Just Say Yes (5 page)

Style

Quinn glanced around the dimly lit bar tentatively. About fifteen glossy wooden tables sat behind the barstools, and six cracked red pleather booths lined the windows in the front of the run-down establishment. A worn-out baby grand piano stood on top of the small wooden stage at the one end of the room. Memorabilia from the local music scene hung on walls, as did some oversized mirrors, which Quinn figured were strategically placed to make the cramped space feel somewhat larger. There was no doubt in Quinn's mind that, in its day, The 89th Key had been a hot spot where locals came to listen to music and blow off a little steam. But by the looks of things, “its day” had probably been about sixty years ago, and not much upkeep had been done to the dingy establishment since. As her eyes took in the bar's patrons, Quinn couldn't help but think that some of those same people were old enough to remember when the place didn't make you feel like you needed a shower after you left.

She took a sip of her soda and looked at her watch. Tim would be there soon, but it wasn't soon enough. When he'd called to say he'd gotten stuck at work covering the beginning of someone's shift, she'd been disappointed. But she hadn't felt the same sense of panic that she felt now. Thankfully, Scott and Lauren had agreed to go with her at the last minute, but their presence did nothing to quell her fears. Truth be told, she
should
have felt some sort of hesitation. That's how she knew singing karaoke in front of a crowd was something that was clearly out of her comfort zone. Sure, she'd been a little anxious before stealing the pack of gum the previous week. But there was something more . . . adventurous about that. It had felt like a challenge—a game she had to win. Quinn had a sinking suspicion that once she'd had a turn onstage, there'd be no winners in the place.

“Sooo, Quinn,” Lauren said slowly as she sipped on her beer, “what exactly are we doing here?”

Quinn set her glass down gently on the table and settled back into her chair. She hadn't told Lauren much of anything when she'd called her earlier, despite the fact that they'd been best friends since elementary school. She took a deep breath as she prepared to explain herself. Quinn wasn't sure why she hadn't told the girls about her story assignment. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized it was probably because she didn't want to hear them deny what she knew was the truth.

But Quinn was relieved when, as she told Lauren and Scott about her article and how Tim had become involved—which Quinn was grateful they didn't question her about—Lauren gave Quinn a warm smile. “I think it's an awesome idea. I can't wait to read your article.” Lauren stared at her for a moment before confusion swept over her face. “But my original question still stands. Why are we
here
? I mean, there are plenty of other places for you to lose your karaoke virginity. What would possess you to pick a bar where you can contract gonorrhea from the bowls of pretzels they put on the table?”

Quinn dropped the pretzel she'd been holding before it had a chance to touch her lips. “Really, Laur? You had to go there?”

Lauren shrugged. “The truth hurts.” She looked around until her eyes settled on two women at the end of the bar who looked like they hadn't changed their hairstyles since 1985. One of them leaned in to give the wifebeater-clad gentleman beside her a drunken, wet kiss. “Perhaps the more pressing question is how did you even know this place was here?”

“Well, since we're speaking honestly, the
truth
is that Tim picked this place.” She didn't want to know how he knew it existed, but she had some idea. And a cursory glance at Scott told her he was thinking the same thing. Years ago, Tim had probably been well acquainted with seedy establishments such as this. “My guess is that he wanted to make sure I didn't run into any familiar faces. Not that it'll make much of a difference. The idea of singing in front of strangers is equally terrifying.”

“You'll be fine,” Lauren assured her. “These people don't strike me as the judgmental type. If you want, I'll sing with you.”

Scott chuckled through his gulp of beer.

Lauren shot Scott a challenging stare. “What? You don't think I will?”

“Never said that. I
know
you will. That's why I laughed.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and let out a huff of what Quinn immediately recognized as feigned annoyance. The playful banter was as much a part of Scott and Lauren's relationship as the fantastic sex Lauren loved to brag about. “You'll see how good we are. Come on, Quinn.”

