“Careful, are you ok?”
I can’t speak and instead barely nod while gnawing on my bottom lip. Our faces are inches apart and I have an overwhelming impulse to close the distance between our lips. The buzzing sensations that are coursing through my lower region continue and shoot straight up, accelerating my already pounding heart. My breath expels loudly in short pants.
I step back, but he is still gripping my arms. He leans in and whispers “Don’t sweat it. You did really great today.”
Managing a very weak smile, I pull away from his hold and thank him again before bolting out the door. I sprint down the hall and break right in front of Sally, the scary girl at the reception desk. She has midnight black hair with a single purple streak, a nose-ring and a tattoo on her exposed cleavage. She looks very bored as she reads a magazine and barely glances up at me.
“Hi, I’m Leila. I need to leave my contact info with you.” She wordlessly passes me a piece of paper and a pen that I use to scribble my name and cell phone number on. She then takes it from me with a look of complete disgust and resumes reading her magazine.
She is scary as hell.
I mutter a thank you and then sprint out the front door to make my way to my car. Once inside, I slam my head against the steering wheel and set off the horn. The hysterical part is that I am parked directly in front of the studio, and I can see Scary Sally watching me out the front door. Ha…Ha, right?
Could this get any worse?
As I drive my humiliated ass back to Hoboken, I try to analyze what the hell happened in that studio. I’m almost afraid to hope for this job. Let’s fast forward and assume I get hired…then what? Can I survive being in his presence daily, when I couldn’t make it through a twenty-minute audition?
What am I saying? Of course I want this job. Plus, I don’t even know this man. He probably is a complete jackass. As I try to convince myself that Jack is indeed a jackass, a tiny voice in the back of my demented brain says, “
You’d better hope so
.”
* *
It’s now Friday, day three of waiting for “the phone call.” I’m sitting at my little table poking my phone, actually willing it to ring. We have another show tonight, and I’ve been sitting here for four, five, eight hours? I have no clue. Since Tuesday, I have completely lost track of time. I know I have to go on with my life or I can simply call them. But after my embarrassing behavior, I would rather stick needles in my eyes.
I’m running late
again
, so for the third night in a row I mechanically go through the motions of getting ready for our show. I feel like a zombie sucked my will to live and has turned me into a zombie. The audition and waiting for them to call me has me completely unhinged. I have never been so consumed by my thoughts as I have these last three days. My anxiety has festered into a constant pounding in my chest. I know I impressed them, but I guess my ridiculous conduct overrode my performance.
My phone is now sitting on the floor outside my shower. I keep moving back the curtain to stare at it, and still nothing.
Damn it
.
I need to put my ass in gear. At least my beauty routine takes hardly any time at all. My hair is brown, long and wavy, and I usually dry it slightly and then let it finish drying naturally. I start on my makeup next, which takes two minutes since I only wear mascara and lipstick. My eyes are an ordinary golden brown in color, but I have thick black lashes that help them out a bit. Having typical Italian coloring, just like my dad, affords me to never have to wear foundation or blush. That’s a plus, because I hate the stuff.
I numbly start to look for an outfit to wear while still gripping my phone. Tonight I decide on a short skirt, high heels, and a funky top. I am five-six, but in heels my legs appear fairly long, and they become my best asset. This is my typical performance uniform. I call it a uniform because I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it in my everyday life. The normal, everyday Leila dons a ponytail, jeans and sneakers.
I leave my apartment well after nine and head to my car. We perform every Wednesday through Saturday at The Zone. Sundays are reserved for private parties while Mondays and Tuesdays are our days off.
Since the audition, my nerves had me acting somewhat robotic during my performances. The good news is no one really noticed, except for my band. The bad news is tonight we will have a big crowd. We always do on Friday and Saturday nights. I really need to snap out of it.
The bar is only a few minutes away. We don’t start until ten and I usually like to get there early to chat with the girls. Alisa and Lori are two of the bartenders and my closest female friends. Since I am once again late though, I’ll have no time to chat.
When I pull into the lot, I can see the familiar pick-up truck that belongs to Matt Rizzo, our lead singer. The Jeep that Logan drives is not here yet. He’s our guitarist and Matt’s older brother. He usually picks up our drummer and bassist, Evan and Joseph.
