Songbird (Songbird, #1)

by Lisa Edward

  “Absolutely.” I did like my long hair.

  “Okay, so then I’ll layer and shape around your face to give it some life.”

  I nodded. It sounded good, and not too drastic. As he started cutting and some of the length and weight was cut from the hair, a subtle curl began to appear.

  He shrilled with delight, “Look at this hair! Did you even know you had this natural wave going through it?”

  I hadn’t realised. It had always been one length, and so thick that any sign of a wave was weighed down. After seeing the curls and body of the hair take shape on their own, Jason decided to blow-dry it so it looked natural. Not the natural that I was used to, which was just straight and boring, but bouncy and full of life.

  “Well, what do you think? Now you really are a vixen!” he teased and gave me a playful wink.

  Staring back at my reflection, I was in awe. Call me vain if you like, but God it looked good! “You are a miracle worker, Jason,” I said in disbelief. “It looks amazing!”

  “It’s easy with hair like yours. You should be doing shampoo commercials.” And he imitated the hair flick over the shoulder as he twirled.

  We all laughed and I took another glance at myself in the mirror. Wow, at this rate, I wouldn’t recognise myself by Monday.

  “You must go out tonight to celebrate,” Jason said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Do you do karaoke? There’s a great little bar just opened called Songbirds that’s not far from here. They make the best margaritas. We should all go!”

  Kelli and I looked at each other, shrugged, and with a grin, replied in unison, “We’re in!”

  WE GOT ready back at the apartment with the stereo pumping out Beyoncé at her sassy best.

  I had one of my new outfits on. Kelli had helped me decide on a pair of low-riding skinny pants that zipped at the ankle. They made my legs look impossibly long, which was the effect I had wanted when I bought them. The pants were black, so to add some colour, Kelli suggested a shimmery bright blue halter-top, and high wedge sandals. I then double checked with her that what I was wearing was appropriate.

  She nodded and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you could wear a potato sack. Trust your instincts, you look gorgeous.”

  Taking my turn at the bathroom mirror, I painstakingly applied some make-up that I’d bought during our shopping trip. It had been a while since I’d worn any, so I decided on just some light mineral powder to even out my skin tone, a blacker-than-black mascara that claimed to make your lashes look fifty per cent longer—I was dubious about that claim—black kohl eyeliner, and a soft pink lip gloss that plumped the lips at the same time. It took longer than it probably should have to apply the minimal war-paint; I would have to practice a bit more.

  With the new hairstyle, clothes, and make-up, I almost did look like a new person—or just maybe a little more like my old self from a couple of years ago. All I needed now was faith and a new attitude.

  We were ready just after six pm, so had some time to spare. I went to the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. Maybe a drink would start me on the track to a more confident me.

  I then opened the glasses cupboard with the customary thump from the inside. “You should really speak to the landlord about this door,” I said to Kelli, laughing.

  Kelli cranked up the stereo as I poured the champagne. We danced around the living room and sang along to Beyoncé. As we filled our glasses for the second time, ‘Best Thing I Never Had’ came on, and we started singing louder into our invisible microphones. I took the lead and Kelli harmonised with backing vocals until the music and our singing filled the tiny apartment. As Beyoncé belted out the lines that hit home for me, I belted them out right along with her, finding my voice again after so long.

  “Hey, you’ve got a great voice, you know,” Kelli said as the song finished, and we grabbed our bags and made our way to the door.

  I smiled sadly. “Thanks. I used to think so. I actually studied music; I attended the Victorian School of the Arts for four years.”

  “As a singer?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

  “No, as a musician, but we covered all bases: singing, dance, musical composition, as well as our major. My dream from about the age of five was to be a concert pianist and travel the world, but it was just a pipe dream. I was never good enough.”

  “Who’s that talking, you, or Shithead?”

  Smiling sheepishly at her; I didn’t need to think about the answer. We both knew whose words they were.

