by Jade Winters
He shrugged his large shoulders and gave her a knowing wink. Without another word, he turned away and sunk back in his seat.
Well, that was surreal. Skye downed her cocktail in one go then picked up Izzy’s drink. What’s the point in wasting it? The sweet liquid was gone in seconds. For the first time in forever, she was letting her hair down and didn’t have a care in the world. It didn’t even bother her that Izzy had left her alone to go man hunting.
‘I think I’m drunk,’ she said aloud. The man next to her raised his drink in a silent salute.
And I love it. She laughed at herself and clapped away like a seal when a middle-aged man took to the stage and crooned his way through a Nat King Cole number. He really gave it his all. Got to appreciate that.
Buoyant with false bravado brought on by copious amounts of alcohol, Skye pushed herself to her feet. If he can do it, so can I.
Without sparing a second for self-doubt, Skye strode up to the side of the stage where the DJ was situated in a small booth. He looked like an eighties reject, all mullet and cut-off T-shirt.
When he leant his head towards her, she told him, ‘I want to sing a song.’
He smelt like he’d bathed in Old Spice aftershave, which was a little disconcerting.
‘Whoa, slow down there, tiger. There’re ten people ahead of you, so you’ll have to wait.’
He slid her a clipboard with a mess of scribbled names. Skye stared at the list, the letters blurring together.
‘Add your name, but I can’t promise you’ll get called up.’ He paused, appraising her. ‘Honestly, even if you do, the crowd will probably be gone by then. It’s already late. Besides, if you’re slurring your words already, how do you plan on carrying a tune?’
‘No,’ she said, raising her finger to silence him, her drunken confidence unfazed by his attitude. ‘I want to sing a song, and I want to sing it now. You have no idea what I’ve gone through to get here. If you don’t put me up next, I’ll throw the person who is standing there off the stage, snatch the microphone and scream until your ears bleed.’
Skye grinned at him and crossed her arms as if to conclude her argument. The DJ’s stony stare told her he’d had this debate before.
‘You know, you could just tip me, right?’ he asked, his arrogant grin patronising her.
‘I … oh.’ Skye rummaged in her pocket, feeling like a real pleb. Of course you paid bribes to get what you wanted. This was London. She pulled out her last twenty-pound note and held it out to him. ‘Here you go. That’s all I have.’
‘Hey, sweetheart, I was kidding, right? Look, if you’re that desperate …’ He took the board from her. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Skye, with an e. Not like the clouds and stuff.’
‘Okay, Skye with an e …’ He scribbled her name at the top of the list. ‘You’re up next, sweet pea. Blow me away if you can. I’m sooo bored.’
Skye’s eyes widened. ‘Next? Like after that person?’
‘That’s generally what next means. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ he asked, sounding like she was trying his patience.
‘What? Oh, yes. Yes, it is.’ She straightened to her full height and nodded.
‘Alright, pick a song.’ The DJ passed her a large binder filled with hundreds of hit songs from the last few decades. Under the dim light, Skye thumbed to the most current page of the binder and skimmed the titles. The choices made her head spin.
‘Come on, lady. I haven’t got all day.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Skye said in a fluster. ‘How about … um … “Someone Like You”, by Adele.’
‘Oh God, really?’ His expression was pained, but he didn’t argue when Skye narrowed her eyes. ‘Okay! Okay! Keep your wig on. It’s your funeral.’
Skye handed him back the folder and he gestured towards the stage.
‘Adele it is. Don’t blame me when you’re booed off the stage. No one does Adele like Adele. But you go, sunshine!’
Skye’s heart pounded in time with every step she took. The alcohol-induced bravery had done a runner, leaving her to face the music alone.
Just take deep breaths. Breathe … she told herself. You don’t have to see these people ever again. Who gives a toss what they think of you? The thought of all those strangers watching her, judging her, gave her pause. I do.
