Bedfellows Strange

She had sworn up and down that she would never perform.

Looking at her, the shy kid, hiding behind glassless glasses, you'd agree.  Even in the world of Folk Music, the DIY, consciously casual (except for the hippies, who honestly thought "come as you are" was a way of life), she fit in only on the Backstage spectrum. 

Mostly, she looked scared. Of everything.

He wouldn't understand this fully, until he met her mother. 

She had whispered something to someone at the station. An open mic, a mysterious stage name.  Something was going on there tonight and he wanted to find out. 

He brought a friend of his (someone she was impressed with the first few times, and then grew to see as a disciple, a lackey, someone lower and more in love with him than she was.)

He watched her in the dark.

Awkward intro, a few strums in tune (thank god), she began singing a few words, vague, directionless, evaporating in the air as she released them.  No meaning to anchor them to anything.

"Tonight, found I, in a strange bed"

Onstage, she was suddenly earnest. A true folkie. A voice, yes, prettier than she would let on. It came through in phrasing. 

The song itself was joyless, the frustration of a 22 year old, the fear of selling out. Some whining. 

"You don't need the fat of The Man"

When she said those words, it seemed she was looking right at him. And damn it, if his brain didn't hear The Bell. When a piece of art HITS YOU. 

He suddenly saw that he'd never be able to make her happy, all his money, his fame, his talent, it was all FAT. She could leave him at any moment. For him, that was the most terrifying thought of all. 

His life was built on a loose webbing of connections.  People who loved him, unconditionally, even when drunk. He had money, when that failed, he had fame, when that failed, he had talent. He used to have charm too, but he gave that up. Too hard to maintain.

He watched her in the dark.

The song didn't do her any favors, weighed down by monotonous, vague lyrics, it conveyed its message. Not pleasant to hear or a new way of saying it. 

When she was done, the audience politely clapped. He gave her a slow standing ovation, so she would be sure to see him.

She did.

And they didn't speak for a few days in the office.

It didn't come up again, until months later. When he asked her to introduce him.

"Not like I'm asking you to sing," he teased.

And then, he brought her up for backup. 

Gradually, it happened.