The Funeral Singer (17 page)

We holed up backstage as the manager opened the club’s doors. We had to give people a chance to hang out before the show, build some suspense. As we waited, Andrea Little showed up to do her interview. The guys all gathered around, but she asked them to step back. “Mel’s the story tonight, folks. Her first big show.”

I was prepared for her first question, the one we all knew she would ask: “This is a lot different from singing at a funeral. How does it feel?”

The truth was, it felt awesome. There would be no grieving widows to avoid, no tears, no smothering sense of regret or guilt or pain. Just a bunch of fans having a great time. But I couldn’t say that. “It’s not so different, really,” I said instead. “Music is ultimately about emotion, about making people feel a certain way, no matter what the venue. That’s what I’m here to do tonight.”

Andrea smiled appreciatively at my answer, and Zed gave me a thumbs-up sign. Image management. Maybe I was getting the hang of it after all.

Finally, it was time for the show to start. As the tech guy dimmed the bar lights and brought up the stage lights, a few people hooted and whistled, and someone in the audience shouted, “Here we go.”

My stomach felt like a tiny machine gun was going off inside.

Zed grabbed my hand and gave me a quick kiss. “You’re going to be awesome.”

Tex had warned me the stage lights would be blinding, but I had no idea. I couldn’t see a thing. The room looked like one huge, pulsing shadow. And when Jon strummed the opening notes to “Merry Jane,” the shadow exploded in a roar.

The first set flew by in a blur. The crowd sang and cheered and hollered in all the right places. I’d always imagined myself playing it cool onstage, but after the first couple of songs, I knew it was hopeless. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. We sounded amazing.

Just before the last song of the first set, Bruno stopped and guzzled some water. “Thank you very much,” he shouted into his mic. “We have one more song for you before the break, but first I want to introduce you to the members of the band.”

Each of the guys stepped forward and waved as Bruno called out their names. When it was my turn, he recited my intro just the way Tex had coached him. “And last but not least, I want you to meet our new back-up singer.” A loud cheer went up, and Bruno paused and smiled. “Many of you know her as the Funeral Singer. Ladies and gentleman, the lovely Melanie Martin.”

The pulsing shadow erupted. “Mel. Mel. Mel.”

I walked to the edge of the stage, out of the lights, where at least I could scan the crowd. The place was completely packed, a sold-out show. I recognized a bunch of faces from school but there were lots of people I’d never seen before. Toward the left, near the exit door, was a tall guy with reddish hair. Pete? It looked like him, but he turned around before I could tell for sure. I bent down and slapped the hands of a few of the fans in front of the stage and then blew a kiss up toward the balcony. A silly gesture, but they seemed to love it.

As I walked back to my mic to get ready for “White Out,” the crowd continued its chant. “Mel. Mel. Mel.”

My heart was racing, and I couldn’t help but grin. Definitely no tears. These people were having a blast. They loved me, and they wanted more.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The second set went by just as quickly as the first, and then it was time to get ready for my encore. I slipped into the dressing room backstage and changed from my jeans into one of my black dresses—one with a fitted waist and capped sleeves.

I crept to the side of the darkened stage, mic in hand. Tex had advised us not to rush our encore entrances. “You want to give the crowd time to work itself into a frenzy,” he’d said. And they had. The club was lit up with waving cell phones and the occasional lighter, and everyone was clapping and shouting. “Grime. Grime. Grime.”

My legs began to shake, just as they had that day in the cemetery. It was only a couple of months ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. I grabbed the railing to the steps at the side of the stage. My heart raced and beads of sweat formed along my hairline. The waving phones began to blur before me.

“Are you alright?” Bruno appeared at my side. “Your face is kind of pale.”

“I’m fine. It’s … ” Damn it. I’d been so psyched for this. I did not need to have a freak-out session. Especially not in front of Bruno.

“Hey, don’t worry. Happens to the best of us.” Bruno crouched down in front of me. “Take a few deep breaths. Like this. In through the nose and out through the mouth.”