Matt can’t be bothered chauffeuring anyone around. Logan always offers to pick me up as well, but I prefer to drive myself. I don’t drink while I’m working, and I like to high tail it out of there as soon as we are done.
This is our band singer, guitarist, bassist, drummer, and I as back-up. I also play keyboards when the song requires it. We call ourselves Cliffhangers. I personally think it’s a really dumb name.
We are pretty good. The Zone is jammed most weekends and we all like to believe its Cliffhangers that brings in the crowds. The pay is decent, and I can survive on it just fine most of the time. I am pretty low maintenance. The boys play at weddings and bar mitzvahs every so often on Sundays. I hate working private parties. I feel they are complete and utter torture. I’ll work them only if I need to supplement my salary from The Zone when I’m having a financially rough month. My dad always offers me money, but he works hard and I’d rather he spend it on himself. He doesn’t, of course. Except for his baseball games and his CD obsession of old rock bands, he saves every penny he makes.
On my salary, I can afford to live in a nice apartment in Hoboken. It’s small but really cool, and I love it. It’s close to work, the city, and my dad’s house in Cliffside Park, the town where I grew up. Cliffside faces New York City and overlooks the Hudson River. That’s where I met the boys. Cliffhangers is a tribute to the streets we all lived on that overlook those cliffs. Like I said, it’s a dumb name.
Most of my expenses are just the rent and utilities. I drive an old Honda that’s in good condition and gets me where I need to go. My wardrobe is Jersey Mall. Even my food bills are minimal because I tend to mooch a lot of meals off dad.
Dad did a great job raising me. My mom Marie died in a car accident when I was ten, and I miss her every day. We had a normal, happy family life. Mom worked hard as a nurse yet always found time for my extracurricular activities. She never missed a recital or spring pageant. Mom was my biggest fan. She said I had the voice of an angel. It pains me today that she is not here with me, but I know she is in spirit. I like to think she was the guardian angel who sent Patti into the bar last weekend. I wear her wedding band every day to feel connected to her even after all these years.
I look a lot like her, but my personality is strictly Anthony Marino’s or dads. Quiet, shy, cautious, and naturally a skeptic. Mom was more a free spirit and impulsive. Going for that audition on Tuesday was the craziest thing I have ever done.
Anthony is the best dad a girl can ask for. He works for a newspaper in the city. He’s been there more than twenty years. I feel as if he never took a risk because of me. He probably doesn’t love his job, but it’s stable. Being a huge Yankee fan, this job affords him a chance to see a game every few weeks during baseball season, pay the mortgage, and to live comfortably.
Dad was a hottie years ago. Still an attractive man at fifty, he has aged a bit since mom died. I’m always looking for a nice woman to set him up with, someone to care for him and love him. He deserves it. Dad says he already found the love of his life. He wonders if there is another waiting for him. The hopeless romantic gene I definitely inherited from him.
As I make my way through the parking lot, Ace, our trusty bouncer, sits on his usual perch. I love Ace. He is a security guard during the week, but moonlights as Sal’s bouncer on Friday and Saturday nights. He is saving up to start his own security business.
Ace is as intimidating as they come, but deep inside he is a softie. He has a sweet wife named Cindy, a little girl who adores him and a boy on the way. The day Ace found out, he was already handing out cigars. Seeing him with his family makes it hard to see him as a brute that could bash someone’s face in. Thank god I never witnessed Ace in action, but I’ve heard plenty of stories.
Ace looks up as I walk towards him. “Here she is. How are you doin’ gorgeous?”
“Hi Ace. I’m ok, trying to keep myself sane.” I give him a brief hug before apologizing to my friend that I’m running late and can’t stay to chat.
He shakes his head and laughs at me. He knows my story and is just another one of my friends who feels I have nothing to worry about. I really wish I felt the same. I did so many things wrong during that audition. I’m sure I’ll be the butt of jokes at Devil’s Lair parties for years.
The Zone is my home away from home. Sal the owner is my dad’s best friend and has known me for most of my life. I spent a lot of time in this bar, even before I sang here. Dad played a huge part in convincing Sal to hire us and add entertainment. At first Sal scoffed at the idea but then jumped full steam ahead once it grew on him. He built a stage and added the proper acoustics. It was a good idea, and business has boomed ever since. This meant less weddings and bar mitzvahs, thank God.
