Who's Your Paddy?

Chapter 4

"I'd like to dedicate this first song to the best bird in the world." Liam's voice boomed out of the loud speakers.

The laughter in the room was immediate. It was obvious the joke was on me, and a play on the note I left him the night before. It was a little embarrassing to know he shared that story with others. But the flip side, and ultimately what turned it into a compliment in my eyes, was the thought behind it. There was a thought process at work for him to turn an innocent note of mine into stage fodder and take me from spectator to participant in one fell swoop.

The song he chose to dedicate was a beautifully slow ballad, 'Lakes of Pontchartrain'. A sad and poignant tune about an Irishman who meets the woman of his dreams only to find out she's already spoken for.

Roisin leaned over and shouted over the din of the music. "He's a voice that could melt butter, aye?"

I shook my head in vigorous agreement. "Amazing." Liam's voice blew me away. I had no idea he'd end up being so talented. The velvety tone that I'd experienced earlier was magnified a hundred times over when he sang. There was a warmth and magnetic appeal to the timbre of his voice that was overwhelmingly alluring.

Mick pointed to my drink and raised his eyebrows. I covered the top of the glass with my hand and politely waved him off.

Not long after the music began, people streamed into the pub seemingly out of nowhere. The friendly neighborhood pub shifted into an absurd high gear and the difference was palpable. People were clapping along, singing and dancing about as if it were a Friday night.

With Tom playing the Irish hand drum, David on whistles and Liam on guitar, their sound was crisp, high energy and very traditional. They weren't playing many jigs and reels, but their style was unmistakably Irish. It didn't take the band long to have the crowd eating from their hands and watching Liam direct the effort was a little like watching someone conduct a perfectly tuned chorus.

On some of the faster songs, he'd sing with his entire body, posturing in ways that made it impossible not to get involved. I found myself clapping along. Likewise on the slower songs, the passion came from a deep place; one I found myself hoping to tap into as I succumbed to delicious tingles.

The power he had over the room was a heady thing to witness and a highly dangerous thing to fall prey to.

Roisin, as was her custom, was no longer satisfied to have her nose buried in a newspaper. Her entire demeanor became animated--shifting between being riveted to tears on some of the slow songs, to singing loudly along with the faster ones.

It was as if the pride of an entire country rested on her petite shoulders.

Mick, who was very busy behind the bar, also sang along to every song as he worked. He found a way to punctuate the fervor of the music perfectly with every movement. As if the act of mixing drinks was another instrument in the band.

Even the old codgers in the booth were smiling and singing along.

I shouted at Mick. "Is it always like this when they play?"

"Nearly always, yep."

"Wow, this is something. He's really funny too."

"Aye, involves people. It's partly why they're so good. Folks like bein' part of the show."

I was exhausted after the band finished their set. The emotional highs and lows captured the entire room and left me feeling as though I was right up on stage with them. I also hadn't remembered a time I'd laughed along that hard with any performer.

I was still catching my breath when a warm hand clasped mine and tugged.

I turned to see Liam's smiling face. He didn't ask. He just held on to my hand and pulled, enticing me to follow him. We held hands throughout the length of the pub. He lead the way into the back room and through a second door out to a large cobble-stoned patio area.