Libby managed a small smile, nodded and sat down next to the young man.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” the young man responded warmly. “I’m Michael,” he offered his hand.
“Libby,” taking his hand, she noticed he wasn’t much older than Megan.
“Nevada...you?” Michael asked.
“Well, South Carolina by way of New Mexico,” Libby laughed. “It’s been a tailspin, really,” she shook her head in disbelief.
“Wow,” Michael responded. “You do this kinda thing often?” he asked, trying to size up his competition.
“No,” she laughed. “First time, actually. Oh…do you mean the trip or the contest?”
“Either. Both.”
“Well, actually, it’s my first time for both…so. How ‘bout you?”
“Well, my band has been trying to get a recording contract for some time. We lost our lead singer last month. He has this danger fetish. Skydiving this time...broke both legs.”
“I’m so sorry,” Libby offered.
“Yes, us too. We need that recording contract, and we had to find a stand-in at the last minute. I’m not so sure how this is going to turn out.” He stood, “Well, here’s hoping! Hey, good luck!”
She smiled back, “And to you too, Michael. Good luck!”
Libby concentrated on her forms. The rules stated the first song was her choice. Libby knew Maggie’s guitar was impeccable on the CD Laura gave her—now all she had to do was try to match Mom’s talent. She sighed at the thought.
“Geez, how did I get myself…”
Next, she read that she would be assigned an additional song with thirty minutes to prepare. The song would be selected by random drawing, and no song could be changed. If a contestant didn’t know their song, they should choose to do their best or withdraw from the competition. Any contestant caught exchanging songs would be immediately disqualified.
Libby smiled at the image of a large hook dragging someone offstage.
Judging will be conducted by a blind panel. Judging is based on performance, ability and crowd response; but not on the contestant’s appearance.
Libby signed her forms and returned to the attendants. “How many contestants are there?”
“You’re number 25,” the woman responded dryly. She pointed to the back hallway and warm-up rooms. “There are only 12 warm-up rooms, but you’re so far down the list, you might want to come back later. Your call.”
As the crowd cheered wildly from the stage area, the other attendant said, “They must be announcing the judges.”
Libby felt a butterfly flutter.
“Thanks,” she offered a smile to the disinterested women, then made her way toward the narrow hallway and the warm-up rooms. She waited in the hallway with other contestants, some nervous and excited, others appearing calm and disinterested. The sound of mixed vocals blended with an array of guitars and songs filled the hallway. Room-by-room emptied and refilled, each change brought sporadic flurries of anxious contestants through hallway as each made their way to the stage with the promise of a bright future.
* * *
Hours passed before the hallway was mostly empty, Libby finally had her chance for warm-up. Sitting at a mirrored desk, Libby dropped her CD into a small player on the desk and began vocalizing with warm-ups she’d heard the vocalists go through in her Mom’s vocal training sessions at home.
“Oh, Mom, I wish you were here now. How did I get myself into this?” Libby asked her reflection. She ran through her song a couple of times and went back to the attendants.
Hearing the crowd cheer, she walked to the side stage and saw Michael with his band waiting in the wing. He smiled at her and waved a drumstick, saying “Number 22.”
She replied “25,” and smiled.
Suddenly a boisterous British accent drowned out the murmurings, barking commands at everyone in his path as he paced the floor, “Out-ta my way! Do you mind? Get your fat arse outta my way!”
“Calm down, Puckett. You act like a ass,” Michael whispered harshly at him.
“Hey, you wanker, get off my back. THIS is my PROCESS, and I’d thank you to keep your pikey nose out of it!” he snapped.
Michael acquiesced, reluctantly. “Don’t blow this for us, man,” he whispered sternly.
The third contestant was called and rushed past the group. Bret intentionally stood in his way and knocked his shoulder as he passed. When the man glared back, Bret laughed.
For the next two hours, Libby sat, waiting for her turn. Just get through this, she kept telling herself. She was called to the registration table for her thirty-minute warning, and a song was handed to her on a piece of paper.
