I told Curtis that I would be honored to sit in on a few songs, but that I wasn't in a hurry since Alice and I were planning on sticking around for a little while. He and his dance partner headed back in the direction of the band, leaving Alice and me in the same place, standing near the wall.
Another song started—a slow, instrumental number called Night Beat. I had the Chuck Berry recording of it in my dorm, and I had listened to it a hundred times. Most people slow danced in pairs while others just swayed back and fourth, watching the musicians. It was a sweaty, sultry atmosphere, and the song fit it perfectly. The band really did have talent and soul, too, which made it even better.
I thought about Michael Bishop and wondered if he would come, but I decided not to waste time daydreaming. I had very little time to enjoy the music, so I did what I'd been doing every weekend in Nashville. I danced. It was something I loved to do. I would often put on records and dance right there in my dorm room, but there was something about assembling with other people and letting out a good dance in one common accord that was good for the soul.
After Night Beat, the band played three dance songs in a row, and I pulled Alice onto the floor, giving her no other choice but to dance with me. She was stiff as a board at first but she did her best to go along with it, and she did a surprisingly good job once she got warmed up.
"That guy's here," Alice said, leaning in to talk to me once the band finally started playing another slow song. It was one called The Things I Used to Do, from the same Chuck Berry album, and I made a mental note that if it worked out for me to sit in with these guys that I would do at least one song from that same album since they obviously knew it well. I was lost in thought when Alice whispered the words into my ear, so I didn't even comprehend what she was saying.
"He's here," she repeated. "The guy with the motorcycle."
I reached out and squeezed Alice's forearm, stiffly turning and staring straight at her. "Did you say he's here?" I asked.
She nodded and glanced over my shoulder as if checking to make sure. "He got here a minute ago," she said. "I saw him come in when we were dancing, but I wasn't sure it was him. I can see him now. He's with another guy—over by the door."
"Are you sure it's him?" I asked.
Alice nodded.
I wanted to play it cool, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself from searching for him. I instantly turned and looked right at the door, and then I started to scan the area right around it. Michael was there, dressed in jeans and a button down shirt. His hair was combed away from his face in a tidy style and I absentmindedly wondered how it looked so perfect after he had been riding a motorcycle. He said something to the guy who was standing next to him.
After he spoke to his friend, he started scanning the room, and I watched his expression change when he laid eyes on me. My stomach flipped as I watched his face shift from serious to relieved and smiling. My heart was absolutely about to pound out of my chest at the realization that I had been the one to make him smile like that. Michael was hands-down the most handsome guy in the room—the most handsome guy I had ever seen.
"Who is that?" Alice said.
"Michael Bishop," I said. I was talking to Alice, but Michael and I held eye contact from across the room.
"I know that," she said. "I'm talking about the guy he's with. Who is that?"
"I have no idea," I said without even giving a second glance to the guy."
"I know y'all are having a good time with Charlie James and the Backyard Boys tonight!" Curtis had leaned in front of Charlie, and his deep voice came over the microphone in the tone of a professional emcee. He and Charlie were smiling at each other as if the whole thing was planned, and the crowd gave a big round of applause, showing their appreciation for the music. Curtis turned to look at the piano, which was already vacant. He let out a laugh. "I already told Mr. Wayne he was gonna get a little break, and he done turned tail and ran, y'all! He's gonna take a well-deserved break for the next coupla songs, and I'm gonna get my girl Ivy up here to sing and play a little bit for y'all. Let's everybody give a big welcome to Ivy!"
The crowd clapped again, and without giving it a second thought, I made my way toward the stage.
I heard Alice say, "Oh my goodness, good luck, Ivy!" at my back as I walked away.
It was seriously cute seeing how nervous she was for me. She had no idea I had been doing this regularly and was completely in my element. I glanced at Michael on my way up there, and he gave me a smile and lifted his eyebrows, looking satisfied with the timing of his arrival. I squinted my eyes at him, which made his smile broaden—he was truly gorgeous.
I made my way through the bodies on the dance floor. People instantly made a path once they realized I was the person being introduced.
"There she is," Curtis said, helping me to the stage. I started to sit down at the piano, but he took me by the shoulders and turned me to face the audience, squeezing me against his chest. I made a silly face like he was squeezing the daylights out of me, and the crowd began laughing. Curtis looked at me and then out at the crowd thoughtfully as if considering what he was going to say next.