There is already a decent crowd filling The Zone. My buddies Alisa and Lori wave from the bar. They are a team and always work the same shifts. Once Sal added the entertainment, he went all out with the advertising. Alisa and Lori are pretty girls with perky breasts. They show off the bold white typeface “THE ZONE” nicely on their black t-shirts. Well-placed advertising is Sal’s forte. Along with the t-shirts that the staff wears, mostly by busty cutie pies, he has placed “THE ZONE” flyers on every inch of northern Jersey.
The Zone was a dive. Now it’s a dive with rocking entertainment. Those are Matt’s words, not mine. Speaking of Matt, the self-proclaimed “god’s gift to women” is sitting at a booth flirting with Kelly, one of the waitresses.
At the bar, Alisa is busy filling a pitcher with beer. Alisa is a brunette with big brown eyes, a pretty smile and really nice boobs. She is shorter than me and prefers her converse sneakers to wearing heels. Lori is mixing a fancy looking cocktail while watching Matt. Lori is a stunning redhead with emerald green eyes, freckles on her nose and even nicer boobs than Alisa. Even though Lori is tall, she has absolutely no problem wearing heels. When she and Alisa work the bar, Lori towers over her.
As I approach, they both immediately start chatting at the same time. Alisa is rambling about the best time she had with her boyfriend Logan the previous night. They make a perfect couple. Logan is nuts about her.
Lori is sulking about Matt not giving her the time of day. She wants him to be her boyfriend desperately and really can’t take a hint. I wish she would move on because he simply is not worth it. I have firsthand experience in that subject.
The girls and I met freshman year of high school and we have become the best of friends. Alisa did not go to college. She hated everything about school and wanted no part of continuing. Instead she started to work for Sal as a waitress and quickly realized that this was also something she despised. She decided to take a bartending course and effectively found her calling.
Lori, on the other hand, went to college and graduated with a business degree. She says The Zone is just a stop on the way to the perfect job. She won’t settle and doesn’t care how long it takes. We all know Lori doesn’t have a clue what that perfect job is. Alisa convinced Lori to take the same bartending course, as it wouldn’t hurt her to make decent tips while waiting for her dream job to appear. So here they are, and so far it’s worked out for both of them, as well as for Sal.
Listening to them both as they speak tandem, I am barely able to interrupt long enough to excuse myself.
“Girls, I gotta go.” These are the first words I’ve uttered during our ten-minute conversation. Neither of them seemed to notice. They are a bit self-involved, but if I needed them for any reason, they would be there for me in a heartbeat. They ignore my stress levels because they both feel I’m being absurd and that I most definitely got the job. Everyone I know seems to think that but me.
Listlessly, I head to the back room with my purse and jacket. Sal keeps a table and chairs back there for our breaks. Some lockers line the back wall. The rest of the room serves as an overstocked storage closet.
With my phone firmly wedged in the back pocket of my skirt, I pull it out to curse at it. “Fucking ring already!”
“Have you taken your meds today Leila?” Matt says while walking into the room.
“Shut up Matt, I’m not in the mood.” I say, frowning into my uncooperative piece of shit phone. He smirks at me without sympathy. He can be such a jackass.
“Yeah, shut up Matt.” Joseph our drummer walks into the room and immediately pulls me into a big hug. “They will call Lei. Stop stressing…I know they will.”
“You’re making her head even bigger than it is.” Matt retorts. While watching us, he sits at the table. The man with a Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon as a head has the nerve to say I’m big headed. That’s actually funny. Rolling my eyes at him, I turn back to Joseph.
“Put it out there Lei and it will happen.” Joe kisses my temple and throws Matt a look before walking out the door.
Joseph Torrone is the teddy bear in our group and a total sweetheart. You wouldn’t know that by just looking at him. He is kind of scary with his buzzed crew cut, tattoos and dark brown eyes. Shoulder to shoulder he’s built like a linebacker. You’d probably be afraid to bring him home to meet your mom and dad. But then once your mom got to know him, she would be hoping he proposed to you by dessert… not so much your dad.