“The National Anthem? Really?”
Flyin’ so High was a ballad, and now her assigned song was another ballad.
Bret appeared over her shoulder. “Bugger, that’s the kiss-o-death, ain’t it, tart?” he laughed. “A ballad, you may as well hang it up!” He pompously walked away, laughing in that oh-so-fake way, just for attention.
“Number 22, stage left,” was heard over the small backstage speaker.
Libby was set. She walked back to the warm-up room and loaded the CDG player with her assigned song. She went over it a couple of times and set her mind that she’d sing it with all the purpose she could muster. She’d show that jerk.
* * *
The Pack arrived on stage to the standard gratitude offered all singers by the crowd. As they began the first notes to their upbeat original song, Bret snatched the microphone so hard, the stand smashed to the ground. He began bouncing across the stage; his performance reminiscent of Tigger--performing in a heavy metal band. His talent was similar to Jagger, but his buoyant behavior eventually turned the crowds’ rhythmic claps to laughter. The more Bret realized they were laughing at him, the angrier he got. He began flipping his middle finger at some of the closer members of the audience, which began to incite booing. One hysterical man standing near side-stage received a directed turn of Bret’s behind, complete with a slap to make Bret’s point, as Bret himself made a kissing sound in his microphone as he glared back over his shoulder at the man.
The judges seemed to like Bret’s vocal performance, The Pack’s song and their sound. Most of the judges marked their score cards with high numbers until they astutely watched the enthusiasm of the crowd turn to animosity as the song progressed. They began looking to each other, wondering what could be causing the crowd to turn so quickly. Several judges marked through their previous marks with lower scores as it became clear something wasn’t going well.
By the end of the song, Bret finished the last words and stormed off stage, throwing the microphone at Michael who stood closest to the stage entrance. Michael faltered, but thankfully caught it before it hit the ground. As The Pack struggled to maintain their composure, their brief huddle ended with a collected fist-bump, and they each returned to their microphones. The introductory chords to the Troggs’ hit, Wild Thing. They collectively joined in to bring the crowd back to their feet, happily dancing and singing along.
* * *
Forty minutes later, Libby’s number was called to stage left. She squelched the butterflies. She might not want to be there, but she was more determined than ever to give it her all. “Thanks for giving me the shove, you wanker,” Libby mocked Bret as she steeled herself as she approached the stage.
Her first song was loaded and Libby walked on stage as her name was called. Her final utterance, “Own it!”
And she did. She sang the song as if her mother was in the front row, beaming with pride. The crowd cheered loudly, some stood. She was grateful and acknowledged her appreciation with a slight bow and big smile as she waved to the crowd.
The second song cued and the intro began. The crowd came to their feet, many with hand over heart. Libby stepped toward the end of the s
tage, making a personal connection to all those with whom she could make eye contact. She tried not to think about the faces staring back at her. She delivered The Star-Spangled Banner with determination and precision. Every note was perfect, and she connected. Not much more I can do, she thought. She really didn’t care if she didn’t win, she just didn’t want to disappoint her friends. Or Mom.
As Libby acknowledged the cheering crowd with, bows, smiles and waves. Then she gratefully turned and walked off stage, handing the microphone to the attendant.
She met Michael as she walked off. “Great job!” He offered.
“How’d you do?” She asked him.
“We did fine...but I think Bret may have blown it. He has more attitude than every contestant combined.” He smiled nervously. “Too bad we didn’t run into you sooner,” Michael mused.
Two more contestants performed, then the Emcee, Shay Jameson, began entertaining the audience with jokes and stories as the votes were tallied.
