“Don’t lie. You want to see if he’s as hot as he was in high school.” Katy flicks a piece of straw wrapper at Winnie’s head. “I’ve heard he is.”
She’s able to bat it away quickly before it makes contact. “Well yeah. So do you. Plus I want to ask how his sister is adjusting.”
Katy sighs. “I’ve seen her around town. Seems to be okay.”
A member of the band on stage plays a few quick notes on the drums garnering everyone’s attention before I can ask what the sister is adjusting from. Every moment I spend in Pelican Bay tends to make me nosier. Soon I’ll be asking Pearl to add me to her phone tree list. I wouldn’t mind a seven o’clock update. Kind of like the local news, but delivered personally. Except this news includes all the juicy details we always want to know.
“Are you ready to party?” a tall guy with bleach blond hair shouts like he isn’t already holding a microphone standing in the middle section of the stage. It works.
All heads turn to him and the conversation in the room stops. “My band is Scorpion’s House and we’re greatly honored to be the opening band at The Loft. Congrats, Noah, you fucker. May we spill lots of alcohol on these wooden floors.”
He raises his microphone in the air, making a toast, and the entire room cheers. Not exactly my taste, but I suppose. I clap along and smile at my companions even though being in a room full of people who have lived in Pelican Bay their entire lives makes me feel like the odd one out. No one is even looking at me, but I feel like the girl in English class wearing nothing but underwear.
I steal a glance across the table and see Tabitha smiling and clapping away. She turns, meets my eyes, and both her shoulders come up in a shrug like she’s silently saying, “This town? What are you gonna do?”
The lead singer, whose name I’ve already forgotten, waits until the crowd calms. When it’s quiet, but not too quiet, the drummer strikes. A quick countdown leads the band into their first number. It only takes a chord or two for me to recognize the familiar beat of Sweet Home Alabama — a classic they’ve put their own spin on.
“Come on, ladies. Let’s dance.” Katy pushes off a stool standing beside the table and waits for us to jump up as well.
Neither Tabitha nor I hurry to move. She takes the last drink of her Long Island Iced Tea before leaving it on the table.
“Come on, Tabitha. Ridge barely lets you out of his sight. This is our night to let loose.”
Tabitha looks to the ceiling, her eyes darting back and forth. “Yes, he probably has cameras stashed here.”
Katy rolls her eyes. “He didn’t plant cameras at Noah’s bar. Come on, Winnie. Let’s go.”
Winnie listens, but her eyes flick to an area behind the bar. “You go ahead. I’m going to a wander around and see if I can find Noah. Then I’ll dance.”
“Your loss.” Katy grabs on to my hand and then Tabitha’s, marching her way onto the small area set aside as a dance floor in front of the stage. A few people, a couple and then two groups of four, have scattered themselves across the floor and are already moving to the music. Katy, tugging on our hands, pulls us past each of them until we’re smack dab in the middle of the dance floor.
I’ve never been a great dancer, and right as I hit my rhythm the tune changes. The new song sounds a bit like the last, but more twangy. While not my normal musical taste, for a small town band, the guys play wonderfully together and it’s not long before I love the country rock they specialize in.
The song passes and Katy maintains a perfect beat while I work my hardest to pretend I know what I’m doing and not make a fool of myself. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and be the next funny YouTube sensation.
The music quiets, the lead singer stopping in front of the stage. “Okay, we have one last song for you. An original, written by our very own guitar player, JJ.”
“I need a drink,” Tabitha yells, fanning her face with her open hand. She points to the bar and makes the hitchhiker sign with her thumb pointing out and jerking in that direction.
I turn, about to follow Tabitha, but Katy grabs onto my hands. “It’s the last song. Stay.”
Tabitha weaves in between the crowd making her way to the bar, and I look at her little longingly. Soon she’ll have ice and liquid, but as sweat beads on my forehead I pick up the pace next the Katy. I do my best to follow her moves, but I’m always one beat behind.
The song ends, a slightly slower tune about a love who got away, but the singer is gonna make it one day and win back her love. It’s sad, and yet also a story of redemption. Before Katy and I leave the dance floor I quickly gaze at the guitar player wondering if he wrote it about himself. The band has roots in Pelican Bay and it’s all too perfect if he’s singing about someone from here. Is she in the room tonight? Does she know the song is about her?
The music stops and I leave the dance floor and walk to our small round top table a few feet away.
“They are really good.” Katy sits on her barstool scratching the legs across the floor.
I nod to Tabitha, catching her eye as she waits at the bar hoping she’ll take it as a sign to purchase something for me as well. The thought of standing in the line that’s quickly growing behind her and stretching along the back of the room is not a task I’m willing to undertake. “Did the band graduate with you, too?”
Katy nods. “Back then, they were a wannabe garage band. One year they entered our school talent contest and it wasn’t pleasant. They did not walk away winners.”
“Well, they’ve obviously improved.” I’ve never been one to search out bands. The only concert I’ve ever attended was Justin Bieber with my niece during my failed attempt at college. And that’s an experience I don’t wish to repeat. I couldn’t hear for two days after. But the band tonight sounded as good as the professionals. As loud too.
I lose sight of Tabitha as she inches closer to the bar, the crowd circling around her blocking her path and my line of sight. My head tips back and forth as I search the crowd, hopeful her arms are loaded up with drinks. When she finally reaches the table my shoulders slump with release. With two arms wrapped around them Tabitha carries four tall glasses, each filled with ice and a light brown colored liquid. Considering earlier tonight she said everyone should get drunk on Long Islands, for once it’s not hard to guess what she’s holding.
She sets the glasses on the table and I quickly grab one from the end. Liquid is liquid and I’ve always been a lover of vodka.
