Read Online Confessions Of A Karaoke Queen by Ella Kingsley - Free Book Online
Authors: Ella Kingsley
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puff.
‘Not a big fan myself,’ he muses, ‘though I guess I can see it.’
I look down at the sorry brooch. ‘It’s not mine,’ I say defensively, and even though it’s the truth it sounds like the biggest lie I ever told. ‘It’s my mum’s.’ Could I
be
any more tragic?
‘Well anyway,’ he says, gesturing to his damp shirt.
Clutching the folder to my chest, I muster as muchconfidence as I can. ‘Yes, of course,’ I sound ridiculously formal, ‘I mustn’t keep you. And listen, I’m sorry.’
He waves away my apology. ‘It’s no big deal, really.’ Then he smiles at me again and he’s got these lovely crinkly bits at the sides of his eyes.
There’s a fraction of a second where neither of us moves. Just a fraction of a fraction, so that I’m not entirely sure it’s there, before he moves past me and disappears inside.
I think I might have just fallen in love.
So what if he thinks I’m an M People fan? It’s not that bad, is it?
Focus, Maddie
, I tell myself as I flip through the terms of Evan Bergman’s contract, occasionally pausing to pick disinterestedly at my sandwich.
Yes, it’s bad. It’s very bad.
I’m sitting at a table in Vocalise, a neighbouring karaoke bar just round the corner from my parents’. I couldn’t face returning to the club straight after my meeting at Tooth & Nail – there’d be way too many questions waiting there that I didn’t have the answers to – so decided I’d stop off to a) scope out the competition, b) get through Evan’s T&Cs without distraction, and c) give my wibbly legs a break after they (just about) carried me from my disastrous encounter with the World’s Most Handsome Man.
But the contract’s a blur. Every time I get to grips with one of the clauses it starts swimming before my eyes, and by the time I reach the end I realise I’ve just played out a mini fantasy involving me emerging from Tooth & Nail and
not
spilling coffee on him and
not
appearing to suffer from Tourette’s and
not
wearing that stupid bloody brooch, and instead he maybe spills coffee on me and there’s this moment where he awkwardly dabs at my pretty sleeveless top while thinking how beautiful I am and wishing he had the nerve to look me in the eye and maybe find the courage to ask me out …
So then I have to read the whole clause again.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ A girl with cropped dark hair and masses of eye make-up takes my practically untouched plate.
‘No, thanks,’ I say, wondering where my appetite has gone. Normally a crisis calls for some serious cake intake, but the combination of my unnerving meeting with Evan and my even-more-unnerving meeting with Mystery Man has me feeling a little sick. I’m desperate to call Lou, but I know she’s at Simply Voices today – our Monday shifts never cross.
Nevertheless I’m impressed that Vocalise has table service. And it’s not the only thing that’s streaks ahead of Sing It Back. Even at three o’clock on a weekday afternoon they’ve got a handful of punters in – from their suits and shirts I guess they’re on some kind of corporate team-building exercise – and the karaoke isn’t sounding all that bad. This might be less to do with the party’s singing ability and more to do with the state-of-the-art machines, spanking-new microphones and – unless my ears deceive me, as Cher’s ‘Believe’ ramps up – is that a vocoding device? Phew.
The whole look and feel of the place is miles better, too. It’s really cohesive, everything considered, everything intentional. Not like Mum and Dad’s, where the overall impressionis of something designed on a let’s-throw-everything-at-it-andsee-what-happens basis.
The Subject agrees to all filming in relation to the Club … consents to cooperate fully in securing necessary footage … entrusts the Producers autonomy in the editorial process … approves creative direction …
I stir the twizzle stick in my lemonade. It
‘Not a big fan myself,’ he muses, ‘though I guess I can see it.’
I look down at the sorry brooch. ‘It’s not mine,’ I say defensively, and even though it’s the truth it sounds like the biggest lie I ever told. ‘It’s my mum’s.’ Could I
be
any more tragic?
‘Well anyway,’ he says, gesturing to his damp shirt.
Clutching the folder to my chest, I muster as muchconfidence as I can. ‘Yes, of course,’ I sound ridiculously formal, ‘I mustn’t keep you. And listen, I’m sorry.’
He waves away my apology. ‘It’s no big deal, really.’ Then he smiles at me again and he’s got these lovely crinkly bits at the sides of his eyes.
There’s a fraction of a second where neither of us moves. Just a fraction of a fraction, so that I’m not entirely sure it’s there, before he moves past me and disappears inside.
I think I might have just fallen in love.
So what if he thinks I’m an M People fan? It’s not that bad, is it?
Focus, Maddie
, I tell myself as I flip through the terms of Evan Bergman’s contract, occasionally pausing to pick disinterestedly at my sandwich.
Yes, it’s bad. It’s very bad.
I’m sitting at a table in Vocalise, a neighbouring karaoke bar just round the corner from my parents’. I couldn’t face returning to the club straight after my meeting at Tooth & Nail – there’d be way too many questions waiting there that I didn’t have the answers to – so decided I’d stop off to a) scope out the competition, b) get through Evan’s T&Cs without distraction, and c) give my wibbly legs a break after they (just about) carried me from my disastrous encounter with the World’s Most Handsome Man.
But the contract’s a blur. Every time I get to grips with one of the clauses it starts swimming before my eyes, and by the time I reach the end I realise I’ve just played out a mini fantasy involving me emerging from Tooth & Nail and
not
spilling coffee on him and
not
appearing to suffer from Tourette’s and
not
wearing that stupid bloody brooch, and instead he maybe spills coffee on me and there’s this moment where he awkwardly dabs at my pretty sleeveless top while thinking how beautiful I am and wishing he had the nerve to look me in the eye and maybe find the courage to ask me out …
So then I have to read the whole clause again.
‘Can I get you anything else?’ A girl with cropped dark hair and masses of eye make-up takes my practically untouched plate.
‘No, thanks,’ I say, wondering where my appetite has gone. Normally a crisis calls for some serious cake intake, but the combination of my unnerving meeting with Evan and my even-more-unnerving meeting with Mystery Man has me feeling a little sick. I’m desperate to call Lou, but I know she’s at Simply Voices today – our Monday shifts never cross.
Nevertheless I’m impressed that Vocalise has table service. And it’s not the only thing that’s streaks ahead of Sing It Back. Even at three o’clock on a weekday afternoon they’ve got a handful of punters in – from their suits and shirts I guess they’re on some kind of corporate team-building exercise – and the karaoke isn’t sounding all that bad. This might be less to do with the party’s singing ability and more to do with the state-of-the-art machines, spanking-new microphones and – unless my ears deceive me, as Cher’s ‘Believe’ ramps up – is that a vocoding device? Phew.
The whole look and feel of the place is miles better, too. It’s really cohesive, everything considered, everything intentional. Not like Mum and Dad’s, where the overall impressionis of something designed on a let’s-throw-everything-at-it-andsee-what-happens basis.
The Subject agrees to all filming in relation to the Club … consents to cooperate fully in securing necessary footage … entrusts the Producers autonomy in the editorial process … approves creative direction …
I stir the twizzle stick in my lemonade. It
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