“Are you worried? Is he a friend?”
Teri frowns. “I hope nothing’s happened to him, but I wouldn’t call us friends. To be honest, he kind of gives me the creeps. He’s always hitting on me, even though he knows I have a boyfriend.”
“Let’s not worry about him, then.”
“Agreed.”
Matt suddenly appears, and I suck in a breath. If I looked familiar to Teri, he looks familiar to me, and I haven’t the faintest idea why. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and shaggy brown hair. His eyes are dark brown, but I hesitate to call them warm because there’s an intensity to his expression, to his overall demeanor, that causes the small crowd to focus on him. He clearly has ingredient X, whatever the hell that is. He’s charismatic and extremely handsome. Now if he can just sing . . .
He does not say hello to the audience. Instead, he picks up his guitar and begins to play a melody I don’t recognize. It must be an original. The piece has a Latin feel to it. I’m reminded of brilliant but unknown guitarists I’ve heard in tiny clubs in Mexico and South America.
He begins to sing, and I draw in another breath. He’s not merely good—he’s wonderful! He’s obviously well trained and has superb range. But more important is the feeling in his voice.
She’s not just a pretty face,
A pretty face, in a pretty place,
Something’s not quite real,
I pass this way every day,
But today I’ve learned to feel
In a book I’ve seen the best,
Lady Godiva and the rest,
But none compare to this new song,
Next to you I’ll soon belong
And if you say you’ll love me too,
To be as one and say we’re true,
I’ll have your pretty face to see,
It’s me with you and you with me
She’s not just a pretty face,
A pretty face, in a pretty place,
Something’s not quite real,
I pass this way every day,
But today I’ve learned to feel
She’s singing my song la di la di la di
She’s not just a pretty face,
A pretty face, in a pretty place,
Something’s not quite real,
I pass this way every day,
But today I’ve learned to feel
“Pretty Face” is an unusual song to open with. Besides being unique, it has layers of meaning to it most beer-drinking fans wouldn’t care about. But maybe I underestimate the audience because they give him a big hand as he switches to the Beatles song “And I Love Her.” It’s only then I realize how much he reminds me of Paul McCartney. It may sound silly, after having lived so long, but I’ve never found a group I love as much as the Beatles.
Matt plays five songs on his guitar before he even speaks to the crowd. By now he has them in the palm of his hand, and they applaud everything he says, even though he just talks about what a boring day he had. Once again he drips charisma—he can do no wrong.
I’m in for another surprise when he switches to piano. He’s a superb guitarist, but I can tell from the moment he touches the keys he’s been playing since he was very young, and that he’s classically trained. The first song he plays on the piano has no lyrics, and it needs none. I came to cast a spell on Teri and her man, and now I discover myself falling beneath his magic.
In the middle of the set, Teri leans over and asks if I like him. I shake my head and smile, but she’s not offended, because she understands. To say yes would be too trite.
The hour set goes by too quickly, and even though Matt performs an encore, like the rest of the audience I find myself wanting more. At least I get to talk to him after the show, since he heads straight for our table. Teri stands and gives him a passionate hug, and I have to restrain myself from doing likewise. When he does shake my hand, he stares deep into my eyes.
“Teri’s told me a lot about you,” he says.
“But we just met. Does that mean she’s been spying on me?”
Teri blushes. “Matt, you promised not to embarrass me.”
“I put that poorly,” he replies. “I just meant that Teri was impressed with you. She says you’re a writer?”
“Among other things, yes. I brought three magazines I’ve sold stories to. I’d be flattered if you’d read them and tell me what you think. You’ve obviously got a way with words.”
Matt shrugs. “They don’t let me play my best material in a place like this. Hey, would you like a drink? The bar’s open to me and my friends.”
“Sure. Coke and Scotch. Tall and strong.”
“Great. That’s my favorite drink,” Matt says, gesturing to the waitress. He puts in our order and automatically asks for a ginger ale for Teri. Matt wants to hear about the stories I’ve written and isn’t put off when I tactfully tell him that later would be a better time to talk about them. His persistence is no surprise; I know his doubts about me.
“Very well,” I say, taking out a Playboy magazine from the previous year. “I sold a horror story to the Big Bunny last year. It’s kind of dark. It’s about a man who gets marooned on an island with a werewolf and a vampire. The tale revolves around which monster he’s going to decide to change into.”
“They won’t let him remain human?” Matt asks, as Teri sits quietly.
“The vampire would. But the werewolf won’t. If he stays human, the werewolf will see the man as food.”
“I’m surprised he’s given a choice. They should both see him as food.”
“You misunderstand my monsters. They were crossing the ocean—before their boat sank—for a reason. They’re both lonely and searching for more of their kind.”
“So what does your hero choose to do?” Matt asks.
“He prefers to be a vampire. But if he does, the werewolf says he’ll become his enemy. So he changes his mind and says he wants to become a werewolf. But the vampire’s smart—he has more wisdom. He knows they’re stronger together and doesn’t feel the need for them to be enemies at all.”
Matt’s interest jumps up a notch. “They’d be stronger together because the werewolf can go out in the sun? While he’s really only a supernatural being once a month, when the moon is full? Is that what you mean?”
“That’s what the werewolf assumes the vampire means. But this vampire—even though he dislikes sunlight—doesn’t turn to ash when the sun’s rays fall on him. He keeps this quality a secret, though. He knows he’s about to have two enemies on the island instead of one. Because even though the human trusts the vampire, he’s afraid of the werewolf.”