After her mother died, Isabel felt she had lost her bearings. For a brief time she rationalized that she could still study music. Maybe make it part of her minor degree. But then her mother’s words came back to her, and she knew that was not what was asked of her, nor what she had agreed to. Even though her world seemed so unsettled, there was one thing Isabel was sure of. She had made a vow and she would keep it.
She didn’t tell her sisters about it. They might try to interfere. This was something between Isabel and her mother.
As difficult as it was for her, Isabel stayed true to her promise. The music was still inside her, but once she was in college, she silenced it. The only time she sang her songs was in the shower when she knew no one else was around, and even then she didn’t belt it out the way she wanted. None of her friends knew she could sing or that she wrote music. It was another one of her secrets.
Somewhere along the way her game plan and her confidence vanished. If her own mother didn’t believe in her, why would anyone else? Maybe it was all part of growing up, or maybe it was just time for her to abandon her foolish dreams.
She didn’t have the faintest idea what she was supposed to do now. Her grand plans had been demolished. At least she had her degree in history, and it was a subject she truly enjoyed. She would never regret that. Maybe someday she’d be able to teach it and make others appreciate it as much as she did, even travel to some of the great historic sites she’d read about. It was time for her to make some decisions.
She might be heading in a different direction than she had planned, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still make music a part of her life, did it? Even though she didn’t sing publicly, she still continued to write songs. She had notebooks filled with them. More were on her laptop taking up memory. Before she began saving them to the cloud, she had saved them on flash drives. She used whatever she could get her hands on when a lyric or melody came to her. One of these days she’d take the time to put them all together. Then what? Once the busy work was done and she had them all in one place, what would she do with them?
She was pulled from her thoughts about the future when Larry, the bouncer for the club, called out to her. He stood in front of the double doors. Only those he allowed got inside. The others stood behind a corded velvet rope. On Friday and Saturday nights the line went halfway around the block.
Larry was a big man with an even bigger smile for those he liked, and Isabel was at the top of his list.
His eyes lit up when he saw her. “Hi, darlin’。 Ready to have fun tonight?”
Damon slapped a folded twenty-dollar bill in his hand and responded, “Yes, darlin’。 I’m ready.”
Grinning, Larry held the door open, and as Damon walked past, he whispered, “Smart-ass,” and then laughed.
The club was packed and so loud, people had to shout at one another to be heard.
Their friend Owen stood and waved, then gave a shrill whistle to let Isabel and Damon know where their group was seated. They’d scored a wide half-circle booth on the upper level. The dance floor was below them and the booth faced the stage. A popular DJ was running the show now, playing
one song after another. The floor vibrated to the beat. The club routine was always the same. It would get quiet during the break at ten while the Trio set up, and then the racket would begin again. A happy racket, Isabel thought, because everyone would pour onto the floor.
There were three other couples in the booth, and after greeting everyone and trying not to laugh at JoAnn’s platinum blond hair—her freshman-year roommate changed the color of her hair at least once a month—Isabel sat on the end across from Damon and ordered a beer. Damon was the designated driver tonight. He’d already told her he had to get on the road early tomorrow and didn’t want to be hungover. Besides, it was her turn to have a few.
After a couple of hours of laughing and reminiscing about their years together, Isabel was beginning to feel light-headed. She should have stopped after two beers and switched to a nonalcoholic beverage, but she didn’t. The air conditioner wasn’t keeping up with the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, and the cold beer tasted wonderful. In between sips she pressed the icy bottle against her cheek.
The Trio had set up on the stage. So far, four brave souls—all men—had taken turns standing in front of the crowd and singing. None of them was any good. There was some halfhearted clapping after each was finished. Then Crowley demanded to take a turn. Everyone near the stage tried to stop him. He wasn’t the least bit talented, but he was certainly tenacious, and he all but clawed his way up the steps. Some of the regulars obviously recognized him and began to moan and groan quite loudly before he even began his routine. Others outright booed him. Their reaction didn’t faze him. He told one awful joke after another.