  I volunteered to drive, as I’m not usually a big drinker, so I sat behind the wheel and drove the fifteen minutes over to Jason’s apartment block to pick him up.

  The security door was wedged open, letting the breeze blow through the stairwell, so we went straight up stairs and knocked on the door of apartment six. It was a fairly new block and looked well maintained.

  Jason’s apartment was all blue: blue carpet and blue walls, it also looked well maintained, and his furniture was stylish and very masculine.

  “Make yourselves at home, ladies. I’m nearly ready,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the bedroom to finish getting organised.

  I took myself on a mini tour, taking in the kitchen with its dishwasher and ample bench space, and the bathroom with a full-sized tub and wall of mirrors. There were two bedrooms—or really, one bedroom and a study, and the living space was big enough for a small dining table in one corner. Because it was on the first floor, there was a decent-sized balcony that unfortunately only looked out over the designated car park at the back of the block.

  “Nice place, isn’t it?” I said, making my way back to Kelli who was relaxing on the couch.

  “Yep, really nice. I’d love to live here, but I think it would be too expensive. Besides, it’s like the Hotel California; no one ever leaves.”

  Jason came out of the bedroom, ready to party. He looked amazing with his pale pink shirt showing off his tanned skin, tight black chinos and boots. He carried himself well with confidence and poise—he was a guy that I would take notice of if I were out and didn’t know his sexual orientation. I laughed to myself; all the good ones are either taken or gay. Still, I wasn’t ready to jump into the deep end yet, anyway. I needed time to heal and find myself again.

  We decided to walk to the bar, as it was close by, and the weather was fine. By the time we arrived at Songbirds the place was packed, and there was a line of impatient revellers outside, waiting to enter.

  “Oh well, maybe we can go somewhere else,” I said, a little disappointed. I’d been gearing up for this night all afternoon and was looking forward to it.

  “No, don’t be silly, follow me.” Jason made his way to the front of the queue, air kissed the security girl at the door and we were let straight in.

  There were a few complaints from the crowd outside as we entered, but I didn’t care; we were in, and I was ready to let my hair down.

  Smiling at Jason, I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Someone has friends in high places.”

  He laughed. “Being the only decent hairdresser in the area has its perks, and word of mouth is the best advertising. I do her hair, and most of the rest of the staff here.”

  We walked further into the crowded bar, side-stepping around people carrying drinks and talking animatedly.

  “Okay, now wait here,” Jason told us and then made his way to the end of the bar.

  He leaned his forearms on the counter and waited a few minutes until the guy behind the bar looked over, smiled, and, ignoring the patrons who were waiting to buy drinks, made his way over to Jason. They hugged warmly, and Jason leaned in to say something. The other guy nodded then lifted a section of the counter and came out from behind the bar. He reached in behind a curtain and produced a small, folded round table; he handed it to Jason and then reached back again, and pulled out three chairs. He pointed over to the far corner and the two men took off in the direction indicated.

  Kelli and I looked at each
other, shrugged, and, having deciphered the charades we had just witnessed, followed behind. By the time we had manoeuvred our way through the crowd to the far corner, the table and chairs were set up, and the barman was making his way back to the bar.

  “I’ve ordered us some margaritas. Marcus will bring them over in a minute,” Jason fanned himself. “Isn’t Marcus adorable? And he has the best hair!”

  “I thought I had the best hair,” I said teasingly to Jason.

  He bumped my shoulder with his. “You have the best girl hair,” he joked back. “Marcus has the best everything, and he’s such a great guy.”

  As we were joking around, Marcus came back over with three glasses and a pitcher of margaritas. He set them down, and then introduced himself to Kelli and I. Hmm, Jason certainly had good taste.

