Drag King

Chapter 2: Karaoke Night

Sliver

Caesar hung out with us in the McDonalds until 9, when we had to leave for open mike night at Generic Karaoke. 

I pulled on Spike's shirt, pointing at my watch. "What?" he said distractedly, looking down at me. "Oh!" He turned to Annie, snapping his fingers to get her attention.  "Come on! We've gotta go!"

"Hm?"  Caesar sighed musically, his pretty lips pulling into a dastardly charming smile.  I imagined him on a white horse, with an open shirt . . . and a six-pac. 

"Generic Karaoke," I said.  Blush, blush.  "We do open mike night there every Saturday."

"Oh," Caesar's smile dropped briefly.  "Can I come with?"

"Sure!" Spike said quickly, possibly forgetting that Caesar wasn't female again.

"There's room the the van . . ."  piped up Annie, who seemed to be moving Caesar to 'friend territory' in her mind.  They looked at me, waiting.  What the hell.  I shrugged.

"Alright, but you have to perform . . ."

Ceasar

I waved off my silent reservations as we approached the windowless white van in the McD's parking lot.  They probably just couldn't afford new paint after they got it . . .  The inside smelled strongly of Febreeze and the pine trees that covered every spare surface.

"You ever perform in front of people?" asked Spike. I frowned. Well, yes, but not in the traditional sense.  Or a legal one.

"Define 'perform.'"  Spike considered this, putting the van into drive.

"Say . . . musical chairs, recitals, singing in public --"

"Musical chairs?" interrupted Annie, scoffing.

"What?" Spike defended himself. "You're competing for cake in front of all those people --"

"Don't worry," I cut in. "I'm a dictator at this." I grinned at the weak pun.  Own it.

Silver moaned. Annie muttered, "Emphasis on dic."  That's right sister --

Spike stomped on the brakes, the tire's screech drowning out what Annie was about to elaborate.

"Spike?" asked Siv after a moment's silence.

"I . . . I," said Spike slowly, "I . . . we're there."

Silver

"You guys find a table, I'll get us numbers . . ."  I mumbled, passing the electric violin I used on stage to Annie, hurrying off.  I found Doe, the owner, to get our performance numbers.  He jumped when my request interrupted the nap he was taking on his desk.  He looked up and did a double take.

"Oh, it's just you.  I thought it'd be my ex . . . grrruopt . . . Silver right?  You're in that weird band . . . Reaper's Grimm?  No that's someone else . . ."

"Two performance tickets please . . ."

"You guys should get memberships already," Doe growled, pulling our two tickets.  "26, and 27; we're on 15 so you gotta wait a bit . . . the amount is . . ."  I walked away feeling sleepy. 

"Over here!"  Annie waved me over to our usual table: dead center, where the acoustics in the room were just so. 

"Where's Cae --"

"Here," he said coming over with what looked like three orders of onion rings.  "I just thought we could share."  He smiled charmingly as the rest of the band dug in.  I was confused; I knew for a fact that the onion rings cost fifteen dollars a plate here.  I leered at Caesar at the corner of my eye.  Well, he didn't look like someone who just spent forty-five bucks on snacks.  Although he was well groomed, his leather jacket was a little ratty . . . Whatever.  Didn't matter, really.

Our turn came up too soon.  "What are we gonna play?"  Spike hissed.  "We don't have a lead singer anymore!"

"So What by P!nk," I murmured placing my violin into it's stand gently.  I picked up the microphone, as Spike and Annie, started up.  "This song is dedicated to our past lead singer . . . um . . . what's his name . . ." Laughter from the crowd as they recognized the song, and intended recipient.

Nanananana . . . .

I saw Caesar choke on an onion ring as he laughed.

"So what? I'm a still a rock star," I sang.

"Now that we're done . . . ."

*************

Half-way through the song, my fingers twitched for the waiting instrument.  I picked up the violin.  I had done this before, so Annie was already semi-prepared to pick up the singing.  It took her a measure or two to start, and the patrons were laughing their asses off, including Caesar whose face, I noticed, was turning a painful shade of red.  The song ends with much cheering from the crowd.

"Twenty-seven!"  Caesar hopped up, pulling an acoustic guitar with him as went to the stage.  He grinned at us when he made it up.

"My turn."

Caesar

As I watched Silver and the others play, what wasn't surprising was how bad they were; statistically, just about every band made up of high schoolers fail.  But what confused me was that none of them were bad players.  Individually, they might have been -- ah, who cares.  It was a riot.

I had borrowed the guitar from a nice boy at the table next to us.  He had even given me a pick, which had a piece of paper with a mysterious set of seven numbers on it. I hung the strap around my neck, and grabbed the mike. 

"This is to my ex," I said, grinning wildly.  "Burn in hell, bitch!!"

I moaned the first stanzas into the microphone, ignoring as the guitar bumped against the stand, using my 'male' singing voice.

"Is it still me that makes you sweat?

Am I who you think about in bed?

When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking

as you're sliding off your dress?

I played with the intensity that I did with any performance; if I didn't give it my all, what was the point?  I contorted my body around the guitar, near the mike, as if being closer physically would somehow make me closer to the music.

Let's pick up, pick up," I whispered, then paused to breathe.

 I did the last verse a capella, for dramatic effect.   As the last chord rang out, silence greeted me. I cleared my throat, leaning back from the mic and relaxing my posture. "Uh, that was Panic! At the Disco, Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off . . ." I trailed off. Why were all staring at me? Suddenly a roar from the audience filled every crevice of the hinky bar.  I looked straight across the room, where my new-made friends were. Spike's jaw was grazing the floor, and Annie had what appeared to be a string of drool coming from her mouth.  Siv was staring straight into my eyes, with an intensity I wasn't aware she was capable of.  From the hour I knew her, she hadn't so much as raised her voice.

Well, I wondered, in what direction was this was going? As I walked off the stage I muttered to myself, "So what? I'm still a rock star . . ."