Page 35 of Hang the Moon
The waitress nodded and led them through a winding mazeof tables all the way to the front of the bar, smack-dab in front of the stage. “Your waitress will be with you shortly.”
Annie slid her arms out of her jacket and tossed it over the back of her chair. Her shirt slipped, revealing the curve of her shoulder and the black strap of her bra. She adjusted the neck of her shirt, studying her menu, none the wiser that he suddenly felt like a thirteen-year-old again, getting his first glimpse of a woman’s undergarments.
He tugged at his collar, eyes flitting between the laminated pages of his menu, the stage, and Annie.
A waitress appeared, pen and pad in hand. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He gestured for Annie to go first.
“Can I get a piña colada?”
The waitress nodded and scribbled the order on the pad. “And for you?”
Straight rum, maybe? Despite his blustering, he was going to need liquid courage to get through this. He skimmed the drink list, searching for something strong. “How big is the Late Night Buddha Call bowl?”
The waitress made a circle with her hands, her fingers nowhere close to touching. “Big.”
Perfect. “Yeah, I’ll have one of those.”
“Do you know what you want to eat, or should I give you a minute?”
Annie folded her menu shut. “I’ll have the Hula Burger.”
His appetite had deserted him, his stomach a riot of nerves. “I’ll have the same.”
Once their waitress disappeared, Annie pointed to the edge of the stage, where a guy wearing a neon-orange floral-print shirt had a computer open and hooked up to the sound system. “I think that’s where you put your name down.”
He pushed his chair back and stood. “Be right back.”
“Hey, man,” the guy at the computer greeted him as he approached.
Brendon wiped his hands on his jeans and dipped his chin. “Is this where you sign up for karaoke?”
“Sure is. Got a song in mind?” The guy plopped a fat binder down in front of him. The vinyl cover was peeling, well-worn. “We’ve got this in case you need any inspo.”
Brendon shoved his hands inside his pockets so they wouldn’t shake. “You wouldn’t happen to know any songs without high notes, would you?” He grimaced. “Low notes, either?”
“So, no notes?” The guy smirked.
Was that really too much to ask? Brendon sighed. “I’ll, uh, peruse this. I guess.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Annie was watching him from their table, a soft smile playing at the edges of her mouth. She lifted her piña colada into the air, saluting him.
He turned back around and flipped through the book, eyes widening. “Annie’s Song” by John Denver.
He could take a crack at that.
He turned the binder around and jabbed his finger at the page. “This one.”
The guy stared at him, one pierced brow rising slowly. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah?”
The guy chuckled and scratched his cheek. “Your funeral, dude.” The guy spun his pencil between his fingers. “Name?”
“Brendon.”
The guy set his clipboard aside and turned his attention to his computer screen. “All right, Brandon.”
