Page 9 of Serenade Me

“SATISFACTION! SATISFACTION! SATISFACTION!” The happy hoards shout over and over, and it’s a cacophony of voices and stomping and music.

And then it’s over.

The cheers are louder than the claps, and I slink back a little, my back pressing against the wall. It’s darker here, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to be seen trying to catch my breath. Breath lost in the excitement of it all.

They really do put on a good show.

***

The rest of the set is no different.

Song after song, they build the crowd into a frenzy. Even ones that start like a ballad, or a well-known classical piece that would you would think would be better suited for a church or chamber hall, just when it might get boring for some, they glide effortlessly into a popular rock or pop song and it’s like there was no transition. And everyone is on their feet.

It does NOT bode well for my growing hatred of him.

The way he flirts with the crowd. Not just the women, but the crowd as a whole. Never taking a moment to still his bow on his viola but interacting through his movements and his expressions. He doesn’t say much, so I don’t have to hiss at the sound of his voice, but he doesn’t need to.

They’re all masters at manipulating the crowd.

And as much as I want to leave. I don’t. I find myself wondering what else they’re going to play and lamenting the idea of missing it.

When their short set is up, the disappointment is palpable, mine included. But no amount of begging seems to convince them of an encore.

When I see them putting down their instruments, I push away from my hidden spot against the wall and make for the exit. I hear footsteps behind me, and then his voice.

“What did you think of the show?” he asks. And I turn before I know what I’m doing.

“What show?” my mouth forms the words before I can think of something else to say. Something cleverer. Something scathing. Something to make him feel like he’d made me feel before.

“Aw come on now. I saw you watching us. All of it. It’s okay to admit you liked it.”

“I have no problem admitting things that are true. I just don’t make up long speeches full of lies to rattle off to complete strangers though,” I say.

For some reason, that amuses the asshole. And he grins and brushes the sweaty hair from his face in a way that I imagine would send most women into a horny frenzy.

“Guess what?”

I just look at him, willing my shoulders not to shrug and my mouth not to ask.

“Neither do I.”

“Then what do you call that little lame-o soliloquy you gave me back there?” I gesture with my head to the table at the back.

“That wasn’t a soliloquy, or a speech of lies. It was… a display. Of how to win an argument. You said I could never surprise you. So, I thought I’d show you the importance of never saying never.”

“Ah, well, my initial speechlessness, did not necessarily imply surprise.”

“Then what, what did it?”

“Ridicule.”

“Nice try.”

“Is it your turn to be surprised?”

“Oh, I’m in a rock band, I’ve seen it all, babe. There’s no way you can surprise me.” He says. And it’s so arrogant I can’t even stop myself laughing.

He laughs as well and I hold a hand out, stopping him.