A Dream for Two (4 page)

***

Elise barely slept the night before the next open mic night. She kept going over her set in her mind and she kept rehearsing what she’d say to Dylan if she saw him. It drove her crazy the way he kept saying she was just a waitress. He was in the same situation as her, why wasn’t he being more supportive of a fellow struggling musician?

With her guitar on her back Elise headed back to Eagle’s Bar. This time when she entered the clipboard guy quickly approached her before she’d had chance to place her heavy case down.

“Are you playing tonight?” he asked her a little too eagerly.

“Yeah,” Elise replied politely.

“Great, because you killed it last time,” he smiled. “Good for you.” He handed her the clipboard and she neatly wrote down her name. Her heart almost stopped when she spotted the name messily scrawled before it:

Dylan Cornish.

“It should be a good turnout tonight,” clipboard guy declared before heading off to jot down more names.

“It’s always a good turnout when I’m here.” Elise didn’t need to turn around to see who had spoken but she did anyway. Dylan had sat down on a nearby table, his legs propped up on a chair, leaning back casually as though he owned the place. In his hand he held a glass of what appeared to be neat vodka.

“You’re so modest,” Elise told him sourly. She picked up her case and prepared to move when Dylan promptly lowered his feet and kicked the now spare chair towards her.

“What’s the rush, waitress? Sit down, take a load off.”

“My name is Elise,” she corrected him as she lowered herself down into the seat despite her reservations. Somehow she just couldn’t resist him.

“So you came back for round two.” Dylan smiled at her before knocking back the contents of his glass. Elise wasn’t sure if he was talking about the open mic night or himself.

“I enjoyed performing,” Elise admitted.

“Everyone always does,” Dylan declared grandly.

“At least I do it for the music rather than the adoration.”

Dylan pointed a finger at himself and made a jovial expression.

“You think I do it for adoration?”

“Of course.”

“You think I just do it to meet chicks?”

“Don’t you?” Elise challenged.

“What’s it matter to you? Seems you’ve already made your mind up on me.” Dylan shrugged, suddenly seeming bored by their conversation.

“You keep calling me a waitress! You won’t stop judging me!” Elise was about to launch into a tirade at him when Dylan was called up on to the stage against his usual round of applause.

Just like the week before he was amazing. He sung with soul and connected to his music in a way Elise hadn’t seen before. As she watched him she became transfixed by his melody, by the way his strong hands effortlessly navigated their way across the keyboard. She was so swept away by his music that she didn’t realize he’d been staring directly at her the whole time he’d been performing. As their eyes locked she felt herself turning crimson. When everyone else was applauding his performance Elise was lowering herself self-consciously into her seat. Why had he been watching her the whole time? Was he trying to prove a point?

Before he could return to the table and explain himself, Elise was called up to the stage.

Her second performance felt easier than her first one. Again she imagined she was back home beneath the willow tree, singing away her sadness on a hot summer afternoon. At the end everyone applauded, and one overzealous member of the audience even whooped. She was feeling good as she headed back out into the bar. She braced herself for whatever remark Dylan was undoubtedly going to give her but to her dismay he didn’t reappear. As Elise sat down to watch the rest of the performers she felt her good mood begin to evaporate. Dylan Cornish had left.

***

Elise was still feeling blue over Dylan’s premature departure at the open mic night as she hustled around the breakfast tables. Her shift had felt unbearably long as she tended to a stream of patrons. At least she was finding things easier at the diner. She was faster taking orders and had even started to anticipate what some regulars would want. As a result, her tips were becoming more generous.

It was late morning and the breakfast crowd had thinned out when Elise headed over to a recently occupied booth in her area. A guy was sitting alone. His back was to her so she could only see the intense collection of dark hair which covered his head.

“What can I get you?” Elise asked sweetly as she approached him. She always made her Southern accent as thick as possible when working as people seemed to love it and tip more generously when they heard it.