At 7:30, the promoter, Gordon Fisher, walked onstage with a piece of paper and all contestants were gathered close in the wings. The Emcee asked all contestants to step back onto the stage. Jameson, took the paper from Fisher and shook his head. “Well, we’re gonna announce our third place winner first. Third place receives a cash prize of $150, and the third place award goes to... Darrin Jones! Darrin, come on down!” A boy, no more than eleven, walked onto the stage and waived at the crowd. “Congratulations, Darrin, you did a great job! Folks we can expect great things from this chap!” Fisher shook Darrin’s hand. Jameson followed suit, and Darrin took his place center stage and waved at the crowd.
“Now, normally I would’ve introduced the judges before announcing the winners, but we have a highly unexpected situation here. As you know, the judges voted on audience participation and vocal performance. It’s a numbers-based system. And, well, after we tallied votes, we have a tie for first place! So, the only way we can determine a winner is to have a sing-off!” Most of the crowd cheered: a few booed. “So, with that, Bret Puckett and the Pack will you please step forward!”
Bret jumped forward, throwing his fist in the air and congratulating himself all the way across the stage as he strutted and gloated, followed by members of his band who shared in a spirit of camaraderie, but having nothing to do with Bret. The band hovered together center-stage, as Bret made egotistical gestures to the audience.
Libby glanced around the group standing beside her, wondering who might be the other winner. Shay Jameson announced, “And tie for first place, Ms. Libby Morgan! Please step forward, pretty lady!”
Libby was shocked as she walked out next to the emcee. He pulled her beside him, “That’s it then! Are you two willing to duke it out one more time?”
The Pack nodded, and Libby shrugged with a smile. “Sure, why not.”
The promoter spoke, actually oblivious to the answers he just asked for, “We’ll let these folks decide on a final competition song and be right back. I know everyone here is ready for us to bring on our headliners for the evening. Just be patient with us a little longer, and we’ll be doing just that! Darrin, why don’t you sing your number for us one more time! Ladies and gentlemen, Darrin Jones!”
All contestants were ushered offstage. Libby suddenly realized she had no more music. Panic set in and the color drained from her face. She looked down at the taped fingers on her left hand. No way can she play a guitar or piano with her finger so mangled. The crowd bustled past her as she stopped beside a column to wait for their exit.
The Pack huddled in the corner discussing their strategy. Libby felt queasy and followed the other contestants down the ramp, for the fresh air of the field below. As she followed them around the last corner, there stood Chuck, hugging the wall to let all the contestants pass.
“Chuck!” Libby smiled. She was glad to see someone she knew. Chuck didn’t seem to recognize her, but greeted her as warmly as if he knew her, all the while checking her out.
She laughed, “You don’t know me, do you?” Chuck smiled a most charming smile, “I’m sorry, you look familiar, sweetheart, but...”
Libby laughed, “I’m Libby Morgan-I saw you and Joe a couple nights ago—I took photographs all night—in Lubbock!”
Chuck’s eyes grew wide as he recognized her, “Yeah...okay! Wow, you look…different! Umm, you seen Joe? Maybe I should say has Joe seen you?”
Suddenly that queasy feeling was back, “No, actually,” Libby looked around worriedly. So he’s here? I’m probably the last person he wants to see.”
Chuck laughed, “Uh, yeah...well, I hope he’s here. We’re supposed to go on at eight. He was judging this competition thing. He looked at his watch, and it’s quarter of eight now. Say, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or ate some bad sushi.”
“Well, actually, no. Friends roped me into that contest. Well, I’m tied for first and have to sing another song...but I don’t have another song!”
“Hey, was that you with the guitarist? Sounded almost like classical or Spanish to me...who was that?”
“Oh, that was my Mom. My friend, Laura, burned a CD for me-she got it from my niece back home. Mom’s awesome, right?”
“I’ll say. I’d like to pick her brain on some of those licks!” Chuck replied.
Libby smiled and turned to make her way back up the ramp with a group of people following close behind them.
“Well, what do you need to go on again?” Chuck asked.
Libby stopped quickly, causing a chain-reaction crash behind them. “You’ll play for me?” she asked anxiously.
“Well, sure,” he responded, almost too casually.
