Elvis Has Not Left the Building (The Rain Collective Book 5) by J.R. Rain

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2010-08-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-two

The music stopped and I let my voice trail off. My snapping fingers dropped to my side, and my tapping foot slowed, then stopped. There were tears in my eyes and joy in my heart. Whether or not I got the gig, I didn’t care. I needed to do this. Bad.

Somebody was clapping. It was my friend from across the room, the bartender. He stopped long enough to give me a thumbs-up sign, then clapped some more.

Bill the manager was staring at me, his mouth slightly open. Well, at least I think he was staring at me. Hard to tell with those stupid shades. I was still coming down from my high and so I continued standing there on stage, in the spotlight, soaking it all in.

Now this is a high I can get used to.

Bill started nodding and he kept on nodding as he made his way to the others. He joined the group and everyone seemed to be talking at once.

As they did so, I closed my eyes and relived the moment—and it had been a helluva moment. At least for me nowadays. And as I relived this moment, the other moments flood back, too. The bigger moments. The grander moments. The crowds. The churning sea of smiling faces. God, I used to put so many smiles on so many faces. I could bring joy to others with my voice. I had forgotten about that. There’s value to bringing joy to others. Immense value.

Bill finally stepped away from the others and came over to me. He stood below me on the dance, pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead. The upper bridge of his nose was pinched and red where the rubber stabilizers had sat for God knows how long.

“Fucking incredible,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. Thank you. Thank you ver’ much....

“You’re a little older than what we’re looking for.”

“I understand.” My voice sounded distant and not quite my own. Only then did I notice the sweat pouring down my face.

“But we want to give you a shot. I want to give you a shot. Hell, I could listen to that—to you—all day and night. My God, King, you can sing.”

“So I don’t suck.”

He smiled. “No, you don’t. And you can move, too, for an old-timer.”

“Go figure,” I said.

“You’ll have to show me that move sometime.”

“Sure,” I said. “After you pay me.”

He laughed, and flicked down his shades again. Mr. Cool was back. “Can you be here Monday nights, starting next Monday at nine p.m.?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Good; see you then.”

And as he turned away, I said, “And Bill?”

He looked back. “Yeah, King?”

“What’s with the stupid blue sunglasses?”

He looked at me some more. I suspected he had once been a bouncer back in the day, before rising up to nightclub manager. “It’s a good thing that you can sing lights out.”

“Yeah, good thing.”

He left and joined the others, and I walked slowly off the stage. Floating really. At the bar, the good-looking kid stepped around the counter, and slapped me heartily on the shoulder.

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