The firstWOOOOO!hit around the third line of the verse. The audience wasin. She could almost feel that click, like two continents colliding to form a new one.
And when she got a little carried away, she demanded, “Sing it with me!”
Only actual rock stars had the all-fired balls to withstand the shame if the audience decided that nope, they would not be singing it with her, even after she entreated.
But theyactually did.
She felt literally intoxicated. Helium filled. Soaring and unfettered for the first time in eons, maybe ever. Becausethiswas her milieu.
A few guys actually attempted to flick their lighters. Glenn was prepared for this and he waded through the crowd and yanked them from hands before the sprinklers could go off.
And then she cued Monroe to cut the song, and slammed it to a finish.
“WOOOOOOOOOO! WOOOOO!”
She heard hands slamming together emphatically. Tables slapped. Two-fingered whistles.
Not one single “Hoot.”
Excellent.
She was well on the way to mesmerizing them into believing they’d come to seeher.
“This next one... is for my friend Franco,” she said slyly. “And his good buddy Deputy Eli Barlow.”
And she got everyone’s feet stomping with Janis Joplin’s “Mercedes Benz.”
That was going to drive Elinuts. Particularly the line about her friends all driving Porsches.
She could see Franco laughed, his white teeth flashing. He gave her the thumbs-up. And as for Eli, over there next to Blondie McBlonderson, he was shaking his head, his lips pressed together. She knew he was struggling not to smile at her pure audacity.
The crowd showed their love for that one, too, with lots of whoops and loud applause, but she had to keep it moving, and she pretty much had to stick to a set that Monroe knew. She briefly considered maybe throwing a little Florence + the Machine or Adele or Brandi Carlile in there, but the risk of sounding like a wedding singer, or worse, a karaoke singer was too great with more contemporary songs. Keeping the set a little retro, putting her own unique stamp on songs—that was the way to go. She’d do big songs, a few iconic ones, ones that moved a crowd pretty much no matter what, almost no matter the arrangement.
So she mesmerized them with a haunted, smoky version of Bobbie Gentry’s “Ode to Billy Joe.” A soulful, angst-filled, foot-stomping, ringing version of Neil Diamond’s “Holly Holy” shook the rafters and again had them singing with her, like it was a revival meeting and she was a faith healer and they’d all come to be cured of heartbreak, and everyone was wall to wall goose bumps.
The opening notes of R.E.M.’s “South Central Rain” were greeted with cheers, and she sped the tempo up and rocked it a bit harder than the original, and turned that one word chorus—Sorry!—into a howl of shame and rue. A sultry countrified blues version of The Baby Owls’ “In the Forest” resulting in a nearly unmanageable chorus of hoots was clearly a mistake, but she pulled it back from the owls’ nest with a witty, yet poignant version of Guns N’ Roses’”Sweet Child O’ Mine.” She played that famous opening lick on the harmonica, and just about delighted the pants off the crowd, who threw their fists in the air with the chorus.
And this was when Marvin Wade finally fought his way to the front to do his swirly dance, and she didn’t even tell him to sit down, because she was twirling right along with him in her heart.
She paused to breathe, to take a sip of some water that had magically appeared near her—probably Giorgio had slipped it in there—and said, “This one is for my friend, Annelise.”
She pointed to Annelise, who was standing with her mom, who was actually grinning, and Annelise hopped up and down in excitement.
And she launched into “Me and Bobby McGee,” and played a rocking harmonica line intro. By the time that song was over, everyone was singing as if they were a bunch of hammered kids around a campfire.
And that’s when she noticed, as if in slow motion, Blondie McBlonderson lean her head cozily against Eli’s huge shoulder.
And Eli’s arm appeared to be draped behind her.
Maybe notquitearound her.
And Glory held perfectly still.
Momentarily dumbstruck. As in, like she’d literally been struck and was literally briefly mute.
Granted, it was hardly a cuddle. But Bethany could smell him, probably. Could feel how hard his arm was, right through her body. Could extrapolate from there how hard and hot the rest of his body was.
And just like that, the very devil took Glory.
