Page 35 of The Close-Up
“You ready?” Simon asks as we stand on a random street corner in the Castro district, just a few blocks from Bangerz.
“I think so.” I let out a breath and look around. The streets are crowded tonight, but no one seems to be paying attention to us. Typical San Francisco mentality. People are on the go and rarely care about what’s going on around them.
I wonder if they’ll pay attention to me when I start singing.
Just as the nerves creep up my stomach, I breathe, then focus on that giddy feeling that flooded me less than an hour ago. The high from witnessing Simon’s killer amateur strip club performance is what’s going to power me through this.
“Are you ready?” I ask him.
He holds up the harmonica that I’m surprised stayed in his jacket pocket even as he whipped it off during his striptease.
“Ready and raring to go. Are we still doing ‘How Will I Know’?”
“Yes. Let’s do it.”
I glance around as a crowd of people moves past us in every direction on this busy weekend night. Simon plays a few bars on the harmonica to get the right key for the song. I take a long, deep breath and hum softly to make sure I have the pitch right. And then I open my mouth and sing.
I don’t miss the way Simon’s eyes go wide as I nail the beginning of the first verse. Inside I’m soaring at his stunned reaction, then he catches up to me as he plays on the harmonica.
It’s a weird combo for sure—I don’t know if many street performers choose to play Whitney Houston’s most popular hits on the harmonica. But there’s a first time for everything. Just like this is the first time I’ve ever sang in public.
I’ve always loved singing karaoke at family gatherings. I’ve done it since I was a little kid. It’s a tradition in my family, to have karaoke going on in the background while we visit, eat, and play games. And everyone, no matter their vocal ability, is encouraged to sing. It’s about having fun rather than showcasing talent.
But my family has always complimented my voice. I can carry a tune well—I just never had the nerve to sing in front of a crowd. It’s one thing to sing for fun in front of supportive family at home. It’s a totally different ball game doing it in public, in front of strangers who aren’t afraid to heckle or berate you if they don’t like the way you sound.
Heckling isn’t what I hear, though. I hear whistles and a few soft cheers. A handful of people stop to watch. One person even pulls out their phone to record us.
I smile as I look at Simon, who is impressive on the harmonica. He winks at me as he glides it along his mouth. More and more people stop and as I hit the bridge of the song, there are “woos” and people clapping along.
At my final run of the chorus, I do my best to belt it out. When I finish, there’s a roar of applause.
I cup my cheeks with my hands at the response. I can hardly believe it. I sang in public, in front of strangers—and they actually liked it.
My heart races, but this time, not because of nerves. Because of the adrenaline. I did something I never thought I would. And I kicked ass.
I turn to face Simon and squeal. He pulls me into another hug, this time lifting me off the ground and spinning me around. When he sets me down, I can’t stop smiling.
“Holy shit,” we say in unison.
“That was amazing, Naomi. You have an incredible voice. Damn.”
“Thanks.” I scrunch my face, overwhelmed at his compliment and at the enthusiastic response from passersby.
“We need to celebrate,” he says, pocketing his harmonica. “We both conquered items on our fuck-it lists.”
My stomach growls, a reminder of how I skipped dinner because my nerves were so out of control in anticipation of how this night would go.
“Yes. Food. Now.”
He laughs. “You got it.”
Chapter Nine
Forty-five minutes later we’re sitting on a bench in front of a burrito joint on Eureka Street. I’m chowing down on a surf and turf burrito while Simon rips into a giant chicken quesadilla, both of us still riding the high from conquering our respective fuck-it lists.
“I haven’t had that much fun in...honestly, I can’t remember,” I say between bites.
“Really?”