She thought for a second. “We don’t have any time to work up something. Hey! What about the song I’ve been hearing you guys do all the way from Mississippi...Heart Code?”
Chuck looked amused.
Libby grinned, “You think I can? The words are simple enough...I think. Hopefully I’ll remember ‘em all.”
Chuck shrugged as he dropped a piece of paper on the table next to them, “I don’t see why not. Be right back.” He returned a few minutes later with a small group behind him. “I brought some friends who are game, too,” he gestured to the gang behind him. “These guys are musicians for some of the headliners. They’ll sit in too—if it’s cool with you.”
“Thanks so much, I really appreciate y’all doing this,” Libby exclaimed.
“Ms. Morgan, what’s your song?” an assistant asked.
“Heart Code,” Libby beamed.
The Pack was going onstage to perform. Libby and Chuck followed and watched from stage left. Chuck leaned in, “That’s your competition?”
She nodded.
Chuck laughed. “Bands good, but who’s the nut-job?” Bret was bouncing around on the stage as he sang. He could’ve been on a pogo stick—but he didn’t have one.
“Tigger,” Libby sharply replied. Michael caught her eye from on stage—he smiled, almost apologetically, then turned his focus back to the band and played as if his life depended on it.
As they finished, The Pack members walked past Libby, and Michael held his hand up to high-five her as he passed. “Luck!”
Bret made a scornful grunt as he reached Libby. “Aw, give it up girlie. Ya got no chance against a pro like me!”
The emcee introduced Libby, and she took the stage. With no time to rehearse, she wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out, but at least she wouldn’t turn into a rabbit on the stage.
The newly formed band quickly took their places and tested their equipment. The first chords of the song rang out, and she jumped in with the first verse.
Well you’re cute, real sweet
won’t you have a seat
You say we should give this love a go.
Been around the block
and you know how to rock
b
ut ya say ya don’t mind dancin’ slow.
The crowd went crazy hearing the TBK song. Their enthusiasm fueled Libby.
Joe smiled as the crowd went crazy over his song. The Governor, Joe’s neighboring judge, leaned over, “Nice touch!”
It’s not an normal invitation
Listen up, there’s regulations.
Gotta tell ya one, better plan to have fun
don’t take yourself too serious.
Joe laughed, “Servin’ up my own words, Governor Richardson.”
“Yeah, how’s that tasting?”
“Not bad...actually. The crowd really likes her!” Joe laughed.
* * *
By the time she got to the song’s seventh regulation, she danced next to Chuck. She stepped sharply beside him with her back to the crowd, and he accommodated her by holding up the neck of his guitar. She alter the words from a woman’s point of view:
So in seventh heaven, there’s no other women,
and I’ll have you whenever I want to!
At just the right moment, she grabbed Chuck’s belt with her left hand index finger and pulled him close to her so they were standing face to face. Chuck slid his hand down the neck of the guitar for effect. The band paused as the crowd screamed, many jumped to their feet, cheering her on. Chuck’s laughter could be heard through her microphone. On Chuck’s cue, the band picked up where it left off, and Libby turned to the crowd, picking up the song perfectly on beat with the band.
By the time she finished, the entire audience was wildly cheering for her. Libby beamed, waving at the audience and offering props to the band. She hugged Chuck and each of the other members of her band, whispering her thank yous as she went down the line. They didn’t know her, but she surely appreciated them having her back.
Gordon Fisher reappeared on the stage and called all the contestants back to the stage. “Wow, this has been the most exciting regional sing-off I’ve ever had the privilege of promoting!”
“Did everyone have a good time this afternoon?” Shay Jameson stoked the crowd. A stagehand took a piece of paper to Fisher. He showed it to Jameson, who then motioned toward the screens, “let’s get those things down.” A man quickly pulled the screens dividing the stage, revealing the five judges as the crowd cheered loudly.
Whirlwind Love: Libby's Journey Page 9