Skye stopped at the bottom of the stage stairs and looked up as an inebriated woman fumbled with the microphone and stumbled over the lyrics. Skye prayed she would not make a fool of herself when it was her turn. As she surveyed the hundred-plus audience that would soon have her soul at their feet, her eyes fell on the woman whom Izzy had accused her of eyeing up at the bar. She was sitting a few tables away, wholly wrapped up in her mobile phone.
In the light from the screen, Skye could make out a delicate jawline, well-sculpted cheekbones, and a beautiful pair of almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was a natural, shiny, jet black that, against her alabaster skin, did things to Skye she had no name for.
Butterflies filled her stomach at the sight of the stranger. It’s the alcohol, you fool!
Skye tried to shake off the feeling, to discredit the woman, thinking it was rude for her to be using a phone while someone was singing. Plain rude. She tried tearing her eyes away but nothing seemed to work. Those eyes, that hair, that presence! What the hell is happening to me?
The fluttering in her stomach grew more intense, making her wonder if she simply had to vomit. She was drunk after all. Perhaps that was it, alcohol-induced nausea.
‘Alright, give it up for Cher gone wrong, everyone,’ the DJ said, his voice resonating through the speakers, as the singer stumbled down the stairs, back into obscurity. ‘Now let’s welcome Skye with an e to the stage.’
Oh, crap. Skye’s heart skipped a beat. The poor combination of nerves and alcohol had her feeling like she might pass out before ever reaching the mike. The DJ gave her a mocking thumbs-up as she climbed the stairs. Skye returned the gesture with a death stare and was annoyed when he grinned back at her like the Cheshire Cat. She would definitely have to work on her death stare.
As she reached the final step, she glanced behind her at the woman on her phone. Skye wished she would take the call outside. Having to sing in front of her made her feel even more nervous.
This is about you, not her. Do your thing. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the microphone and gripped the stand for dear life. The music started, and she could see the DJ prompting her to sing out of the corner of her eye. The first few words that left her mouth were shaky and out of tune. Even as she held the tempo, her mind was working furiously. What the hell were you thinking? You bloody fool.
Skye continued, her voice gathering strength. Her eyes combed the crowd and she found that the woman had not even glanced up from her phone.
Damn you. I will get your attention away from that phone.
The chorus kicked in, and Skye took it away, losing herself in the lyrics and music. She gave power to each and every note while sashaying down the length of the stage. The bar and the audience did not exist, only Skye and the music. She sang from the very depths of her soul, with the pain of her past and with the hope for her future. As the song played out, Skye realised she’d been too caught up in the otherworldly feeling of the music to notice that the beautiful stranger was no longer on her phone. She was on her feet, along with the rest of the crowd.
‘Th-thank you,’ Skye murmured into the microphone as the music faded into the background.
She scurried off the stage amidst loud applause, struggling to wrap her head around what she’d done and the response she was receiving. As she neared their table, Izzy ran to her in a shiny, neon-green blur, greeting Skye with a shriek of delight and an overpowering hug that almost knocked her over. She couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s enthusiasm.
‘Holy mother of all things sacred, Skye! I can’t believe that was you. I mean, bloody hell, girl, when did you … how did you …’ She threw her hands up in the air, her
red curls bobbing as she shook her head, searching for the right words.
‘I-I—’
‘Fucking hell. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?’ Izzy exclaimed, her hands on Skye’s shoulders. She gave Skye a quick shake and then another giant hug.
Skye felt as if her heart would burst through her chest. Adrenaline rushed through her body in hot waves, making her light-headed.
‘I’ve never sung in front of anyone before. I don’t know what came over me tonight.’
Skye still couldn’t absorb what had just happened. The audience, the music, the atmosphere; everything felt surreal. The night took on more of a dreamlike quality when several people, with beaming smiles, made a beeline towards her to praise her singing. They shook her hand until she thought her arm would fall off. She smiled until her cheeks ached and thanked the people gathered around her.
It must feel great being famous and having adoring fans fawn all over you. Skye wanted to burn this memory—the best moment of her life—into her brain forever. She had conquered her fear, and people actually liked her singing. No, they loved it. Okay, so she hadn’t performed in front of an audience at Wembley Stadium, but that didn’t matter. The point was that she had actually got up there and sung in front of people. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if there were only one person in the audience. This had been about her, not them.