  Marcus had thick, shaggy brown hair that looked like he had just gotten out of bed and run his hands through it. It was sexy and probably took him ages to get that ‘I haven’t done a thing to my hair and I don’t care’ look. In this light it was hard to tell what colour his eyes were, but they were bright and sparkling, and most of all, friendly. He had a broad smile, and the cutest dimples. He was a slightly smaller build than Jason, but would still have been over six-foot tall, and he looked like he took care of himself and worked out. His arms were well defined, and he showed them off to perfection in a grey Songbirds fitted singlet.

  Yes, Jason definitely had good taste.

  Marcus excused himself. “Sorry I can’t chat. The barman quit at the last minute, so I’m filling in. It’s hard to get good help,” he said jokingly as he headed back to the bar.

  It was only then that I realised that Marcus wasn’t the barman—he was the owner, or at the very least, the manager of Songbirds.

  Jason filled our glasses and we toasted each other enthusiastically.

  “To good friends and new beginnings,” Kelli proclaimed.

  “And great hair,” Jason added with a wink.

  Looking around, I took in my surroundings. There was a stage at one end which was set up for karaoke, and the bar which ran the length of the room at the other end. To the left of the bar was a short hallway that led to a black gloss door with a staff only sign on it.

  Around the walls were framed posters of bands, concert T-shirts, and music memorabilia, some of which was signed. There was a framed electric-blue Fender guitar just next to where we were sitting that was particularly striking, and I strained to try to read the signature on the bottom of it. Marcus was obviously a music buff, and had spent a lot of time and money on his collection.

  “Take a photo of us, Jason,” Kelli said as she leaned in towards me. “Tara always has a camera with her.”

  Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my phone and handed it to Jason. I gave him a quick lesson on how it worked, and then he played photographer while Kelli and I pulled cheesy faces and pouted at the camera.

  “That’s it, girls, work it. The camera loves you, baby,” Jason instructed, playing his role to perfection.

  As the phone was finally handed back to me, it started to ring. I checked the number, still smiling at Jason, and then dropped it on the table and looked over at Kelli with dread, not wanting to answer it.

  Jason shook his head and then picked up the ringing phone and answered it cheerfully. “Hello, Tara’s phone.” He had a cheeky grin on his face, but as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, the grin dropped and his face paled.

  He held out the phone to me as if it had suddenly become too hot to touch. “It’s for you.”

  Oh shit! My ex didn’t yet know he was my ex; he was expecting me to be at home alone, but instead my phone had been answered by a guy in a noisy bar. This was not going to end well.

  “Where are you?” The coldness in his voice was all too familiar.

  “I’m out with my friend, Kelli.”

  “That didn’t sound like Kelli. Who answered your phone?” he asked sharply.

  My face flushed as I searched for words. “Oh, that was a friend of Kelli’s. His name’s Jason, he’s a hairdresser.”

  I don’t know why I felt the need to tell Stephen that Jason was a hairdresser. I couldn’t think straight, and it just came out as if it were some important piece of information that Stephen needed to know.

  “I tried calling you at home … twice. You know I don’t like to chase you all over Melbourne. I expect that when I call, you will be there.”

  My mind was racing with incoherent thoughts. I was trying to piece together an intelligent response but it wasn’t working.

  “I’m not at home, I’m out with Kelli,” I said. Oh shit, I’ve already told him that. “We wanted to celebrate my new haircut.”

  Oh hell, why did I say that!?

  There was silence and I pinched the bridge of my nose, waiting for his retort.

  “You’ve cut your hair?”

  “Ah, yes. Just a trim, it looks really good.”

  Silence again.

  Then, “I will call you at home tomorrow, and we will talk about this.”

  By his forced calm, I could tell that he was seething.

  I took in a deep breath. “I won’t be home. I’m staying with Kelli … while you’re away, okay?”

  I looked up at Kelli. She was pulling a face at me as if to say “just tell him”, but I couldn’t tell him here, over the phone.

  “Very well, have your little bit of fun while I’m away, but when I return on Friday we will be discussing this.”

  Agreeing to his condition, I hung up.

