Karaoke and Keith Urban
Driving her little car had never felt so good. Blair was settled in the passenger seat, a hand tapping his thigh to the beat of music playing softly. In his jeans and a paisley shirt in shades of plum and olive green he looked delicious, like a ripe fig ready for picking. John was squeezed in the backseat, dressed in baggy black cargos – lots of pockets for lots of pencils – his top, a riot of colour, hanging loose.
‘What do you think of the graffiti-patterned shirt, Nina?’ John tugged at the collar as she eyed him in the rear-view mirror. ‘A birthday present one year from my smart-arse son who reckoned I needed more colour in my life. I can only wear the thing when his mother isn’t around. Poor Katie breaks out in hives if she gets close to too much colour.’
‘It’s a great shirt, John.’
Nina’s car had also never smelt so good. Two gorgeous men, freshly showered, made a potent combination. Sharing the evening with them would be a pleasant end to Project Portrait, and even better if she found the opportunity and a quiet corner to get to know John Tate a little better before she had to leave.
*
The celebration was in full swing when they arrived. What a shame the cacophony of conversation, laughter and loud music would thwart her plan to chat to John. Even the introductions Blair made as they circulated were cursory, with people smiling, nodding and doffing invisible hats in place of audible hellos. With older townsfolk sitting in groups at large tables, and girls in tight and tiny dresses occupying the dance floor in the next room, the majority of the men were propping up the bar.
When the food came out, the din quietened so people could enjoy conversation as they tucked into cold meat and salad. John found Blair and Nina and dragged a chair across, squeezing in to sit opposite, his plate piled high. ‘I’m too old for all this noise. The music’s stopped and my ears are still doing that doof-doof-doof thing.’
‘Don’t worry, mine too,’ Nina said.
She was on her third mineral water, having started the evening with a small glass of white wine to get into the party mood and cope with a roomful of strangers. Blair was pacing himself, but the night was young. With no cosy corner catch-up possible with John, Nina let herself enjoy being a witness to the strong, loving father-son relationship. She even felt a little envious, wishing John Tate was her father so she could have the paternal connection Blair shared with him. But John Tate wasn’t her dad, which was just as well, given what she was feeling with Blair’s body so close to hers.
*
After a couple of speeches the entertainment started. The first karaoke diehard took to the small podium amid raucous cheering and lip-synced to the Beatles’ ‘Help’. Next, two girls did a brilliant rendition of an Adele song. After several other attempts by patrons of varying ability, the newly engaged couple struggled through their romantic duet to constant heckles of ‘Get a room!’.
Gus, the publican, took to the stage, receiving a mixed reaction of cheers and playful jeering as he called for quiet. ‘Settle down, settle down,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll be glad to know, under Doc’s orders, there’ll be no singing or ciggies for me for a couple of months.’ More hooting and hoorahs erupted. ‘Therefore until further notice a new karaoke rule applies.’ The crowd hushed. ‘As publican of this very fine establishment—’
‘Get him off!’ someone called.
‘Turn up the music!’ another shouted.
Gus continued, ‘To fill my spot each mic night I’m implementing Publican’s Pick where I get to choose an act.’ The room fell silent. ‘Tonight I’ve chosen a duet to be performed by Blair Tate and his lovely new friend.’
All eyes turned to their table, but Nina remained unfazed. Blair would decline. He was surely not the type to get up on a karaoke stage and make an idiot of himself.
‘Looks like we’re up, Nina.’ Blair grabbed her hand. ‘Best get it over with.’
‘What? No!’ Nina again wished herself invisible. ‘No, no, not me! I can’t. I’m no good at karaoke.’
‘That’s the whole point,’ Gus piped up. ‘You’re not supposed to be good, so be a good sport instead because I’ve got the perfect song ready.’
‘Thanks, Gus, but you’d better leave Nina be.’
Blair was now having to shout over the escalating chant of ‘Nina, Blair! Nina, Blair! Nina, Blair!’
‘I’m more than happy to go solo, mate. If she says she can’t, then she probably can’t. I’m discovering there are a few things Nina’s not good at.’
‘Is that so?’ Nina rose, defiant. She grabbed Blair’s hand. ‘Let’s do this.’ The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and as they reached the podium a song was already playing to squeals from a group of young girls in the front row.
Nina not only knew the Keith Urban/Carrie Underwood song, she considered ‘The Fighter’ the best duet ever and, despite a few beers under his belt, Blair was giving his all. Nina remembered she wasn’t supposed to be good and let herself go, imitating Nicole Kidman’s cutesy performance from the YouTube clip. Wolf whistles and hooting encouraged her until, with the final strains of the song, Nina fell into Blair’s embrace.
And maybe fell a little in love.
*
Later, when she pulled up outside Blair’s house, he looked at Nina, then at his father in the back seat, and whispered, ‘You wanna drop Dad off first?’
Nina smiled, leaned into him and kissed his cheek. ‘Nope. Off you go, sleep tight and drink lots of water. And thank you for a great time.’
‘But—’
Nina shushed him with a finger to his lips. ‘I have to be up and on the road early. Call me,’ she said. ‘Good night, Keith. Er… I mean, Blair.’
‘You make a great Nicole,’ he slurred. ‘But I’ll have a Nina any day.’
‘Go!’ She shoved his shoulder, laughing. When he slammed the door and bent down to peer in through the window, a sorrowful pout on his face, she tooted the horn and took off.
‘Thanks for the entertainment tonight,’ John said, after watching Blair bumble his way to the door. ‘Both the karaoke and the goodbye just now.’
‘You are most welcome.’ Nina laughed as she turned the car around and headed back along the road she now knew would take her to Ivy-May.
‘I haven’t seen my boy so relaxed or happy for a long time,’ John said. ‘I hope we see you again soon, Nina. Oh, turn right here, no need to drive me to the front door. I know my way in the dark from the cottage.’
‘I’m sure you do, John!’ Nina quipped, happy to have met the fabulous and unforgettable John Tate.