With the aid of a little alcohol to bolster her confidence, Skye had finally escaped her self-imposed prison of being nothing more than a cash machine for her father. Beyond that prison was life, fun, and—she cringed inwardly at using such a cliché—an entire world to experience. She felt electric.
I deserve some happiness. Her eyes welled with tears, and she angrily brushed them away. Everything in her life before this moment paled into insignificance and everything slipped into place in her head. The stage was where she was meant to be.
‘I want to—’
A silken voice from just behind Skye’s shoulder stopped her mid-sentence. ‘You were impressive up there.’
Skye turned and came face to face with the woman who had been in the audience on her phone. She was dressed casually in fitted jeans and a black leather jacket.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asked, sliding onto a seat beside Skye without waiting for her response.
As soon as she made eye contact with her, Skye gasped and was glad that the music playing in the background had muffled the sound. Up close, the woman was even better looking than Skye had thought. The stranger’s intense eyes were enough to entrance her every time they held her gaze.
Skye sat frozen, her mouth dry. If the woman had spoken, she hadn’t heard her. The hammering of her heart in her ears blocked out all other sounds. Panicked and elated, Skye sent Izzy a silent plea to take charge of the situation, doubting she could speak, even if her life had depended on it.
‘I’ll go and grab some drinks, shall I?’ Izzy asked, looking at them both and grinning.
Morgan shook her head. ‘Nothing for me, but go ahead and order for the two of you. Tell whoever serves you that Morgan sent you.’
‘Ooh, nice one. Thanks. That’s two horny devil cocktails coming right up,’ Izzy said, grinning from ear to ear, and winked at Skye as she left the table.
Skye tensed her jaw. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. I’m going to strangle Izzy with my bare hands when we get back to the hotel. How could she say that?
She dreaded to think what Morgan thought of them. Skye swallowed and aimed a small smile at Morgan, who was idly revolving her phone on the tabletop, using two elegant fingers. The tension in her shoulders eased when a smile spread across Morgan’s lips.
‘I didn’t catch your name,’ Morgan said, breaking the silence.
‘Skye,’ she answered, her voice not as strong as she would have liked, but thank God she hadn’t squeaked. Well done, me.
‘Skye,’ Morgan repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a sensuality that made Skye want to hear her repeat it over and over again, as if she had never heard her name spoken before. Morgan lengthened the S, curled the k around her tongue and let the rest of the name slip its way through those perfect lips like a shared secret.
‘Hmm.’ She nodded gently, her eyes never leaving Skye’s. ‘I like it. It suits your image as a singer.’
As a what? Does she think I’m a professional singer? Or is she taking the mick out of me?
The look in Morgan’s eyes told her she wasn’t. Morgan looked at her thoughtfully as if she were formulating an idea. The silence stretched, and Skye swallowed again, trying to think of something clever or witty to say, but her mind remained blank.
Great. I’m doing a fantastic dumb-blonde act. I must be boring her. She’s obviously thinking about how to make a quick exit.
‘Um … I didn’t think you enjoyed my … performance.’ Skye almost choked on the word as it came out sounding pretentious. Who did she think she was? Britney Spears?
You’re just a small-town girl on a night out in the big city. That’s all.
‘I saw you on your phone before I started singing and figured …’ Skye realised she was rambling drunkenly and stopped. ‘I … I’m sorry. I’ve been drinking … a lot, and I don’t usually drink, and well …’
Morgan held up a hand and her eyes travelled over Skye’s face with an intensity that made her tingle all over. ‘No need to apologise. You’re meant to be drunk. This is a bar, after all.’
‘I suppose, but still …’ Skye hurried to reorganise her thoughts. This is so stupid. What am I afraid of?
She was acting as if this was the first time a woman had ever spoken to her. She wasn’t inexperienced when it came to other women; she just didn’t date very often.
