Based on a real event. The title "The social Media Lounge Singer" is part of the picture and is not the title.
Prompt: Use music in a short fiction piece
Limit: 750 words
Deadline: 9/14/2011 at 8:00 p.m. ET
Wow, my first formal gala! I proceeded into the convention center with wide-eyed childlike expectation. I might actually meet some big wigs, a congressman or maybe even a senator or something.
I checked my over coat, and straightened my ascot in the reflection mirrored back opposite the rising escalator. I stepped off the escalator and stood behind an aide to congressman Eric Cantor, while, I awaited the opportunity to enjoy the gala and all its offerings. I entered into the top floor automobile display area, the "click, click" of the soles of my shoes drowned out by the cacophony that emanated from what passed for a cover band. I stopped to listen for a moment and chuckled at the band's sour notes. Whoa! Maybe they're only warming up, its early.
Early or not, the venue appeared filled with patrons, already. Strange and exotic vehicles appeared alongside the familiar varieties, at every turn of my head. I headed straight for the nearest bar station, astonished that it was "open bar", only tips expected. I meandered around the area close to the wannabe cover band, amd traversed around patrons in tuxedos "jailhouse" posed in front of vehicles with 30" chrome rims. Oh you know the pose, squatted down, elbows on the knees, poised on the toes. Well, it looked even more ridiculous with a tux on. I moved from car to car, free beer in hand, and tried to hum along with the mangled rendition of KC and the Sunshine Band's "Get Down Tonight"
I decided to head in the direction of the back half of the center, if for no other reason than to save my ears. And to my displeasure, my ears were immediately accosted by a wannabe lounge singer, absolutely butchering my favorite Luther Vandross track. He sang loud, tone deaf and off-key, "And a heart is not a home, Then there's no one there to hold you close, And no one to kiss at night, Ah girl".
Initially perturbed, I fought the urge to stomp away disgusted and instead decided to pretend to examine a futuristic prototype of a Chrysler Minivan. I just caught myself, prior to offering odds for wagering to passing patrons on whether Convention Management would give the singer "the hook" before the end of the song and how soon.
"...But a room is in a house, And that house is close to home, What the two of us are tryin' to start, But one of us has a broken heart..."
Struck by the comedic value of the rendition, I covered my mouth with my hand gripping my chin, as if in deep thought, to hide a grin. I decided to move closer to the singer, and pretended to be just another patron interested in being involved in a discussion over a prototype sedan proffered by Chrysler.
"...But its just a crazy game, And when it ends, it ends like years, Pretty little darling; you have my heart, Don't let a mistake tear us apart, I'm not meant to just roam, Turn your house into my home..."
At that point, I could no longer hold the laughter in, it started slowly with me determined to keep it tightly under control.
"...Its drivin' me insane to think, That my baby wouldn't be; in a home with me, Just say you're gonna be, Still with me, Oh yeah"
I hunched over and began to laugh out loud. I crossed my arms and held my sides as they began to hurt, while, tears leaked from my eyes.