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,
