Part 36 (1/2)
”I have to have someone to sing to, don't I?”
”My gammy's been itching to get on stage. Take her!”
”Sorry. I don't go for older women. You know. The image and all.”
”But she's spry for her age. The broken bones have mended nicely!”
”Come on. Relax and enjoy the limelight, Tressa. Rest a.s.sured, I will deliver you back to your boyfriend with your virtue intact.”
”Boyfriend? How do you know he's my boyfriend?” I asked, suddenly flushed.
”From the bulging veins in his neck that popped out when I whisked you off.”
”Oh.”
Jax yanked me up the stairs and onto the stage to deafening applause. Mr. Harcourt handed Jax a microphone.
”h.e.l.lo Grandville, Iowa, U...S...A!” Jax yelled.
The audience went wild.
”I'm totally thrilled to help you celebrate your new auditorium and night four of TribRide! What do you say, Grandville? Are you ready to party?” He raised the microphone over his head. ”Rock on!”
Jax brought the mic to his mouth and stared into my eyes. I felt like I might pee my pants. I can be such a teenybopper.
Then, he started to sing.
”You come. You go. You leave. You stay.”
I stared. Holy Hollywood hype. Jax wrote this song. Keelie starred in the music video. The song's release had fueled speculation that the newest ”power couple” was more about a short-term media b.u.mp than happily ever after.
Either way, this couldn't be good. For Jax.
Or a certain clueless cowgirl.
”You scram. You stay.
Fidelity depends upon the day.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
You laugh. I cry.
'Cause you've got a roving eye.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p. Where to see, ain't to believe.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p. When it gets too real, you leave.”
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.”
Okay. So the lyrics probably weren't Grammy quality. But, I'm telling you, once that song got stuck in your head, you required a crowbar to pry it out.
”I paddle. You float.
You just have to rock that boat.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
d.a.m.ned if I do. d.a.m.ned if you will.
Phony as a three-dollar bill.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p: What you see, ain't what you get.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p: h.e.l.l, you ain't seen nothin' yet.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.”
Before Jax could begin the next stanza a voice from the audience took over.
”'I'm here. You're there.
That ol' 'check is in the mail.'
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.'”
I squinted at the darkened audience. When the spotlight found its mark, I couldn't believe my own eyes. Keelie Keeler, mic in hand, sat on my date's lap.
”You're out. You're in.
The boot-draggin's wearin' thin.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.”
Quicker than you can say ”Sonny and Cher” or ”Kenny and Dolly” or ”Alvin and the Chipmunks,” the power pair blended their voices. I winced when Keelie hit a sour note, but the duet still had me-and the audience-spellbound.
”Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p Long-term rules do not apply.
Counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
It's all just one big lie.
It's a counterfeit courts.h.i.+p.
I'm soft. You're hard.