Chapter One…
Walking several blocks from my loft on a crystal blue, sunny day, I made my way across town. Stopping at a cute café called Cafélicious that had big glass, storefront windows framed by a brick facade with a black and white striped awning where I hoped to find work. Inside, I walked to the counter and ordered a sea salt caramel latte—something different—and asked if I could speak with the owner. Lo and behold, the jet black haired woman with bright blue eyes with darker blue flecks standing behind the barista happened to be the person I was looking for. Introducing herself as Pansie, she asked what she could do for me and I told her that I wanted to apply for a job.
Asking me to follow her to a nearby table after she slid open a bakery case and removed what looked like scones. Seated, she pushed a scone on a napkin toward me indicated that it was freshly baked and made with apricots. Thanking her, I handed over my qualifications along with a referral from my current manager before taking a bite.
“What brought you to the San Diego area? Says here you’re from Illinois.” Pansie asked, looking over my resume.
“I went to college in the area and just settled into the groove after graduation. The vibe in the Gaslamp Quarter pulled me in… I love music.”
“We’re going to be putting together an open mic night on Wednesdays.”
“That’s how I first heard about this place, I was going to check it out when you got it up and running. Then I was going to get my hair done a couple doors down and my hairdresser… I mean beauty engineer—the owner corrected me.”
“Sounds like Vivienne.” Pansie shook her head, wearing a smirk.
“Yes, that’s her name. Well, they both told me that you might be hiring—that you were swamped. And that you, specifically, needed a break to get out in the world.”
“Definitely sounds like Vivienne sent you,” another woman that looked similar to Pansie but with lighter hair—same eyes—commented, and they both laughed. “Marzi, by the way,” she said happily.
“Evie here is a singing waitress,” Pansie told her.
“No… I don’t sing… I just… I just wanted to check out the upcoming mic-nights… the music… I love it.”
Music was my passion… is my passion—a big part of my life—and I was probably in the wrong city for my music preference. Nashville. That was most likely a much better fit for me. Country… New Country is what I saw myself singing. Loved the stories of things gone wrong or right or just about a beer… and the sound along with emotions got to me, often times causing a tear to fall. And what I truly liked about the newer version was all of the different variations; from rock to pop and even to hip hop. Several non-country artists have been crossing over into Country, collaborating on songs or whole albums.
California, my parents still call Beach Boy land—especially the beach cities. But I can say that being in and out of so many places in downtown San Diego, I heard a little bit of everything—jazz, honky-tonk, rock, pop, hip-hop provided by DJs, and even some country—and loved it.
Securing my first waitress job in one of the clubs I used to frequent, I got my big chance to be part of the music scene. The house band was playing one night and found themselves in need of a backup singer since theirs up and quit without warning when she was offered a gig touring with some well-known band. I did not plan to take her place. It was my manager that recommended me, telling them that I was always walking around singing and I had a hell-of-a-voice. I tried to explain that I did not do stage performances, but the lead singer abruptly said, “Sing!”
Knowing most of the old rock songs they played, I belted out a few bars of one. He stopped me before I got to the chorus and told me that they’d make sure I was not anywhere up front and they’d adjust the lighting so it wasn’t right on me. I agreed without thinking about the minimal pay I was going to receive. And that was the other reason I needed another place of employment that had daylight hours since singing was nightly work and I couldn’t sing backup for the house band and waitress at the same time.
Besides finding my own connection to the music world, I felt like I had found my place in the great, all-year-long, weather. Although I did miss my hometown of Chicago – not that I lived there full-time but when my parents weren’t doing the concert tour circuit, we went to our house. It was where I had my own room, space with only my things. On the West Coast, I felt that same warm, fuzzy feeling and finding Cafélicious was another big find.
The longer I sat and learned about what was expected of me while hearing the people around me chattering, I prayed that I would be hired on the spot. I didn’t want to hear, “we’ll call you.” Thankfully, Pansie began to ask me questions like what size t-shirt I wore, what days I was available, and could I work Wednesday night open mic. Yes was my answer to the two and that the rest of my daytime schedule was pretty free. Then she called people over to introduce me.
“Hey, your name is like one of Santa’s reindeer.” I said, pointing to an employee that was wearing a name badge that said “Vixen” attached to the front of her black apron that had the café’s name embroidered on it.
“Real name is Veronica. They gave me the nickname,” she explained to me as Marzi was walking out from behind a pastry case with a batch of cookies that she said were secretly called Orgasms. “Oh, don’t let me eat any more of those evil cookies, they bring out the Vixen in me.”
“Those aren’t the only things that bring out her naughty, sexy side; give her any pastry or yummy food or wine and… well, she turns into a Vixen!” Marzi quipped.