“Um, Bruno? I’m getting ready to sing, not have a baby.”

Bruno sneered, but it was somehow a kind sneer. “I’m telling you, it works. Try it.”

I did. Once, twice, three times. Sure enough, my heart rate slowed down and the shaking stopped. I loosened my grip on the railing.

“Better?”

“Better.”

Bruno straightened up. “You’ve got this.”

I crossed the stage to stand on the black X Tex had taped down for me. It was one thing to be up there with the whole band but a whole other feeling to stand there alone. I closed my eyes and took one last deep breath.

I picked out a shadowy face in the balcony and focused on it.
No idea who you are, dude, but tonight, you’re Danny Boy, and I’m singing to you.

Slowly, a single spotlight shone on me, bright and hot. I couldn’t even see the balcony anymore, much less the guy. That was okay. I’d imagine him. Even better, since this was not just a funeral song but also a love song, I’d imagine him as Zed.

As the crowd quieted down, a dimmer light came up on Sean Lewis toward the back of the stage and he began playing the first mournful notes of “Danny Boy” on his pipes.

I focused on my imaginary Zed and sang.

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen and down the mountainside.

The summer's gone, and all the leaves are falling.

’Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.

Sean was playing the song a bit slower than I was used to, but it worked, made it sound even more sorrowful. I settled into the gentle rhythm and allowed myself to become the woman in the song—so devoted that my love would persist even into my grave.

But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow

Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.

’Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be,

You’ll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be.

If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

And I shall rest in peace until you come to me.

Oh, Danny Boy, Oh, Danny Boy, I love you so.

By the time I finished, I was covered with sweat. The spotlight had grown brighter and hotter with each passing verse. Not only that, but halfway through the song, my vision of Zed had somehow morphed into someone else.

As the last notes sounded from Sean’s pipes, I lowered my head and closed my eyes, and the spotlight faded to black.

The crowd remained completely silent. Suddenly, the stage lights came up. Sean had slipped off stage and now I was up there alone. I froze. Tex hadn’t told me what to do once the song was over. Should I have slipped offstage, as well? Should I bow? Wave? Say something? Sing something?

I gripped my mic. “It sure was nice to sing that song without a corpse in the room.”

Everyone laughed, the heavy mood broken, and just like that we were back in club mode. The crowd began cheering and chanting again. “Mel. Mel. Mel.”

I turned and stepped offstage as the rest of the band ran on.

Zed grabbed my wrist. “Mel, we have two more songs.”

“I know, but I really need to sit down. You can get through ‘Altogether Blue’ without me. I’ll be back on for ‘Medium Well,’ I promise.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m hot, and a little dizzy, maybe, but I’ll be fine.”

He gave me a quick kiss. “Great job, babe.”

“Thanks.”

I grabbed a water bottle and sat down on the bottom step behind the curtain at the side of the stage, resting my head in my hands.
Babe.
I was Zed’s girlfriend. In fact, next week at prom, it would become public knowledge that I, Melanie Martin, was dating the guy half the girls in Northern Virginia and soon the whole country and maybe even the whole freaking world wanted to be with.

So, what had happened out there? Why did
his
face pop up halfway through “Danny Boy”?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I woke up Saturday morning feeling horrible. I’d downed exactly one drink—a shot of whiskey after our last encore to try to erase a certain image from my brain—but I felt as hung over as if I’d had five. Even worse, despite the fact that I’d tried to hydrate between every song, my throat was scratchy.

My first thought when I opened my eyes: I’m going to suck at All State. My second thought: So what? I just needed to get through this concert so I could get on with my life. My real life.

I lay in bed for a few minutes replaying last night in my mind. The part where Zed kissed me, the part where Bruno introduced me, the part where I went out and sang “Danny Boy” and pretty much stole the whole freaking show. Now I knew why Tex had added that to our encore. In fact, I knew why he’d agreed to manage The Grime, and even gave us our audition in the first place.

