We weave our way through the thick crowd of people and head to the stage where we take our time setting up. Not much to set up really with just a guitar—unfortunately not one of mine—and two microphones, but we’re not going on for another fifteen minutes.

“I’m so nervous,” Camryn says next to my ear, having to speak loudly over the music.

I make a pffft sound with my lips. “Oh, please. Since when do you get nervous anymore? We’ve done this dozens of times.”

“I know, but I’m singing in front of Aidan and Michelle this time.”

“He can’t sing for shit, so his opinion is hardly valid.”

She smiles. “Well, I’m not nervous to the point that I don’t want to do it. I guess it’s actually kind of exciting.”

“That’s my girl,” I say and lean in to kiss her lips.

“Those two girls,” Camryn yells to me without looking in their direction, “front table to your left, they’re having sex with you in their heads right now, I swear to God.”

I laugh lightly and shake my head.

“And that guy standing next to the woman in the purple shirt,” I say, nodding subtly in his direction, “has had your thighs wrapped around his head since you walked on this stage.”

“So it’ll be them tonight then, huh?” she asks.

I nod and say, “Uh-huh.”

“Make sure you give it to them good, baby,” she says, grinning wickedly at me.

“Oh, I will,” I say with the same amount of wicked on my face.

We started this back on our second night at Levy’s: we each pick a guy and a girl from the crowd who give off that I’d-love-to-fuck-you vibe and we make them feel “extra special” during one of our songs. But we always start giving our targets small bits of attention long before we go in for the kill. Just one look, a three-second-long meeting of the eyes to let her, or him in Camryn’s case, know that we’ve noticed them a little more than anyone else in the room. Camryn’s already working her magic. The guy has a dopey-ass grin plastered on his face now. She glances at me and winks. Slipping my guitar strap over my shoulder, I slowly look over at the two girls. They’re pretty hot, I have to say. I make eye contact with the brunette first, hold it for a few seconds, and then look at her friend for the same amount of time. The second I look away, I notice them giggling and talking to each other behind their hands. I just smile and move my fingers across the guitar strings to test out the tuning. Camryn taps her thumb on her mic and then walks over to the side to drag the two stools that we’ll end up only sitting on for maybe one song. She hops onto hers and crosses her legs; those sexy black mile-high heels are enough by themselves to make her look like she knows what’s she’s doing in this business. Little silver studs decorate them. God damn, some of the things she wears makes me crazy.

An announcer, young guy, comes out on the stage and introduces us. Many of the voices carrying through the vast space quiet down and then even more when I start to play the guitar. And when Camryn leads the first song, her voice is so sultry that she pretty much gets everyone else’s attention in no time.

We go through four songs to an awesome welcoming crowd who are dancing, getting drunk, and trying to sing along. The vibe in the bar is explosive, and I love it.

Camryn walks down the three steps from the stage with her mic in hand and makes her way toward her victim. Before the song is over he’s dancing with her, having one helluva time. When his hands get too close to parts only I’m allowed to touch, Camryn, like a professional, smiles and continues to sing to him while pushing him away.

Then we take a short break.

Camryn pulls me off toward the back of the stage as the voices rise up all around us again.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” she says.

I pull the guitar strap over my head and set the guitar against the back wall.

“You go and I’ll get us a drink,” I say. “Do you want anything?”

She smiles, nodding. “Yeah, just get me whatever, I don’t care.”

“Alcoholic?” I ask.

She nods again and kisses me, pretty eager to break away quickly probably so she doesn’t pee on herself.

“Oh, and why don’t you do the next song solo tonight?” she suggests.

“Really? Why?”

She comes up closer and rests her hands on my chest. “You do that song better by yourself, and I think I’m done for the night. I’d like to watch you.” She pecks my lips. She’s so much taller in those shoes that she’s looking me straight in the eyes.

If that’s what she wants, I’m good with it. I don’t want to push her.

“All right, I’ll sing it alone,” I say. “It’ll make it easier to seduce my two girls out there, anyway.”