  Exhaling, I slumped back in the chair. “I have to go back to the house,” I said resignedly.

  Kelli looked at me in amazement. “You’re joking. You can’t go back!”

  “I have to go back to the house … before Friday, and pack up the rest of my stuff,” I said, a sly smile widening over my face.

  Then I picked up my drink and drained the glass.

  It was time for karaoke to start, so Marcus stepped out from behind the bar and took his place at the sound desk. I wondered briefly who was manning the bar if Marcus was going to be in charge of the music, but the thought soon left me as several people raced up to Marcus to ask him for various songs to be played so they could sing.

  Leaning in to Kelli and Jason, I asked, “Are either of you going to sing tonight?”

  Kelli looked horrified. “Not on your life! I am totally petrified of singing in public. I have the worst voice in the history of worst voices.”

  I laughed. I had only heard Kelli sing along to the radio in the car, and tonight when we were belting out some Beyoncé. I didn’t think she sounded that bad, but she obviously thought she was terrible.

  I turned to Jason, one eyebrow raised in question.

  He was leaning on the table, chin in hand, gazing dreamily at Marcus. “Not tonight. I’m just going to enjoy the view.”

  “What about you?” Kelli asked.

  Turning back around to Kelli, I shook my head.

  “I heard you tonight. Your voice is awesome; you should sing.”

  I shook my head again, more firmly this time. “I’d rather just watch. The only place I sing these days is in the shower.”

  It had been so long since I’d performed that the thought of getting up in front of everyone tied my stomach in a knot. It saddened me to think how my confidence had been stripped away; I used to love performing, it was always such an adrenalin rush. It made me feel alive.

  When I was studying music, a group of us from school used to frequent a little piano bar called Josephine’s every Friday night, and virtually take over the place, playing the instruments and singing. The owner would joke that it was the best entertainment he had in the place, and it was for free. In the end, he started paying us in drinks because we used to pull in the crowds.

  But that was in the past. Stephen had never liked me being the centre of attention, especially as he had said, my voice wasn’t very good, and it was embarrassing for him whenever I sang.


  I wondered to myself if I would, or could ever get that feeling back.

  “I’d rather drink,” I replied, trying to sound light hearted.

  “Cheers to that!”

  There was a constant stream of people wanting to sing. Some were good, and some were dreadful, but they all had one thing in common: they enjoyed themselves, and the crowd were encouraging, no matter what the level of talent. Our little table, on its third pitcher of margaritas, were cheering loudly for every act. I knew it took a lot of guts to get up there in the first place, and they deserved every ounce of support.

  From a very young age, it was drummed into me by my mother that you had to strive to be the best. When I was just a child taking my exams in music to progress to the next level, even the slightest error was considered inexcusable, and I would be made to practice for hours every day to ensure I was note perfect. This strive for perfection was reinforced when I met Stephen and his lack of enthusiasm and support for my playing had led me to give it up all together. If I couldn’t be the best then what was the point, right?

  It amazed me, sitting here now, listening to these people sing everything from P!NK to The Rolling Stones, how wrong my parents and Stephen had been. It shouldn’t be about perfection; it should be about enjoyment.

  During the breaks in karaoke, Marcus would come by the table to make sure we were okay for drinks and for a quick chat, then go back behind the bar and send over another pitcher of margaritas. This pattern continued for the night until the crowd began to thin, and the bar staff packed up the tables and chairs. Once the area was cleared I noticed that there was actually a dance floor in the middle of the room, which had previously been occupied by tables, chairs, and an increasing number of patrons.

  I was ready to leave. It was one am and it had been a long couple of days, but Jason was keen to stay back and spend just a little more time ogling Marcus. Finally, Marcus joined us with a tray of coffees and flopped down in a chair that he had pulled over beside me.

  “Well, did you have a good time tonight?” Marcus asked taking each of us into his gaze, until he finally settled on me.