"Y'all ain't gonna believe what this little girl's about to do, y'all! You think she's shy to look at her, but then she hits you with some of her soul!" He delivered the words with such showmanship that the band instinctually played a downbeat. "Cause I've seen this little Ivy jam, y'all, and all Imma say is hold on to your hats, because you're in for a treat!"
They clapped again, and Curtis reached down to place a brotherly type kiss on my head. "Hurry on over to that piano," he said in my ear.
Jim-bo's had the piano turned we're my side was facing the audience, and I sat down, realizing I couldn't really see Michael very well once I took a seat on the bench. Curtis went on to say something about first seeing me play in Nashville, but I knew he was just stalling the crowd while I got situated, so I didn't pay attention to him. Charlie James smiled at me from the other side of the piano.
"What's it gonna be, lil' lady?" he asked.
"You Never Can Tell," I said.
"I know I never can tell, sugar, but you better name a tune so I can play it."
"Chuck Berry's You Never Can Tell," I said. I figured he was joking, but I clarified just in case. "If that's okay with you," I added.
Charlie gave me a huge smile—his row of straight, white teeth lighting up his face. "It's fine with me, sugar. You want my microphone, or do you want me to sing it?"
"I'll sing along with you from back here," I said. I loved to sing, but it was his show and I certainly didn't want to step on his toes.
"You sure?" he asked. "Curt said you was gonna do some singin'."
"She is singin'," Curtis said, tuning in to the last bit of our conversation.
"I'm good either way," I said.
"All right little mama," Charlie said. "You're singin', then."
I nodded, and Charlie winked at me again as he used one hand to swing the microphone stand in front of me. Just as soon as it was positioned where it was close enough, Charlie situated his guitar and faced the audience. He settled into place and looked at me before playing the first notes of the familiar Chuck Berry song. I barely had time to adjust the microphone before it was time for me to come in with the vocals.
"It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well.
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle.
And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell.
'C'est la vie,' say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell."
I could see the crowd's reaction out of the corner of my eye. They were gawking and shoving each other with amazement, and I smiled from behind the microphone. I caught sight of Alice right before I started the second verse, and could see the look of utter shock on her face—she was stupefied.
(Alice sang with me in the church choir growing up. We sang soprano, and I followed every musical rule and enunciated the words properly like Mr. Dixon, our choir director, required. It wasn't until I went off to college that I found my soul voice… the one that was a few octaves lower than my church soprano and full of character and intentional mispronunciations.)
I could only glance for a second at Alice before it was time for me to go into the next verse. I smiled at the crowd. Some were dancing and some stared at me adoringly. I made a silly but intense expression into the microphone as I continued to pound away on the piano.
"They furnished off an apartment with a two-room Roebuck sale.
The coolerator was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale.
But when Pierre found work, the little money comin' worked out well.
C'est la vie say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell."
I played the piano and sang on autopilot for the next two verses. I had listened to and performed the song so many times that I didn't even have to think about it—I just let myself play.
After the next two verses, there was an iconic piano solo. I stayed mostly true to the original version, but I had practiced a slight variation that was even more jankity than the original. The audience must have appreciated my spin on it, because I could hear them yelling out whoops and whistles and other sounds of approval as they danced.
I thought about Michael as I played, but I had to push him out of my mind because the only way I could be my true soul character was to not care what anyone thought of me—and in order to not care what Michael thought of me, I had to not think of him at all.
I sang and played, and swayed and stomped, and after that song, Charlie came over and spoke into the microphone, giving me a hard time for being such a firecracker. He asked me what song I wanted to do next, and without hesitation, I said, "How about, a little Wooly Bully, if you please."
"I don't mind if we do," he said. He smiled at the band. "Wooly Bully for the lady." Then, in a louder voice, he counted us off. "Uh-one, uh-two, uh-uno, dos, tres, cuatro…"
The song hadn't been out very long and was all the rage with the younger crowd. It fit my personality because it was silly, yet extremely danceable, and I sang and played and looked goofy and dramatic. Charlie was a showman, too, and he came over and helped me sing the chorus. The crowd loved it. I looked at what I did as an act and I gave myself fully over to the soul version of me, which was extremely fun. I got carried away by the song and the energy of the audience, and before I knew it, we played the last note of Wooly Bully.
I let my fingers hit the last set of keys by pounding my hands down on the piano one final time, standing from the bench as I did it. I had a wonderful time with the other band members, especially Charlie. He and I smiled at each other in those brief seconds of silence before the crowd erupted—and erupt was just what they did.