It’s not like she’s trying to pick you up for heaven’s sake. Or is she? The thought startled her. She looked at the sophisticated woman sitting next to her and inwardly gave a snort of derision. No, Izzy was right. Morgan’s well out of my league. What would she want with a waitress on minimum wage?
‘I’ve never said this to anyone before, so it might come across a bit clichéd,’ Morgan said, leaning closer to be heard over the loud music.
The faint aroma of her perfume—spicy with a hint of some flower whose name her befuddled brain couldn’t come up with—enveloped her. Whatever it was, its scent was intoxicating.
‘I’ve never heard a voice like yours before. Have you had training?’
‘No, none.’ Skye stared into Morgan’s deep, cerulean eyes, unable to tear hers away. ‘That was the first time I ever sang in front of anyone.’
A brief flash of surprise lit up Morgan’s eyes. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Really?’
Skye nodded.
‘In that case, I’m even more impressed.’ Morgan reached into her jacket, took out a business card and placed it on the table in front of Skye. The card was simple and understated: a deep, dark blue with the club’s name on it in elegant, looped writing. She tapped the card. ‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point. This is my club—’
‘It is?’ Skye asked in a childlike voice.
Oh, go on. Show her how unsophisticated you are, idiot. Her eyes dropped to the card. Under the club’s name, in clear font, it was written: Morgan Harrington. She most probably thinks I’ve got the maturity of a teenager.
‘Yes, it is.’ She smiled again, easing Skye’s embarrassment. ‘I’ve been looking for a lead vocalist for my brother’s band that plays here on the weekends. After hearing you sing, I think I’ve found exactly who I’m looking for.’
Skye curbed her urge to peek around to make sure she was talking to her and brought her eyes back to meet Morgan’s. The air rushed out of her lungs as the implications hit her.
‘Me! You want me to sing in a band?’ she asked, dumbfounded.
‘Yes, I do. You seem shocked.’ Morgan’s lips curled at the edges in a quirky smile.
‘Well, I am, if I’m to be totally honest. This is London. There must be thousands
of people here who have a better voice than I do.’
‘You don’t have much faith in yourself, do you?’
Skye remained silent as she reached for her glass and tilted it back and forth, grateful for the distraction.
‘Whether you believe in yourself or not, take it from me: you’ve got a voice to be reckoned with. I honestly think you’d be a great asset to the band.’
Skye raised her head cautiously and locked eyes with Morgan, desperate for an indication that this was not one of her elaborate fantasies.
‘Pinch me,’ she said.
Morgan threw her a puzzled look. ‘Pardon me?’
‘I need to know this isn’t a dream,’ Skye said earnestly, too drunk to care how crazy she sounded.
Izzy returned to the table and roughly pinched Skye’s arm.
‘Ow!’ she cried, rubbing the stinging spot on her arm. ‘Bloody hell, Izzy. Was I talking to you?’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Izzy said with a small grin. ‘But the barwoman—Chanel, is it?’
Morgan nodded.
‘Well, she said she needs to see you right away.’
Morgan remained seated, giving no indication of leaving. Izzy leant over the table, her mouth hovering close to Morgan’s ear.
‘She said to impress upon you the importance of it,’ Izzy said, highlighting the words.
‘Okay, look.’ Morgan regarded Skye with an intense stare. ‘Why don’t you meet me for dinner tomorrow night, and we can carry on our conversation?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Izzy and I are meant to be going—’
‘Izzy.’ Morgan looked up at her. ‘How about you come here while we’re out. Drinks will be on the house.’
‘I don’t need my arm twisted. Free booze! You can have her as long as you want.’ Izzy laughed, and Morgan joined in politely.
Skye looked on in shock at the lewd comment Morgan either didn’t get or had chosen to ignore. Holy Mother of God, Izzy sounded like her pimp.
‘Well, that’s settled, if that’s alright with you, of course,’ Morgan said, speaking to Skye as she rose to her feet.
Skye glared at Izzy. ‘Well, looks like my decision’s already been made for me by you two.’