She blushed when she finished the song, and he bit his lip and nodded as she came down off the stage.
“You disappear up there,” he said.
“I just love music. Ever since I was a little girl. I’d listen to my mom play these songs and she’d sing, she’d cry. She’d wake meout of my bed at three o’clock in the morning and I would know it was time for me to sing to her and her friends because I could smell the liquor on her breath. She would be so proud when I sang for her. I just kind of never stopped singing since then.”
He didn’t know what had possessed her to share so much, in fact, he was sure she wasn’t really sharing it with him but reminiscing to herself. He just happened to be there to hear it.
“You want to tell me what kind of man spends ten thousand dollars on one song?” she asked. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you in here.”
“Just somebody passing through town. I ain’t from around here,” he answered.
“Mr. Not From Around Here, do you have a name?” she asked.
“Demi,” he answered.
“Charlie,” she formally introduced, holding out her hand. Demi looked at it and his skin crawled a bit at the thought of touching her hand, but he shook it anyway, fighting past alarms ringing in his mind. The anti-social gangster felt his gut clench at the parallel of their existence. Rough versus soft.
“I can’t take the money but thank you for thinking my voice is worth it. An industry full of music execs thought otherwise, but it’s nice to know somebody likes it,” she said, smiling.
He nodded, as she bent to grab her bag and her guitar case.
“You play too?” he asked.
“A starving artist must do it all to make a living,” she replied. She handed it off to him. “Carry this for me?”
She was assertive, like she had known him for a while, and he was used to taking her marching orders. Like a longtime boyfriend who knew to get his ass off the couch to get the groceries out the car when his old lady got home. He took it from her grasp and smirked at her natural authority. She was sweet, but not all sweet. She had a subtle aggression that he found intriguing because she was so little that he was sure she hadnever intimidated anyone. Still, her demand was heeded as he found himself walking beside her as they headed out of the club.
“Goodnight, y’all!” she called, turning to give a slight wave.
The band grumbled their goodbyes as he followed her out into the crisp night air. Sixty-one degrees on a summer day was chilling and Charlie shrank as the wind sunk her collar bone as she recoiled.
“My Uber’s almost here,” she said.
“You make it a habit of hopping in cars with strangers at 2 am?” he asked.
She shrugged.
He turned and walked across the parking lot.
“Hey, where are you going?” she asked, frowning as she quickened her steps to give chase.
He walked to the passenger side of a silver Cadillac and pulled open the door. Charlie stopped walking as she stood in front of the car.
“Uber for the night,” he said.
She stalled for a bit and then took out her phone and held it up to his face, snapping a picture.
“In case you kidnap me,” she said, deathly serious. She snapped the license plate next and then sent the pictures to her sister.
“You done?” he asked, slightly annoyed. He was too fucking fine to frown the way that he was. Rough. Rugged. Thuggish. There was nothing good about this man and Charlie knew it, yet she was still going to get in the car.
She walked up to him and past him as he held open the door, pausing slightly to look him in the eyes.
“Uber drivers don’t have tattoo tear drops on their faces,” she said. “Am I safe with you?”
She was so close that he smelled the leftover hint of wine on her breath. She had sipped it periodically throughout herset. Sometimes, holding it in her hand while swaying and singing. She hadn’t put on a performance at all. She had set a vibe inside the club. He thought about what she had asked him. Was she safe? The life he led. The circumstances that had lured him to the club that night. He couldn’t say she was safe at all with him. He was danger personified, walking in designer clothes and dripping in expensive cologne.
“I think I can handle getting you home,” he said.
