How We Deal With Gravity(86)

It’s all hands on deck tonight. Max learned how to work the video editor on my phone, and he said he was going to record the reopening. I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for Mason—he said he would try to come. He’s been helping out at the bar over the last two weeks, getting things ready, and sorting through the inventory. He always understood that side of the business better than me—he spent a lot of time here with my dad.

Barb’s running the front door, making the list of acts for the night as people sign up. I told her to cap it at twenty or else we’d never make it home, but I can already tell she’s blown that—the lists looks to be about two pages long. I guess it’s a big night though, so what’s one all-nighter to kick Dusty’s off with a bang?

“We should probably get things started,” she says, yelling above the crowd of thirsty college coeds in between us. Cole brought in a friend to help work the bar, and I’m starting to wish he brought two when some of the customers start to push their way up front and pound on the bar.

“Hey!” Claire whistles down at the far end, standing up on one of the stools and holding a bottle over her head. “All right folks, listen up. This is Avery’s first night, and we’re all figuring this out, so cut us some slack, okay? We’ll get to you, and you’re in for some great music tonight, so just take it down a notch and relax.”

A few of the men start to applaud her, mostly because they like the view of her black Dusty’s shorts from where they’re standing, but they’re the right men to have on her side—big, tattooed, and ready to step in if the college guys get out of hand. Things seem to settle into place after that, and Cole and his friend Derrick get the drinks flowing fast.

I take the mic from Barb and flip it to on, tapping once or twice until I hear the pop of the sound. I’ve always been behind the stage—in the dark, listening to Mason or my dad—or off to the side while my father did the announcing. My next task has my arms sweating, and my hands shaking uncontrollably; when I step up on the stage and see nothing but a sea of ball caps, cowboy hats, big hair, and hundreds of faces, I almost fall off the stage.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, remembering how simple my dad always kept things, and I go for it. “Hey there everyone. Welcome to Dusty’s!” I say, and the entire place busts out in applause. It chokes me up to see how much people love Dusty’s, because I know it’s really a reflection of how much they love my dad, and I have to pause for a few seconds and hold my hand over my mouth until I can regain my composure.

“Whooooo, sorry. I’m probably going to do that a few times tonight. Thanks for bearing with me,” I say, getting a little laughter from the crowd. “So are we all ready for some music?”

This time, there’s thunderous applause, and I hear Claire’s whistle in the back again, too, which helps me to smile.

“All right, well, my dad—Ray Abbot—ran this open mic night for thirty years, and he always kept it simple. You get up here, do your thing, and if we like you, we’ll have you back. So, how about we all give a big welcome to…” I look down at the clipboard Barb handed me for the first name. “Sam…I am?”

I’m starting to think Barb maybe wrote the name down wrong, and I’m squinting, trying to decipher her handwriting, hoping like hell I didn’t completely just butcher some poor guy’s name. When I look back up, a guy in a cowboy hat is making his way through the crowd. “Sam? Come on up, you’ll have to tell us the story about your na—”

Mason pulls the hat off as soon as he clears the crowd, and shoots me the most playful and proud smile. I haven’t seen it since the days before he left for his tour, and I know he’s up to something because the closer he gets to me, the tighter his lips have to fight not to break out into laughter. Once he reaches me, he puts the hat on my head and holds his hand out for the mic.

“May I?” he whispers, and I just shake my head at him and hand it over.

“You…are up to no good, aren’t you?” I say, crossing my arms.

“Hey folks, let’s hear it for Avery Abbot. I think she’s doing a great job, don’t you?” he says, walking the length of the stage and raising his hands encouraging people to get up from their seats and cheer for me. My face is on fire, I’m so embarrassed, and when he passes me again, I grab his arms and force them down, begging him to stop shedding the spotlight on me.

“All right, well…I’m not Sam. Sorry to disappoint everyone. I know a lot of you here tonight, and for those of you I don’t know, my name’s Mason Street…” and as soon as he says his name, the sound of screaming women takes over everything else. “Thank you…thanks.”

He actually has to wait for the screaming to stop, shaking his head a few times and tossing his arms up to me, honestly a little embarrassed by the amount of attention he’s getting.

“A’right, A’right…I’ve got more to say, so just hang on a bit, and then we’ll start entertaining you all,” he says, finally getting the crowd to break. “So here’s the deal—it’s not really an open mic night. This list you’ve got Avery? It’s bogus.”

He tosses the clipboard down to his mom and she gives him a wink and then smiles at me with a shrug. Holy damn! Barb Street pulled one over on me!