at him. “You act like you’re some big hotshot musician but you’re not! Anyway, I thought you were in a band?”

“I am,” Dylan stared intently at her. “But this here, it’s just for me.” Then he gave her a quick wink, stood up and walked away. 

Elise couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan throughout the following week. There was something about his music, or rather the way he sang it, which was just so alluring. He had totally gotten under her skin. But then she hated how arrogant he was. He’d called her just a waitress? Who did he think he was?

“He sounds like a bad boy,” Gloria purred with approval over lunch the following Saturday.

“He’s just a pain,” Elise shrugged. “I just wish he hadn’t been so rude to me.”

“I like his style, treat them mean, keep them keen,” Gloria gave her friend a cheeky wink.

“I’m not keen,” Elise insisted. “And he’s just mean.”

“So you’re not going to the next open mic night?”

“No, I’m going,” Elise nodded as she cut up her waffle which had been drowned in maple syrup.

Gloria arched an eyebrow in judgment.

“I’m going because it’s good for me!” Elise clarified. “It’s a chance for me to perform my music to a live audience. Plus I might get spotted by someone important!”

“Someone like Dylan?” Gloria teased.

“No,” Elise could feel her cheeks reddening. “Someone like a talent scout, or a music producer.”

“New York is full of open mic nights, you know,” Gloria mused. “You could just try your hand somewhere else, somewhere Dylan-free.”

Elise chewed on a mouthful of sweet waffle and realized that her friend was right. She could go somewhere else but she didn’t want to. As much as she hated to admit it, she was hoping she’d get to see Dylan again. Or at least see him perform again. When he played she felt the marrow in her bones melt. He was so effortlessly sexy, so cool, calm and serene yet he also seemed impossibly powerful. He was such a heady mix of extremes. Each time Elise banished him from her thoughts he popped up again, more brooding and mysterious than the time before.

He’d yet to return to Deena’s Diner. Elise felt her heart sink each morning he didn’t show. Was he avoiding her? She hoped not. But then he had only been rude to her. He was arrogant and pigheaded and if he didn’t show up at the diner again he’d be doing her a favor.

“Oh, you got it bad!” Gloria pointed her fork across the table at Elise. 

“Huh?”

“You keep getting that dreamy look all girls get when they meet their Prince Charming.”

“Please,” Elise tried to sound dismissive. “Dylan is no Prince Charming.”

“Then wipe that dreamy look off your face!”

Elise rolled her eyes and tried to avoid admitting that she couldn’t wipe the look off her face any more than she could wipe Dylan out of her mind. It was as if he’d set up roost within her thoughts as he was constantly there, taunting her, mocking her. She feared that if she didn’t stop thinking about Dylan Cornish soon she’d go crazy!