The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 14

Karaoke is a lot like being a gladiator, it all comes down to skill and likability. 

When it comes to karaoke, it's all an entertainment contest. Why else would you get up on that stage? The audience demands  entertainment, much like the Romans of old that demanded to be entertained with bloodshed and skill.

It always makes me think of the movie The Gladiator, where Maximus shouts at the audience after completely demolishing his competition, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?" 

He was forced to fight for his life, to showcase his skill set, and leave the audience wanting more, hoping that he had done enough to be spared for another day, another fight, another contest of skill. 

Karaoke, when preformed in front of media that want you to epically fail, to be the villain in all of their stories, act the same. They want you to internally bleed so they can dip their pens in it and use it to write their newest article— Maybe that is a bit dramatic, but it certainly feels that way. 

So when you feel like you have to preform like your life depends on it, it's hard not to feel like a piece of meat in an arena being judged because of your skill and entertainment value. 

Gladiators have their sword, and singers have their song choice. I had hoped to talk to Luke before being thrown up onto a stage. To correlate a plan so we could pick songs that played off each other, but I didn't have that luxury as I was shoved into the back of a slick black town car and driven to a local bar. Instead, I spent the drive, ignoring Delle's smirks, Laliana's words of encouragement and Allie's grumbles that I should have let her pick my outfit— hard pass, I liked my 2000's punk rocker look— trying to find the perfect song to sing. 

I need something that makes me and Luke look like a team. Friends instead of enemies. What would Luke pick? 

One thing I knew for sure, whatever he picked, I needed my song to be a thousand times better. 

The Malarky's Bar, a colorful Irish Pub with oak tables and colorful bottles which lined the back of the bar was packed as we shuffled inside. A woman with short black hair waved us over to the only empty high top table next to a small stage at the far end of the room.

A pool table, jukebox and the bar stools that lined the bar made up the rest of the cozy place near the entrance. The entire place was noise and the smell of beer battered fish and chips. Gazes followed us across the room as we squeezed past tables, settling into our seats. 

"Ah, the sharks arrived early," Allie said with a warning smile towards the media, contemplating murder. 

The look made a chill run down my spine. Note to self, never tell Allie what my side job is. 

Suddenly, our table was filled with eight helpings of fish and chips as Tate slid into the last seat at our table. "I love this place," he said dreamily, staring down at the food. "I got you each a helping so you don't take mine," he said, eyeing each of us. 

"Um... that leaves you with four baskets of fish and chips, Tate," Delle said with a raised brow. 

Allie fought a smile. "It's better not to push him on it."

"He's a food hoarder," Laliana explained, leaning towards me conspiratorially. 

"True," Tate said with his sunshine smile. Then he lifted a fry from one of his baskets and offered it to Allie. "With everyone but her." 

Allie leaned forward and snatched the fry between her teeth, sending a surprised blush across Tate's face. Delle rolled her eyes. "Kill me if I ever become that disgustingly adorable."