“Ah, so still a waitress then?” Dylan Cornish looked up at her with his brilliant blue eyes and Elise felt the fake smile fall from her lips.

“I’ll have a coffee, black, and some pancakes.”

“What are you doing here?” Elise demanded rudely, momentarily forgetting herself.

“Ordering a late breakfast,” Dylan shrugged. “Is that a problem?”

Elise frowned at him. Had he even stayed to hear her sing last night? She wished she didn’t care as much as she did. She took his order and stormed off towards the kitchen.

Ten minutes later she returned to his table to pour his coffee. She’d been putting it off for as long as she could but knew she’d get in trouble if his mug remained empty any longer. She refused to make eye contact with him as she poured the dark caffeinated liquid.

“I liked your set last night,” Dylan told her kindly. “Your song makes me sad in a way I’ve not known before.”

Surprised, Elise looked down at him. His eyes were wide and his mouth was drawn in a thin line. He didn’t seem to be hiding behind his usual cocky bravado. When she looked at him he continued.

“Like, it made me sad but wistful. Normally songs just do one or the other.”

“Thanks,” Elise told him sincerely.

“I acknowledge good music when I hear it,” Dylan smiled softly.

“Then why do you keep calling me a waitress?” Elise challenged.

“Because you are one,” Dylan replied flatly. For a moment Elise feared he was just going to be a jerk to her again.

“And because you don’t like it,” he added. He self-consciously ran a hand through his hair and actually looked nervous. Elise thought she must be seeing things.

“When I call you a waitress, it reminds you why you’re here, it ignites that fire of ambition in you, does it not? When I say it, you’re desperate to prove me wrong?”

Elise nodded slowly, knowing he was right.

“You’ve got potential,” he told her, his eyes sparkling. “I’d hate to see you waste it so I’m just trying to help keep that fire burning.”

“Why did you run out after my performance?” Elise blurted. She was desperate to know. She’s spent all night concocting theories in her mind. Her favorite was that he was actually living a double life as a superhero and had left to put on his cape and go restore justice to the city.

“You think I’m a sleaze,” Dylan shrugged casually.

“No, I don’t,” Elise blushed.

“Then go out for a drink with me,” Dylan smiled warmly.

“Are you asking me out?” Elise was completely caught off guard.

“Or don’t,” Dylan leaned back in the booth. He was wearing his leather jacket. “I’m not the guy you think I am. I play because I love the music, the adoration is just a bonus,” he smirked playfully.

“But I’d like you to see the real me, the me who burns, just as you do, to succeed.”

“Okay, let’s go for drinks,” Elise tried to sound nonchalant even though she was shaking. She was terrified that she was going to drop the coffeepot she was holding. She just hoped that Dylan couldn’t see her trembling.

“Sounds good,” Dylan ran a hand through his hair again.

“Where are your band mates today?” Elise changed the subject to try to ease her mounting nerves.

“Probably still in bed,” Dylan scorned his absent friends. He seemed displeased. “Let’s just say that they lack my commitment to the music. They definitely are in it for the adoration.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dylan shook his head and some of his dark hair fell into his eyes which made him look devastatingly sexy.

“I’m just tired of holding the band together. I guess that’s why I like to perform on my own sometimes.”

“But sometimes I find it so terrifying to be up there alone, laying it bare for everyone to see,” Elise confessed.

“Laying it bare? Whoa!” Dylan raised his hands and grinned at her. “We’re not even on our date yet, try to hold yourself back!”

Elise rolled her eyes and laughed at his cheeky comment. Some of his bravado was leaking back into him so she sidled back to the kitchen to collect his order. She liked the stripped-back version of Dylan Cornish she’d just met and she hoped that she’d get to see more of him.

“So, are you bringing it tonight?” Dylan asked from where he was leaning against the wall of Eagle’s Bar in his leather jacket, his arms folded across his chest.

