“Yes, damn you, I am. The one high point to all of this is that your Last Minute Man planning will keep it small scale.” Tyler tugged open the door to Speakeasy and got blasted by a roar of sound.
“You were saying?” Tucker grinned and crutched through the door, past the hostess station where Rachel Neely was taking the cover charge, and into the crowd.
Dear God, it’s standing room only, Tyler thought, dazed as she followed him inside. A cheer went up at the sight of her. She shook hands, uttered greetings, and accepted enthusiastic high fives and fist bumps to the tune of applause. Where did they all come from? she wondered.
Tucker made it to the stage first. Somebody gave him a mic. Evidently he was to be emcee for this shindig. “Hey there, everybody! Who’s ready for some music?”
More cheers and claps. The rest of the cast and a handful of other folks she’d acted with in the past took up the tables in a semi-circle immediately by the little stage.
Tucker gestured to a marker board mounted on an easel beside the stage. “So here’s how this is gonna work. We’ve got our performers listed in tiers. The more you love ’em, the more it’ll cost to have them sing for you. The bottom tier will cost you five bucks per song per person. The top is pricier. Twenty bucks per song, per person. You want a duet, you get to pick who sings it and pay for the pair. Group stuff, same deal. We encourage you to pool your funds and remember that this is for a good cause, so don’t be shy! You can pick anything in the book over here. We’ll start off with a freebie to kick off the night. This one’s for everybody.” Tucker waved them all to the stage.
It was positively highway robbery. But as the group of them squished together on the stage, people lined up, cash and checkbooks in hand. At least half a dozen folks stuffed money in Tucker’s jar as they kicked things off with a rousing rendition of “Any Way You Want It.”
“He should be a snake oil salesman,” said Brody, flopping into a chair beside Tyler as Piper—one of the top tier singers—got drafted for “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend.”
“Clearly,” she agreed. “I can’t believe people are paying money for this. And I can’t believe how many people are here.”
“Might could’ve done with a change of venue. Ah, but the theater doesn’t have pizza,” he said, offering a smile to the waitress arriving with a tray.
“Large supreme, no mushrooms, due to the lady’s allergy. You want another beer, Brody?”
He tipped his half-full bottle at the waitress and said, “Good on this, but maybe a couple pitchers of water with lemon. We’re all gonna need them.” The waitress left and Brody reached for a slice. “Dig in. No telling how long we’ll be down before they call us again.”
Tyler didn’t move.
“What? Aren’t you hungry?”
“You already ordered?”
“I knew you’d be getting off work later than most of the rest of us. Figured I’d have something pretty much ready when you got here so you could scarf between songs. Would you rather have something else?” He started to lift his hand to signal the waitress.
“No, no, this is fine. Thanks.” He remembered her preference for pizza. He’d been considerate. Points to him, she thought, grabbing a piece.
Tyler got called up right after Piper for her first solo of the night on “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret. Somebody figured out how to operate the lights on the tiny stage and spotlit her for it. That made it easier, more like a real performance. The crowd kept them steadily busy with numbers from Grease, Les Miserables, and a handful of
tunes from the early seasons of Glee, interspersed with Patsy Cline, Garth Brooks, and Carrie Underwood. She sang “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart” with Mitch, who’d been reluctantly drafted to the chorus for the show when Nate discovered he could move his feet. She made Ethel Merman proud as she dueled with Brody on “Anything You Can Do.” And it wasn’t weird. That made it easier to bring her A game and give the people what they wanted—and they wanted a lot. Tucker was making an effort to rotate through the singers, giving her and Brody a short break between numbers because, as he’d predicted, despite the price, they were the most popular choices.
She guzzled a glass of the lemon water, had another slice of pizza as her toes tapped to Tucker’s rendition of “L-O-V-E.”
“So what’s the deal with Ollie?” Brody asked.
Tyler glanced at him. “What’s what deal with Ollie?”
“Your dad said something about a neurologist?”
“Oh, that. About four months ago he had a—well the medical term is long and hard to pronounce, but basically a spinal stroke. It led to unilateral paralysis in his left side, so he’s having to go through physical therapy and learn how to walk again.”
“Jesus. That’s horrible.” He laid a hand over hers. “I’m really sorry you’ve had to go through that. Both of you. It must be really tough.” The sincere concern on his face gave her pause.
“It hasn’t been easy, but we’re managing. His prognosis is good. The neurologist thinks he’ll make an almost full recovery. But it’ll be PT for several more months.”
Tucker ended his number and signaled that she was up again. Tyler finished inhaling her slice and tossed back more water to wash it down.
“How old is he?”
“Seven,” she said absently, heading for the stage.
As the opening bars of “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” began to play, she looked out at the audience and arched a brow. “Really?” Somebody cheered from the back of the room. Tyler just shook her head and offered up a little wave as she launched into the song. Okay, fine. They want 1990s melodrama, I’ll give it to them. She hammed it up, wringing every ounce of parodied emotion out of the piece. She glanced at Brody, expecting to see him grinning in approval. But instead, his face was white, and he looked like he’d been sucker punched. What was that about?