Midnight Pretenders, Pt. 2
At the wee hours in which delusion is either rued or entertained.
I stifled a laugh, one that acknowledged the absurdity of it all, and one that entirely forgot about the miniature breadth of the bar. From the corner of my eye, I notice the girl covering her mouth with her hand, apparently not large enough to cover the sly smile she had on. The most expression she had divulged, she was suddenly animated. “I’m sorry, something hilarious suddenly came to mind,” I remarked, head tilted ever so slightly and still holding my laugh. It wasn’t entirely untrue.
“No, that’s fine!” she replied, smiling. She had a deeper, hushed voice – a voice you’d hear from the radio and one you’d keep on. “It was just a funny scene, you being all silent over there with your laptop and then breaking into hysterics out of nowhere.”
“So some random guy at an empty bar breaks out laughing while working on something,” I chuckled out. “Okay, yeah that’s a pretty hilarious scene. Also maybe borderline creepy, no?”
“Yes, but I’ve got Nick here to keep random guys in check, especially the…how do I put this, eccentric ones,” she replied jokingly. “Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you new around?”
“Yes, actually. I was just kind of in town from work and was looking for someplace quiet to do some writing, so I ducked in here.”
“Oh, that’s cool! So I take it you’re a writer?”
“I’d like to think, yeah,” I thought for a second. “But I’m just doing this on the side. At least, for the meantime. My day job is a cubicle up in High Street that involves corporate management. Data, that is.”
“Oh, wow,” she replied, haphazardly it seemed. She grew silent for a bit and took a bite of an apple slice.
I tried to pull my own weight in breaking the ice as well. “And you? I’m actually curious on what you do.”
She shifted in her seat, tapping her fingers on the counter in what could have been a pattern of beats, rhythmic. What an enigmatic build up, I thought. That or I could have possibly crossed an arbitrary line somewhere within the six seats between us that made her uncomfortable. God, I hope not.
“Have you read of Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame? You know, Quasimodo?” she eventually replied, after careful thought.
“Yeah, both the book and the Disney adaptation, not in sequential order.”
She smiled. “I was Esmeralda. Well, at least around this time last year I was. You see that hotel over there?” the girl not named Esmeralda said, pointing to the hotel in front of the bar, in all its soaring glory. “I started singing for their theater last June when they ran a musical for The Hunchback. When I heard they were holding auditions for the part of Esmeralda that summer, I was ecstatic. I’d just graduated from theater arts then, and when I found out that there was a chance for me to land a lead role in a musical based on my favorite book of my favorite author, I couldn’t pass it up. I felt like the stars were aligning for me from the get go.
“With those types of golden opportunities, though, they always come with immense pressure. I remember that summer being the most fulfilling yet the most tiring too at the same time. I’d practice lines for about eight hours a day. I’d stare at myself in the mirror like a crazy hag for two more, just calibrating my facial expressions to fit the somber tone of it all. My cheeks were aching every night.”
She stopped to get a sip of beer.
“The worst part of it all was the emotional distress that came with it. The physical stuff, I could take. I’ve been doing this since I was five. But I didn’t nearly prepare myself enough for the mental toil it took. It felt like I was entering a new phase of my artistic career, my life, and I couldn’t afford to screw up this literal once in a lifetime opportunity to start things off in the most ideal way with this huge role. I had a lot of doubts about myself that time, not only if whether or not I could do Esmeralda justice, but also…myself, in general.”
Silence overcame the bar once again. By this time, Nick was slumped over by the radio. Well asleep, the old man. The clock read five minutes past twelve. I had been absentmindedly drinking my Hoegaarden that I didn’t realize it was finished. “But I’d like to say, you have a very nice voice,” I said, after an awkward lull. “I really do think so.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” she smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble on like that. It’s probably just the alcohol in this quiet setting.”
“No, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t mind hearing the rest of the story. If you don’t mind, of course.”
“Ah, yeah, that. So long story short, I’m glad that rough summer got me some closure and validation in the end. I remember getting the acceptance letter on the very last day of May, kinda earmarked the whole thing into a positive resolution. I felt all kinds of emotion that day, but mostly, it was relief.
“The first show ran a couple of weeks later. It was the greatest time of my life, getting the chance to be on that stage and tell a story through my voice. It was an out-of-body experience, that entire time I had on stage.”
I manage a grin. Listening to her story felt like traversing a dream, but I couldn’t help but notice one thing. “Had on stage? Is The Hunchback not running anymore? I’d love to watch it one of these days.”
“Mmm, remember how you asked me what I do for a living around a long while ago?” she humored for a second, then cradled her head back on her arm. “Well, I used to sing in the theater, but not since the hotel shut down that branch of it earlier this year. It was losing money, they said. And to some degree, I understood. As the shows went on, the people started to come in less and less, but I try not to notice that too much. As long as I still got to have a stage to sing on, I didn’t really worry about that.
“But that’s something that the hotel worried about. Before I knew it, all the friends I’ve made in theater were all driven away and I was rerouted to the dinner buffet gig because I ‘had potential they couldn’t let go’, as they said. I was apprehensive of it at first, obviously. I eventually decided to suck it up though, because it’s like, hey, as long as I’ve got something that pays the bills, right?”
“And uh … at least that’s one less meal to pay for, right?” I remarked. What a dimwitted thing it was to say to a vulnerable stranger.
“You sure got a unique way with words there, um, I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name?” she gleamed.
I tell her my name. “And you?”
“Anais, but a lot of people have trouble with that name. You can call me by my second name instead, Eve,” Anais Eve smirked. “And yes, I suppose you’re right to a degree. Free, fancy leftovers that either I get after everyone else has left, or if some creepy old rich guy hands me a plate of ebi tempura while singing. I never knew buffets could get suffocating like that, you know, sans the food.”
“Yeah, I never got the appeal for those kinds of things either,” I replied. I look around the bar, quiet, deserted, maybe a bit run-down, perhaps a tad bit too brown, but it has a certain warmth to it that enveloped me in a state of comfort. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol seeping into my system. “I like it more in places like this, where it’s more low key and I can have good drinks, good food, and good conversation, what we’re having right now.”
“Good company, yes,” Eve smiled. “That’s why I head over here most nights after work. It’s just got a charm to it, almost like it’s an all-encompassing human watching over us, making sure we’re having a comfortable night. Or it could be another universe. Or really, anything we want it to be.”
“So you come here to unwind?”
“I guess you could say that. Well, that and I try to write some songs on here,” she said, pointing to her phone. I get a glimpse of it for a second, but she swiftly covered it with her hand. “It’s a rough, rough work in progress, though. I’m still trying my best to gather my thoughts. Sometimes, I just sing a bit when Nick’s asleep, because nobody else would usually be here. I think you’re actually the only other customer I’ve seen, much less spoken to.”
“Well, guess I’m in luck,” I said as I swirled around the empty Hoegaarden bottle. And I meant it. What a long, riveting night it has been. I look at the clock again and it’s quarter to 2 a.m.
Eve noticed this as well and gets up from her seat. She dropped a couple of bucks on the counter and ate the last slice of apple. Just as she was about to reach the door, she reached out her hand. “Thanks for the good company, have a good night,” she said, more hushed than usual. I shook her hand. The cowbell rang again as she became one with the night.
Nick is still asleep. I tuck another couple of bucks under my empty bottle and went for the door.