Back-Up (2 page)

During the chorus, the female vocalist sings a solo and I smoothly pick up at my mark. Jack intently watches me in the reflection of the glass
as I’m singing. It’s a bit unnerving, and I keep looking away…but he never does. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.

The song ends with Jack and I singing vocal
s together as the music fades. Turning towards me, a grin slowly spreads across his face revealing his…DIMPLES?

Of course he has dimples! Are you freaking kidding me? 

My crotch clenches instantly!

How can a smile make my crotch clench?

Moreover, how have I not noticed his dimples before?

There is no way I wouldn’t remember them because dimples are a complete turn on for me.

“That was good Leila, really good.” He continues to stare into my eyes while smiling. Everything north of my belly buttons goes numb and everything south bursts into flames.

I vaguely remember Jack complimenting me, and I manage to mumble a pathetic “Thank you.” Every eye is focused on me and I feel like I am standing here
with nothing but a red nose and clown shoes on.

“So, Leila, can you sing something else? Something that can show us your range?”

Oh crap. 

Crap…Crap…Crap
!

As I look around the room, the guys are blatantly checking me out from head to toe. Deciding to change my strategy, I try to envision them all naked instead and this seems to work.

“Of course, what would you like me to sing?” I’m clearly stalling for time.

“What do you know?”

Ok that is easy…I have a song I can belt out with no problem. “Do you guys know
Dream On
by Aerosmith?”

Jack smirks, “Dream On? You can sing that song?” It’s
obvious he doesn’t believe me.

“Yes…is that ok? It’s one of my favorite songs.” His doubt in me hits a nerve. I’m about to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Um, yeah, absolutely.” Jack shakes his head and adds, “Ok, let’s do it.” He grabs the mic stand with one hand, and glances back at Hunter to give him a signal.  Hunter nods and hits his drum sticks together twice, leading the band right into the song. These guys are very much in tune to each other. I quickly take a few deep breaths trying to corral my nerves. 

Closing my eyes, mainly to avoid eye contact with Mr. Sex God, but mostly to channel my talents, I sing my song choice like my life depends on it. Not far into the song, I morph from the dim-witted dork to the rock singer I am meant to be. This is my opportunity to nail it.

Feeling confident enough to open my eyes, I quickly scan the room for signs of disapproval. What I see instead is complete awe. I think I
AM
nailing it. I can tell by the faces in the control booth, except for the hot blonde, by watching Jack’s reflection in the glass, by the goose bumps that run all over my body. I feel that I am making quite an impression. I hold nothing back and let it all out.

Towards the end of the song Jack surprises me by joining in. His reflection once again watches
me while showing his CCDS smile. From here on in that’s how I will refer to the Crotch Clench, Dimple Showing smile. I really wish he would look away because internally I am freaking out.

After what feels like hours later, Jack breaks our eye contact and turns to face his band still grinning like a fool.

“Dude that was so fucking outrageous! I’m hard from that song.” Words of wisdom from Hunter. The guys start laughing and my jaw drops. 

Jack turns back to look at me and laughs when he sees the expression on my face. “That was most definitely a co
mpliment Leila.  Hunter’s right. It was very impressive. Actually, I’m blown away.” He turns towards his band. “Have you guys heard enough?”

They all agree and Jacks asks me to leave my contact info with Sally at the reception desk. “We will be in touch.” Smiling, he puts his hand out towards me. A tiny seed of optimism begins to cultivate as I shake Jack’s hand.

His touch sends a jolt right through every internal organ I have. His hand is warm and his grip is firm as his long fingers wrap around my entire hand. Shit…I never want him to let go.

One handshake has me yearning for more of his touch. How can a complete stranger have such an effect on me? The pull I feel towards this man doesn’t make sense. This is the most bizarre thing I have ever experienced in my life.

“Thanks for the opportunity.” I murmur quietly as Jack releases my hand. My body feels like it’s been doused with lighter fluid, and someone struck a match. Just as I turn to leave the room, my heel catches on an electrical wire and I stumble backwards.

He immediately reaches out and pulls me flush to his body with his strong grip, his eyes showing unmasked concern.

“Careful, are you ok?”

I can’t speak and instead barely nod while gnawing on my bottom lip. Our faces are inches apart and I have an overwhelming impulse to close the distance between our lips. The buzzing sensations that are coursing through my lower region continue and shoot straight up,
accelerating my already pounding heart. My breath expels loudly in short pants.

I step back, but he is still gripping my arms. He leans in and whispers “Don’t sweat it. You did really great today.”

Managing a very weak smile, I pull away from his hold and thank him again before bolting out the door. I sprint down the hall and break right in front of Sally, the scary girl at the reception desk. She has midnight black hair with a single purple streak, a nose-ring and a tattoo on her exposed cleavage. She looks very bored as she reads a magazine and barely glances up at me.

“Hi, I’m Leila.
I need to leave my contact info with you.” She wordlessly passes me a piece of paper and a pen that I use to scribble my name and cell phone number on. She then takes it from me with a look of complete disgust and resumes reading her magazine.

She is scary as hell.

I mutter a thank you and then sprint out the front door to make my way to my car.  Once inside, I slam my head against the steering wheel and set off the horn.  The hysterical part is that I am parked directly in front of the studio, and I can see Scary Sally watching me out the front door. Ha…Ha, right?

Could this get any worse?

As I drive my humiliated ass back to Hoboken, I try to analyze what the hell happened in that studio. I’m almost afraid to hope for this job. Let’s fast forward and assume I get hired…then what? Can I survive being in his presence daily, when I couldn’t make it through a twenty-minute audition?