For the past two years, All State had meant so much to me. It was the highlight of my singing career, but now it felt like a kid’s game, something I’d outgrown on my way to something bigger, better and a whole lot more fun.

Lana rode down with me. She’d only ever attended one of my choral concerts before, back when we were freshmen, but suddenly she seemed interested. I didn’t ask why. Even if my suspicions were right, she’d never admit it. I’d been pushing for her to give Pete a chance for so long, and she hated it when I was right.

“I only got to talk to Bruno for a few minutes after the show,” Lana said as we drove. “He said he was tired and didn’t want to stay out.”

Thankfully I was driving and didn’t have to look at her. The vision I’d had during “Danny Boy” had haunted my dreams all night long. “It’s more exhausting than you might think,” I said. “You have so much energy while you’re up there and then you crash when it’s over.”

“I guess.” Lana’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “But I don’t think he’s that into me.”

I could feel her staring hard, looking for a reaction. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “He’s going to prom with you. Guys like Bruno don’t go to prom unless they’re into you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s doing it as a favor to Zed. Or maybe he thought he was into me but decided he’s not. Maybe he’s found somebody he’s more into.”

My stomach did a little flip. Stupid stomach. It had no business flipping over Bruno. First of all, he was Lana’s. Second of all, the chances he felt anything for me were nil. Yes, he’d been nice to me last night, but that meant nothing. If he had his way, I’d be out of The Grime in a heartbeat. Third, I was dating Zed. Sexy, beautiful, amazing Zed. “He was tired, that’s all,” I said finally. “Don’t turn it into something it’s not.”

Whether I was trying to convince Lana or myself, I wasn’t sure.

***

The auditorium was packed. Most years it was about a quarter full, mostly with parents and a few grandparents, but today it was standing room only, and it seemed as though everyone had a video camera in their hand.

I smiled at Ms. Jensen when I reached the staging room. I hoped she felt bad about taking away my two measly solo lines. This competition could have been all over YouTube. Did she expect any of those people to post videos of Sadie? Doubtful.

While my chorus mates warmed up their voices, I grabbed a hot tea with lemon. I wanted to disappear into a corner and nurse my throat and my throbbing head, but kids from the other schools kept coming up and asking me to autograph their programs.

After writing, “Never stop singing—Mel” for about the fiftieth time, I glanced up and noticed Pete watching me from across the room. He was his usual self—calm, cool, collected, the most confident guy in chorus. I put away my pen and walked over to him. Part of me wanted to know whether he’d been at the concert last night, but a bigger part of me didn’t want him to know I cared.

“How are you doing?” Pete asked.

“I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Right.” Pete nodded. “Guess you don’t get nervous anymore.”

“Yeah, well. Not much to be nervous about, since … ” Out of nowhere, tears stung my eyes. Seriously? I was going to cry over two stupid lines? I forced a smile. “Anyway, I’m good. Awesome. Had a great show last night—amazing crowd.” My voice was growing louder as I talked, and kids were turning to stare. I wanted to shut up, but I couldn’t help myself. “Our manager thinks we’re ready to start touring. Maybe even some international dates—Europe, Australia.” I was practically shouting now, and I was making it up as I went along. Tex had been in a great mood last night after the show, and he had mentioned doing some gigs in Baltimore and Philadelphia next month, but Europe hadn’t quite come up.

“That’s great.” Pete put his hand on my arm. The look in his eyes was—what? Concern? Pity? Disgust? “Listen, I’m sorry I missed your solo last night. I needed to run after the first set.”

So he had been there. For some reason, this made me tear up again. I wanted to give him a hug, but instead I shrugged. “Thanks for coming. I know you needed to be ready for … ” I gestured toward the stage door. My voice caught in my throat, and I turned and ran toward the girls’ bathroom. I closed a stall door behind me and leaned against it as a single tear escaped and ran down my cheek.