“Boom! That’s how she got her name,” Saylor, the lead barista according to Pansie, said grabbing a cookie and moaning once it was in her mouth.
“Welcome, Evie. You’re in for an interesting time with these girls,” said the only male I saw in the café, besides customers. “I’m the chef, Vin.” He shook his head as the girls all stuck their tongues out at him.
Something told me I was going to love working in Cafélicious at that moment, and I was right. Two years later I was still working there and loving every hour I spent there. I worked as a server four days a week and took care of everything pertaining to the open mic night. I even sought people out to sign up—it wasn’t karaoke night—we wanted talented performers, and I had met quite a few. Listening to music and being involved inspired me to write more of my own music. On breaks at the café, I liked to sit on the patio surrounded by herbs and flowers to write in my journal. Some days were better than others and I found myself lost in time.
On one such day that I found my head in the clouds collecting word after word, I stumbled upon a vision that could have me writing volumes more if I had time. Break over, walking back inside from the patio, I glimpsed a gorgeous guy with incredible icy, pale blue eyes looking in my direction as he stood at the counter. His buzzed nutmeg brown hair signaled that he could be a military boy… man. But there was something about his sexy chiseled face with a bit of stubble that said otherwise. Tall, slim and muscular, his two full sleeve, tattooed arms intrigued me and had me wondering if he had more tattoos anywhere else. Too bad he wasn’t staying, I thought to myself. I’d be happy to wait on him for hours. But then again, it could be embarrassing if I were to drool all over him.
“How much of his body do you think is inked?” I said softly to myself.
“Not sure, maybe you could take him home and get him naked? I’ve heard him mention that he’s a tattoo artist.” Vixen whispered behind me.
I turned toward her. “Does he have a shop around here?”
I don’t know why I was asking, I had never had any desire to get a tattoo. The thought of his hands on my body, holding me in place, appealed to me the most. Pain scared me away and I wasn’t sure if there was anything I wanted permanently on my body except maybe him on it. But permanent ink, that needed to be thought out carefully. I could go to his shop and consult with him, give him ideas about me—he could possibly suggest what he saw on me. I could be his blank canvas. No, not a good idea to give myself so free. I could hate the design and end up finding him less attractive. Not sure that was possible. He is beyond gorgeous.
“I don’t think so. I also heard him mention that he was visiting for the summer when he was in here the last time.” Vixen sure was an eavesdropper.
I was a bit sad that she knew more about him than I did and sorry that I had missed his visits where he did more than grab a coffee and run. And that is what he had done, looking back at the counter, he was gone. Which really didn’t matter since I was getting off work, going to a mini pre-rehearsal, and then to the club for the night’s performance. No time to ogle him as I walked by him sitting at a table.
However, sitting at the bar of the club while I was about to take the stage, the gorgeous man had a visual of me. He had me a bit frazzled knowing he was there, but then I realized that he hadn’t said anything to me—so he probably didn’t make the connection. Also, I did have long turquoise extensions and a bright orange beanie on. Not exactly colors to avoid notice, but I had been wearing them as a sort of costume since I began singing backup for them—my trademark, my disguise. The rest of me was plain, wearing a black t-shit and ripped jeans along with bright green sneakers—my version of grunge without the plaid.
Relaxing as we began with me once again in my semi-shadow area, I was getting into the set and even smiling. Smiling at him that was, as I imagined that I was singing to him and he was staring at me, listening to every note I sang. Funny, I felt like the groupie for him rather than him for me, which he wasn’t because he didn’t even know me. It was a wonder I made it through the songs without singing the wrong words or hums, la-la-las, or any other sounds I was supposed to bring to the mix. I guess the fact that I had sang with them for a little over two years had something to do with it.
But that was coming to an end with this last performance. They had been asked to play some festivals and were ready for a change. I was not ready for that at all—been there and done that for years, and in a more comfortable style than they were going to be traveling. Being our last gig, the lead singer had asked me to do a duet with him. I said yes not knowing that anyone I knew… or knew of, was going to be in the audience. Telling myself that I was incognito and just singing alone or walking around tables, I stepped up to the mic and was hit by a spotlight that nearly blinded me. Startled at first, the lead singer next to me assured me that it was there to block my view and he was partially right—my brain just had to get on board. Thankfully it did as the music began and I let myself go into it, feel it, become part of it—my mouth moved, the sound spilled out and I made it through. Home free, I went to step back to my spot, but the man coaxed me into another, thanks to all of the cheers our song received. “One more, that’s it,” I said as we launched into another one we had rehearsed earlier. I should’ve known rather than thinking he wanted to be able to choose from the two, sneaky. It felt good. It felt amazing and it shocked me… And so did the face on the crowded dance floor, Marzi. Seeing her, I forgot all about the gorgeous tatted man sucking down beers at the bar.