“Bringing what?” Elise asked as she dropped down her guitar case and sighed gratefully to be relieved of its weight.

“You know, it?” Dylan grinned. “The thing that makes the crowd go crazy, the thing that makes people buy your record or go to your show!”

“Oh, it,” Elise smiled at him mockingly. “I bring it every time I perform, thank you very much.”

“Maybe,” Dylan tilted his head in approval. “But do you bring enough of it? Each night, I draw the biggest applause in this place.”

“Is that so?”

Elise tried to conceal how delighted she was not only that he was there but that he was talking to her. Since their encounter in the diner she felt like she knew him better than she did before.

“How about we make a bet?” Dylan suggested, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

“What sort of bet?” Elise asked, intrigued.

“Whoever gets the biggest applause buys the drinks.”

“What drinks?”

“At our date,” Dylan stated factually. “I figured we could go out after tonight. I like to stay out after I’ve performed because I always get such a buzz from being on stage and don’t want to come down.”

Elise knew exactly how he felt. Being on stage, performing to a live crowd was utterly intoxicating. Each time she finished playing she was almost trembling with excitement. She’d never felt anything quite like it.

“Okay,” Elise lifted her chin confidently. “It’s a bet.”

“Ooh, game on!” Dylan smiled, clearly elated by the prospect of competition. “You better hope you brought it!”

He winked at her and then sauntered over to the bar to order himself a couple of shots before his performance.

***

Dylan’s set was before hers and as usual he received rapturous applause when he finished. The audience really did love him. Elise wondered what he was like when he performed with his band. He rarely spoke about them. Perhaps they were a much different style than his solo music. She was interested to find out. She kept thinking of things to say to him during their date. Her biggest fear was that she’d struggle to keep the conversation going and that he’d find her boring. She could ask him about his band. She made a mental note to do just that.

When the clipboard guy called Elise’s name she felt fired up to perform. Some people even applauded her as she made her way to the stage. She’d been in New York less than a month and this was already her third open mic night. She knew that her grandmother would be impressed by those numbers. She’d say that Elise was “taking the bull by the horns” and being the master of her own destiny.

But when Elise sat down on the stage she had to silence all the voices in her mind and concentrate only on her music. She had to return to the heat of her grandmother’s backyard, imagine the wind rustling through the long, hanging leaves of the willow tree and then she’d lift her hand to her guitar and play.

As she finished the gathered crowd broke out into thunderous applause. When Elise gazed out at their unfamiliar faces she realized that more and more people were coming each week. Some people were standing at the back, unable to find a seat. She smiled modestly at their applause, tucked her guitar back into its case and dropped down from the stage. Dylan quickly found her. He came and stood beside her. He smelled of liquor and cologne. The cheap kind that you buy in the supermarket but it smelled good on him.

“So, do you think you topped me?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Elise admitted. It was hard to judge who had received the more rapturous applause. As they walked through the dense crowd Dylan placed his hand on Elise’s lower back to guide her. Her whole body tingled at his touch and she felt her cheeks flush. He was so handsome she found it hard to focus when she was around him.

“I think you edged me out,” Dylan leaned down and whispered the words directly into her ear, his hot breath fluttering against her cheek. “How about we go out for that drink now?”

Elise nodded, careful not to seem too eager, as Dylan guided her out of the heaving bar.

They walked down towards a quieter venue, a bar called Oscar’s which served exotically named cocktails.

“Since I’m buying I insist you buy something with an overly elaborate name,” Dylan instructed as they stood at the bar.

Nervously Elise tucked her bangs behind her ear and perused the menu. All of the names sound elaborate to her.

“How about a Singapore Sling?” she wondered, noticing that the cocktail was pink which appealed to her.

“Great,” Dylan grinned. Then he gestured to the barman, “We’ll take two, please.”

“It’s a pink drink, you know,” Elise laughed as they went and sat at their table.

“I’m comfortable enough in my manliness to drink pink,” Dylan quipped.