“His go-to was ‘Sweet Thing’ by Van Morrison when we were in college,” Kristen interrupted.
He shook his head and looked at me. “Nope. Sam?”
“Dylan?”
“Which one?”
“‘Mr. Tambourine Man’?”
“Nailed it.”
Kristen gave a superficial smile. “Lawyers don’t have officemates in Boston.”
“Makes it more fun,” Charlie said defiantly.
I was feeling the shots and the need to kick off my heels.
“I think I’ll grab a seat over there.” I pointed to the leather bench against the side wall.
“I’m up next, but I’ll join you after,” he said.
Perry was finishing a dedicated rendition of “I’m the Only One” by Melissa Etheridge. Her voice was surprisingly good. I sank into the bench and squinted to see if Charlie and Kristen were still standing where I left them, but I only saw Kristen. I followed her eyes as she watched Charlie try holding the mic in one hand and his drink in the other.
“One sec, guys,” he said into the mic, then jogged over to where I was sitting.
“Can you hold this for me?”
I caught Kristen’s eye as he walked back toward the small stage. I wondered if she had wanted this to be her night to reconnect with Charlie.
“Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me ...”
I felt tiny goose bumps form on my arms. Charlie could sing, too, but in a different way from Perry. It was like watching someone who’d spent years perfecting an impression of one of America’s greatest folk voices. He knew every note by heart and went for each one.
When he finished, I jumped up for a standing ovation.
“That was like something straight out ofAmerica’s Got Talent,” Perry gushed.
“Jeez, Per, I always wondered if you hated me, but now I know,” he said, sitting down to catch his breath.
“Kristen ordered a round of birthday cake shots. Last ones, I swear.”
I knew one more shot would take me straight to blacking out in a cab.
Charlie caught the look on my face. “No more shots for us. But maybe we’ll do a birthday duet just for you.”
He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Only if I get to choose the song!” Perry demanded.
Kristen’s shots came out as Bonnie Raitt came on. We both burst out laughing. Charlie coaxed me, barefoot, onto the stage. We were at that part of the night where neither of us had enough self-awareness to wonder if we looked stupid. We took turns belting the chorus while Charlie played air guitar.
The song finished, and Charlie high-fived me. My face hurt from smiling.
Perry’s last song came on, and she squealed all the way to the stage.
We both collapsed onto the bench and leaned against the wall.
“That was fun,” he said between sips of water.
