Page 92 of That Reunited Feeling

How ungrateful would I be to squander this opportunity? Just as it would have been rude and ungrateful to refuse Tom’srecord store offer, it would be even more unreasonable to run away from the chance to do what the thousands of people looking at this stage can only dream of.

I might not be worthy of this moment I’ve been given, but I’m smart enough to know I should take it.

My eyes are still trying to adjust to the lights when Dominique turns to look at me and raises her eyebrows. Shit, I missed the cue to join in.

For half a second my throat is too tight for any sound to come out. But then as my lungs try to force out the line, my vocal cords relax, knowing they’re in good hands.

Knowing they’re doing what they were born to do.

Three numbers into the six-song set, and I couldn’t be more at home. This is like singing the backing track along with the albums playing in my ears while I clean. Except I’m not dusting—I’m on stage with theactualband. In front of thousands of people who believe I’m part of the actual band. And also in front of Tom, who’s probably in our box, but I haven’t had the nerve to look up there.

If I see him, it’ll make all this real, and it’s far easier to cope if I tell myself it’s just a fantasy.

The set list taped to the floor at my feet says “Get the Hell Out” is next.

The initial feeling of wanting to run away faded during the first number as I was swept up in the glorious high of music and adrenaline. But the sight of that song title brings the vomit-inducing sensation right back.

There’s no stopping the momentum, though. At the first two notes, the audience erupts with recognition. It’s one of the band’s biggest hits and always a crowd favorite.

And I must not fuck it up.

“Think you know this one,” Dominique tells the crowd, then turns and gives me a wink and a thumbs-up.

The faith she’s put in me tonight, the trust she’s given to a woman pretty much straight off the street, is unimaginable.

But that’s because she trusts Tom’s judgment. So I can’t let him down. I can’t let any of them down.

Dominique brings the crowd with her on the journey through the song, a journey toward the end of the second chorus when the music drops out and she and the backing singer hit a high harmony.

Despite the practice backstage, it now feels like sheer lunacy for me to attempt it.

God.

I can’t do this.

Dominique is almost at the end of the opening verse.

I have to join in with the first chorus.

I clench the mic tighter as my voice quakes along with the rest of my body.

One more verse and another chorus to go before The Note.

The guitarist turns and gives me a big grin, the drummer waggles his eyebrows at me, and the bassist ambles over as if being closer will offer moral support.

Dominique’s in the middle of the second verse.

I could just stop singing right before the note and leave it to her. That’s better than risking making a fool of myself and the band.

Decision made, my nerves begin to calm as I join in with the second chorus.

But Dominique runs toward me and leaps up on the platform beside me.

Shit. My stomach churns. I can’t stop singing right before The Note of Death with all eyes now on me as well as her.

We’re at the last line of the chorus.

How the hell do I get out of this now?

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