“Um . . . I don't think it counts unless I sing on my own.” Though Quinn did think it was important that she get the full karaoke experience—no matter how painful—the real reason she wanted to wait to sing was because she knew Tim hadn't arrived. He'd want to be there to silently cheer her on. And even more important,
she
wanted that.
Everything we do, we do together,
she thought to herself. “Plus, I want to watch a few people first, and they're just getting started.
You
can go up, though, if you want.”

“Okay. I'll show you how easy it is. We used to go all the time when I was away at school.”

Scott put an arm around Lauren's shoulder and squeezed her so close that she pressed against his side. “Go show 'em how it's done, Lo.”

Lauren gave Scott a kiss on the cheek and headed up to talk to the girl who was in charge of the karaoke machine. Lauren didn't even bother flipping through the binder of song choices before leaning in to tell the girl her request. Quinn mentally noted the appropriateness of the current performer's choice to sing “Zombie” because her stained T-shirt and smeared eye makeup actually made her look like one. But Quinn kept her comment to herself.

As soon as
The Walking Dead
extra finished her last note, Lauren made her way onto the stage and positioned herself in front of the microphone, shifting it down a bit so it was a little lower. From the first beat, there was no mistaking Lauren's song selection. Quinn knew the song well. She and the girls had spent nearly the entire summer before seventh grade perfecting the choreography to the dance routine they'd made up. And to this day, whenever Quinn heard Cyndi Lauper's “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” she couldn't help but move to the rhythm as she remembered performing the dance in the late-summer heat for Lauren's parents and older brother, Cooper.

Lauren swayed subtly to the beat of the song's intro. But once she sang the first line, she immediately let loose, looking out into the crowd comfortably. Though she had never been a fantastic singer, Lauren's confidence made up for it. Quinn watched her as if studying a wild animal in its natural habitat. With each line, Lauren got into the song a bit more. And when Quinn thought about the lyrics, it became clear that the song held a greater meaning for Lauren than just the nostalgia it held for Quinn. The song was about making mistakes in life but still finding time to enjoy it.

As Lauren strutted across the stage, spinning and whipping her brown shoulder-length hair around just as their original dance routine required them to, she sang about the pressures that parents put on their children—about how sometimes we just need to do what
feels
right even if it isn't right at the time. After all, her mom was a nurse in Scott's practice, and he didn't exactly have a reputation that made him a parent's first choice for their daughter. But ultimately they loved each other. Scott was a good guy. His past was his past, and he'd been willing to change his mentality for a future with Lauren. Lauren continued her seductive routine, running her hands up and down her body and grabbing the mic from its stand. When she got to the line about her father asking what she was going to do with her life, Lauren captured Scott's attention completely as she slid down and back up an old wooden pillar on the side of the stage and sang, “Oh, Dr. Scott, you'll always be number one.”

Quinn laughed at Lauren's ad-lib as her eyes bounced back and forth between Lauren and Scott. He fixed his emerald stare on her, his posture relaxed and a hint of desire in his eyes that he didn't seem to be making any effort to disguise. Quinn marveled at how he appreciated Lauren. And not just physically. Around Scott, Lauren was free to be whoever she actually
was
.

As the song ended, Lauren thanked the crowd and made her way back to the table, slipping in between the other customers' chairs with ease. Scott gave her a kiss on the cheek and slid his arm around her again. “You're certifiable, you know that?” he said with a smile.

“Of course I know that. I'm the one with the master's in psychology, so I believe I'm more qualified than you to make that diagnosis. Maybe I went a little overboard when I decided to lie on the piano, but in my defense, we choreographed that dance when we were in middle school. That part was where I rolled across a picnic table.” She shrugged. “I had to improvise. Plus, I was trying to prove a point to Quinn.”

Quinn shook her head in laughter. “What point is that exactly? That we probably looked like prepubescent strippers in front of your entire family?”

“Do I even want to know what this conversation is about?”