What am I saying? Of course I want this job. Plus, I don’t even know this man. He probably is a complete jackass.  As I try to convince myself that Jack is indeed a jackass, a tiny voice in the back
of my demented brain says, “
You’d better hope so
.”

***

It’s now Friday, day three of waiting for “the phone call.” I’m sitting at my little table poking my phone, actually willing it to ring. We have another show tonight, and I’ve been sitting here for four, five, eight hours? I have no clue. Since Tuesday, I have completely lost track of time. I know I have to go on with my life or I can simply call them. But after my embarrassing behavior, I would rather stick needles in my eyes. 

I’m r
unning late
again
, so for the third night in a row I mechanically go through the motions of getting ready for our show. I feel like a zombie sucked my will to live and has turned me into a zombie. The audition and waiting for them to call me has me completely unhinged. I have never been so consumed by my thoughts as I have these last three days. My anxiety has festered into a constant pounding in my chest. I know I impressed them, but I guess my ridiculous conduct overrode my performance.

My phone is now sitting on the floor outside my shower. I keep moving
back the curtain to stare at it, and still nothing.

Damn it
.

I need to put my ass in gear. At least my beauty routine takes hardly any time at all. My hair is brown, long and wavy, and I usually dry it slightly and then l
et it finish drying naturally. I start on my makeup next, which takes two minutes since I only wear mascara and lipstick. My eyes are an ordinary golden brown in color, but I have thick black lashes that help them out a bit. Having typical Italian coloring, just like my dad, affords me to never have to wear foundation or blush. That’s a plus, because I hate the stuff.

I numbly start to look for an outfit to wear
while still gripping my phone. Tonight I decide on a short skirt, high heels, and a funky top. I am five-six, but in heels my legs appear fairly long, and they become my best asset. This is my typical performance uniform. I call it a uniform because I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it in my everyday life. The normal, everyday Leila dons a ponytail, jeans and sneakers.

I leave my apartment well after nine and head to my car.  We perform every Wednesda
y through Saturday at The Zone. Sundays are reserved for private parties while Mondays and Tuesdays are our days off.

Since the audition, my nerves had me acting somewhat robotic during my
performances. The good news is no one really noticed, except for my band. The bad news is tonight we will have a big crowd. We always do on Friday and Saturday nights. Needless to say, I really need to snap out of it.

The bar is only a few minutes
away. We don’t start until ten and I usually like to get there early to chat with the girls. Alisa and Lori are two of the bartenders and my closest female friends. Since I am once again late though, I’ll have no time to chat.

When I pull into the lot, I can see the familiar pick-up truck that belongs to Matt Rizzo, our lead singer. The Jeep that Logan drives is not here yet.
He’s our guitarist and Matt’s older brother. He usually picks up our drummer and bassist, Evan and Joseph.

Matt can’t be bother
ed chauffeuring anyone around. Logan always offers to pick me up as well, but I prefer to drive myself. I don’t drink while I’m working, and I like to high tail it out of there as soon as we are done.

This is our
band singer, guitarist, bassist, drummer, and I as back-up.  I also play keyboards when the song requires it. We call ourselves Cliffhangers. I personally think it’s a really dumb name.

We are pretty good. The Zone is jammed most weekends and we all like to believe its Cliffhangers
that brings in the crowds. The pay is decent, and I can survive on it just fine most of the time. I am pretty low maintenance. The boys play at weddings and bar mitzvahs every so often on Sundays. I hate working private parties. I feel they are complete and utter torture. I’ll work them only if I need to supplement my salary from The Zone when I’m having a financially rough month. My dad always offers me money, but he works hard and I’d rather he spend it on himself. He doesn’t, of course. Except for his baseball games and his CD obsession of old rock bands, he saves every penny he makes.

My salary affords me to live in a nice apartment in Hoboken.  It’s small but really cool, and I love it. It’s close to work
, the city, and my dad’s house in Cliffside Park, the town where I grew up. Cliffside faces New York City and overlooks the Hudson River. That’s where I met the boys. Cliffhangers is a tribute to the streets we all lived on that overlook those cliffs.  Like I said, it’s a dumb name.

Most of my expenses are just the rent and utilities. I drive an old Honda that’s in good condition and gets me where I need to go.  My wardrobe is Jersey Mall.
Even my food bills are minimal because I tend to mooch a lot of meals off dad.

Dad did
a great job raising me.  My mom Marie died in a car accident when I was ten, and I miss her every day.  We had a normal, happy family life. Mom worked hard as a nurse yet always found time for my extracurricular activities. She never missed a recital or spring pageant. Mom was my biggest fan. She said I had the voice of an angel. It pains me today that she is not here with me, but I know she is in spirit. I like to think she was the guardian angel who sent Patti into the bar last weekend.  I wear her wedding band every day to feel connected to her even after all these years.

I look a lot like her, but my personali
ty is strictly Anthony Marino’s or dads. Quiet, shy, cautious, and naturally a skeptic. Mom was more a free spirit and impulsive. Going for that audition on Tuesday was the craziest thing I have ever done. 

Anthony is the best dad a girl can ask for.  He works for a newspaper in the city.  He’s been there
more than twenty years. I feel as if he never took a risk because of me.  He probably doesn’t love his job, but it’s stable. Being a huge Yankee fan, this job affords him a chance to see a game every few weeks during baseball season, pay the mortgage, and to live comfortably.

Dad was a hottie years ago. Still an attractive man at fifty, he has aged a bit since mom died. I’m always looking for a
nice woman to set him up with, someone to care for him and love him. He deserves it. Dad says if it happens then it happens. But he is content and already had the love of his life. He doubts there is another waiting for him. The hopeless romantic gene I definitely inherited from him.