She smiles and says with a little laughter in her voice, “Don’t overdo it, Andrew. Remember what happened the last time.”

“I know, I know,” I say, waving her on.

She turns around, and I smack her on the butt as she scurries off toward the restrooms.

14

When I make it into the restroom, there’s a line of women waiting for empty stalls. The air is thick with liquor breath, perfume, and cigarette-smoke-laden clothes. A stall door will open and shut with an obnoxious bang every few seconds as people come and go. I go to wash my hands first, having to cram myself in between two drunk girls sitting on top of the counters on either side of me. Thankfully they’re the overly nice kind of drunk, because I can’t deal with a fight-ready rude one tonight. They apologize for being in the way and move over to give me some space.

“Thanks,” I say and reach out to turn on the water.

“Hey, you’re the singer chick,” the girl on my left says, pointing her finger at me and smiling. She glances at her friend on the other side and then back at me.

“Yeah, that’d be me, I guess.”

I’m so not in the mood for bathroom conversation. The longer I linger in public restrooms, the grosser I feel.

“You two are great,” she says, beaming.

“Yeah, seriously,” her friend says. “What the hell are you doing singing in bars, anyway?”

I just shrug and squirt more soap from the dispenser into my hand and try to avoid them as kindly as possible.

“Yeah, really,” the one on my left adds. “I’d pay to see you play.”

OK, so I’m not entirely immune to compliments. I smile and thank her again.

When two more stalls become free, they jump at the opportunity and shut themselves inside. Soon after, they wave good-bye and wish me good luck with my “music career.” When I’m almost the only one left, I turn to the mirror, but I don’t look at myself. Instead, I reach into my pocket and take a pill, washing it down with water from the sink.

It’s just to take the edge off.

Then I look at myself, pushing the pill and the guilty feeling I get every time I take one, far into the back of my mind. I make up excuses to justify taking them, and I almost fool myself. But I know that the guilt I always feel is there for a reason.

In less than eleven minutes, I don’t care about the guilt, the excuses, or the edge anymore, because that part of my brain has been numbed.

I run my fingertips underneath my eyes to wipe away any smudged mascara, then blot the oil from my face with toilet paper. I have to look good when I go back out there. I feel great, but I have to look as good as I feel.

Pushing myself through the crowd, I find Aidan and Michelle standing behind the enormous bar and join them. I then remember Andrew was getting me a drink, but I’m not walking back through all of those people just to get it.

“You two are fantastic!” Michelle shouts over the noisy crowd. She hugs me, and I return it, feeling my pill-induced smile stretching hugely across my face.

I turn to Aidan. “What did you think?”

“I agree with Michelle!” he says. “You should write your own music and play here more often. I get all kinds of talent scouts in here. And celebrities.” He points to the back wall, where a series of autographed photos of various musicians and movie stars hang in an even line. “Get a head start with your own material,” he goes on. “I bet you two would easily land a music contract within a year.”

I’m so high right now that he could tell me he thinks we suck and have no future in music at all, and I’d still smile like this, letting his words go through me like air.

I look out across the length of the room to see Andrew up on the stage with his guitar and the house band getting ready to sing his trademark song, “Laugh, I Nearly Died.” He likely can’t see me through the crowd, but he knows I’m watching. I love to watch him onstage, in his element. I know that as good as we are together musically, he’ll always own it more when he performs alone. Maybe it’s just me, but I like to think of him the way he was the first time I saw him perform. Because on that night in New Orleans he was singing for me, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I’d do anything to feel like that again. Anything…

Seconds into the song, Andrew, like always, has the attention of everyone in the room. The two girls at the table are standing up now, dancing with each other provocatively, but I know it’s all for Andrew. I’ve seen it before. They want him, and he lets them believe, just for one night, that he wants them, too. Perfectly harmless. Andrew and I both look at it as making other people feel good about themselves. A little flirting here and there, making some lucky girl or guy the center of attention just long enough to make them blush and smile. You never know what’s going on in people’s lives behind closed doors, and a little flirty, positive energy can never be a bad thing.