Quinn looked up to see Tim standing above her wearing a worn gray T-shirt. He'd probably come straight from work, not even stopping to change. “You just missed quite a performance by the one and only Lauren Hastings.”

Lauren took a long sip of her drink, clearly parched from her recent exertion. “I was
trying
,” she said, dragging out the word for emphasis, “to show Quinn how easy it is to get up there. Have a seat. You're just in time for her debut.”

Tim took a seat next to Quinn, looking momentarily confused by Lauren and Scott's presence. But he didn't bring it up. “Perfect.”

Quinn hesitated, feeling shy. It was one thing to
watch
someone else get up and act like a fool in front of an audience. But it was another thing entirely to
be
that fool. “Give me a minute. I don't even know what song to pick.” It was just an excuse to procrastinate, and Quinn was okay with that.

“Then I'll pick one for you,” Lauren said.

“Not a chance. You'll probably pick something super embarrassing. This'll already be hard enough. I wouldn't even trust you to pick out my socks.”

“What do you mean? I have
great
taste in socks. Robert Kardashian's got nothing on me.”

“Wait,” Tim interjected. “Why do I feel like I have no idea what we're talking about anymore?”

Scott rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “That was Lauren's attempt at humor. Robert Kardashian has a sock line.”

Tim cocked a brow at his brother. “Do I even want to ask how you know that?”

Scott shook his head and lowered his eyes in shame. “Probably not.”

Tim seemed happy to change the subject back to why they were all there in the first place. “Come on,” he said to Quinn, “the more you think about it, the more you'll psych yourself out. You just gotta get up there. You can't wait until the right moment because there will never be one.” Quinn saw the encouragement in Tim's eyes as he spoke: a mixture of sweetness and reassurance. Tim rose and extended his hand to Quinn, helping her up but then releasing her once she stood. She missed the feel of his rough palm immediately, and Quinn couldn't help but wonder if he would have dropped her hand so soon if Lauren and Scott hadn't been there.

Quinn followed Tim over to the binder of songs and flipped through for a minute or so until she spotted the song she'd been looking for. If she were truthful, she'd always known what song she would choose. It was one that always brought out the best in her, made her feel upbeat and excited. She inhaled a long deep breath and slowly released it. Then she asked the girl to play Whitney Houston's “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” She knew it was an impossible song to do justice to, but if she was going to embarrass herself in front of an entire bar, she was damn well going to make it worth it.

“You got it, honey,” the waitress replied.

Quinn turned toward the stage, mentally preparing herself for the fifteen or so sets of eyes that would be fixed on her in a few moments. But before she could take a step, Tim placed both his hands firmly on her shoulders, as if steadying her both physically and emotionally. “Look at me,” he said softly. Quinn raised her eyes to meet his, and their deep green color soothed her. “You'll be fine. I promise.”

Cautiously, Tim released his grip on her, and Quinn walked to the stage. She watched as Tim found his seat again, and her eyes stayed glued to his as if losing the connection would somehow cause her to lose her nerve too. She took a deep breath as the eighties beat started to play, and Tim gave her a slight nod of encouragement.

Softly at first and then a little louder, Quinn made it through the “huh”s and “woo”s and “hey”s. She even made it through the first verse. But it wasn't Lauren's performance that had helped to give Quinn the push she needed to get up there. It had been Tim's calming words and cool demeanor that had given her the strength to get started. Unfortunately it hadn't been enough to keep going. She stood at the microphone and let her eyes scan the crowd. Some unfamiliar faces stared back at her, but most people were too caught up in their own conversations to notice her presence at all
.

Quinn froze. And the music continued. As if in a fog, Quinn searched for Tim in the crowd, so panicked that she couldn't even remember where he was seated. Finally she saw his face—a hint of a smile encouraging her to go on.
You got this,
he mouthed. But despite his strength and confidence, she just couldn't find it in herself to continue. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the next verse and the chorus scroll by unsung as she stood stock-still.