Part 19 (1/2)

Her confidence grew as she got deeper into the song, her eyes focused somewhere out beyond the crowd, her free hand sweeping out in a grand gesture over the people, bringing a fairly sizable round of applause as she continued on.

And that's when I noticed the tears coming from her eyes.

As the lyrics tumbled out of her, it seemed pretty clear that she wasn't so much singing them as she was speaking them to someone else.

George Spellman.

She finished with a flourish and most of the audience rose to their feet, exploding with applause. Matilda wiped her eyes and handed the mic back to the MC, who was still encouraging the crowd to clap for her performance.

”Of all the things I've seen on this stage, that might've been the most surprising,” Julianne said. ”And touching.”

I nodded in agreement as the applause finally started to die down. Not everyone in the audience was privy to the meaning behind the lyrics, but it was hard not to infer that the song meant something to Matilda. I could even hear Butch sniffling behind me.

As Matilda lumbered down the stairs from the stage, I noticed that her expression started to change. The sadness that had been draped all over her face was being slowly replaced by something else.

Anger. Or irritation. Or something along those lines.

And she was staring at Susan Blamunski, who was doing her best to return the stare.

”Wow,” Julianne said, seeing what I was seeing. ”Rawr, cat fight. Wonder what that's all about.”

As Matilda reached the bottom stair, Susan met her there. They glared at one another and I couldn't be sure, but it looked as if Matilda b.u.mped her with her ma.s.sive hip as she pa.s.sed. Susan tossed her another angry look over her shoulder as she went up the stairs to the stage.

”Maybe she took her song,” Julianne said.

I nodded and watched as Susan marched up to the karaoke machine. She placed her hands on her hips, made an impatient face at the MC, and waited for him to pull up whatever she was looking for. When it was up, she grabbed the mic from his hand and marched to the middle of the stage, her face still masked with anger.

The first few notes of the song pulsated through the speakers and Julianne dug her nails into my arm. ”Oh my G.o.d. Duran Duran? I used to love them!”

It was indeed Duran Duran and Susan plunged into a ferocious version of ”Hungry Like the Wolf,” prancing and preening around the stage in a near maniacal manner. She clawed at the air. She bared her teeth. Her singing was okay, but she was selling the act and the audience was eating it up, including Julianne, who was standing and singing along, one hand cradling her stomach, the other raised in full fist-pump mode.

Carly just stared at her mother, wide-eyed with wonder.

As the song wound down, Susan planted herself in the middle of the stage. She made one more clawing gesture at the audience and thrust the microphone into the air, an evil-looking smile settling on her face as she stared out into the wildly cheering crowd.

I followed her gaze.

Matilda Biggs was at the other end of it. She stood near the bleachers, her arms folded across her ample body, shaking her head, before she turned and walked off.

37.

”It would've been awesome if they had just clawed each other's eyes out,” Julianne said.

She was flat on her back in bed, her tank top pulled up to expose her enormous belly. I was next to her, my hand on the mountain, feeling for kicks or other signs that the progeny finally might want out.

”Susan doesn't seem the type to like Celine Dion,” I said.

Julianne closed her eyes. ”Maybe she's just into power ballads.”

”Or maybe there was some sort of fair betting pool on who would win karaoke,” I suggested.

”I totally would've partic.i.p.ated in that pool.”

We dissolved into laughter again. We'd had a good night. We'd had fun together. Fun had been missing from the fair until that night and I was glad it was back. Yes, Julianne was hot and miserable and I was frustrated. But there was comfort in the fact that we could still go out to something goofy and ridiculous like Carriveau County Idol and have a good time.

”Carly said she wants to sing next year in the kids' division,” Julianne said, staring at the ceiling.

”Ummm . . . no.”

”Why not?”

”Because she can't sing.”

”She's a kid.”

”Which is exactly how most of those other yellers ended up there in the first place,” I said. ”They didn't have a parent up there to tell them no.”

”Why would you tell her no?”

”Because she can't sing. She unfortunately inherited my singing talent. Which means she got none.”

Julianne frowned. ”Hmm. I told her we'd see.”

”You heard the way everyone mocked the people who got up there and couldn't sing,” I said, rubbing her stomach. ”You heard the way we mocked them. Do you want people doing that to our daughter?”

”They wouldn't mock her.”

”Oh, yes, they would.”

She thought for a moment. ”I would kill anyone who mocked my child.”

”Well, then, you'd have a long list to get through.”

She laughed and tried to turn into me, but her stomach made it impossible and she groaned. ”Oh my G.o.d. I'm going to rip this thing out with my bare hands if I have to. I can't even hug you.”

I pulled her as close as I could and kissed her forehead. ”Soon. It'll happen soon. I can feel it.”

”There's no baby in you. You can't feel anything.”

”Maybe I'm just intuitive.”

”Maybe you're just saying things to try and make me feel better.”

”Maybe.”