Discovering Stella (14 page)

“Are
you
serious?” I complained, shoving
my
cutlery tray at him and
plopping
down in
my
seat again.

He
smirked.
“At
least
you
won’t
be faced with protesting
utensils.”

“No,
but
didn’t
you
know that pepper likes to cross-dress?”

“Stella!” he warned
as
he headed back to the bar.

I laughed.
“I’m
kidding. I
won’t
sabotage your seasonings.”

“Good, because I’d have to fire
you
if
you
did.”

Smiling, I
went
about filling the salt and pepper shakers. Unbeknownst to
Todd,
I was actually thoroughly enjoying myself.
It
was nice to finally feel normal, participate in normal. Be normal. I was also
thinking
about what he’d said in relation to me singing, that I’d do
it
when I was happy and comfortable,
as
I was in this
moment.

Blocking
out
everything around me and homing in
on
the stereo system of the
hotel,
I discovered the sounds of
Crowded
House performing ‘Fall At
Your
Feet’.
In
my
past life,
it
had been
one
of
my
favourite songs.
Yet,
I still felt
an
overwhelming connection to
it
— exploring that struggle to
love
and
move
on.

Taking a deep breath, I shed
my
inhibitions and slowly opened
my mouth,
willing the lyrics to form a relationship with
my
voice.
I
didn’t
care
how
they combined
or
what they sounded like, I just wanted them to materialise.

Silence.

A strangled whisper.

Followed by the vibrating hum of
my
throat
as
I exhaled through
my
nose.

In recent times, humming had been
all
I could manage,
for
a tune without lyrics only meant so much. When the words of a song were absent, the
full
story was
seldom told.
For
me, the magic happened when the two combined. That was the reason why I
loved
singing so much —
it
completed a
whole
...
my whole.

Continuing to hum, I opened
my
mouth again, this time releasing words coupled with
an
exhale of relief. I let go, just
as
the lyrics were instructing me to
do.
It
felt wonderful, somewhat liberating,
but
only in a mild sense — singing quietly to oneself was nothing in comparison to performing in
front
of a roomful of people.

I sang with Neil Finn about letting tears rain down,
all
the while
trying
to refrain from doing just that. The
emotion
bubbling inside me
as
a result of actually singing
for
the first time in
more
than
a year was overwhelming. I felt free,
as
if I’d just reached the
water’s
surface and taken a reviving breath. The words
...
the song
...
singing about hiding and slow-turning pain
...
it
all
just
...
hit me, forcing
out
a
loud
sob.

“There’s
my
girl,”
Todd
said soothingly,
as
he rested his chin
on my
head and rubbed both
my
arms.
“I
knew
you
could do
it.”

I was just about to respond and
thank
him
for
the
vote
of confidence, when a deep, arrogant
voice
interrupted our
moment.

“Can she do
it
every weekend?”

Both
Todd
and I turned abruptly to observe a tattoo-clad
guy,
a guitar strapped
over
his shoulder and a large speaker dangling from his hand like a
shopping
bag.
He
was smiling,
but
his expression held
more
—
it
conveyed roguishness.

Embarrassed to be sprung crying, I quickly shielded
my
face and wiped
my
eyes before turning back to face him.

“You’re
a
bit
early, Leigh,”
Todd
stated, his
tone
awash with hostility.

Leigh placed the speaker down and
removed
a toothpick from between his teeth, his eyes
not
leaving mine,
not
even
for
a sec
ond.
“Nothing wrong with being punctual.”
He
grabbed a chair that was pushed in at the table I was sitting at, spun
it
around and sat
on it
backward.
“That’s
quite a
voice you
got
there.”

“Leigh, this is
my sister,
Stella. Stella, this is Leigh, the guitarist in the local
band,”
Todd
explained with what I perceived
as
annoyance.

“No
shit! Sister?”
Leigh
laughed with incredulity.
“Toddy
boy,
you’ve
been holding
out
on
us.”
He extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sweetheart.”

I pursed
my
lips and narrowed
my
eyes, opting to ignore his outstretched hand by continuing to fill the salt and pepper shakers.
“It’s
Stella, and
I’m
no
one’s
sweetheart.”

Leigh chuckled and retracted his hand, amused
devilry
dancing in his eyes.
“I
can
see the family
resemblance.”

“Todd!”
an
elderly man called
out
as
he sat himself at the bar. “What
you
doin’
over
there? The beer
won’t
pour itself,
son.”

“Yeah,
yeah, Larry, give us a
sec,”
he called back before turning to me.
“You
all
right?”

Waving
Todd
off with
my
hand, I indicated I was fine. “Of course.
Go.”

“Yeah,
don’t
you worry,
I’ll keep
an
eye
on
her,”
Leigh added, winking at me.

I rolled
my
eyes and shook
my
head at his non-charming man
ner.
Mind you,
it
did go well with his
rocker-badboy
appearance. Leigh
wore
his
jet-black
hair spiked in a
scruffy
I-just-got-of-bed
kind of
way.
His eyes were a vivid green, which matched the flat, disc-like earring puncturing his lobe. And he
wasn’t
exactly clean-shaven, his
5-o’clock
shadow
complementing
his
whole
ensemble just
nicely.

“So, that
voice
of yours, I want to use
it.”

I laughed
out
loud. This guy had no tact.
“Too
bad.”

“I
know a singer when I hear and see
one,
and
you
are definitely a
singer.”

I shook
my
head mildly and picked up a pepper shaker, steadying
my
hand
as
I proceeded to fill it.
“Was
a singer.
Not
any
more.”

“There’s
no such thing. Once a musician always a
musician.”

He
was right.
Music
wasn’t
an
item
of clothing
you
could just replace;
it
was the skin
you wore.
However,
I
wasn’t
about to openly agree with him.
“Fine.
Consider me
retired.”

“Then come
out
of retirement. I’ll even pay your superannuation.”

Placing the bag of pepper down and screwing the lid
on
the shaker, I made eye contact with him.
“No,
thank
you. And any
way,
something tells me I
wouldn’t
suit your
style.”

“Oh,
you
suit
my
style
all
right,”
he said with
an
undertone of heated arrogance.
“Very
much.”

I considered whether to smile
or
swiftly
raise
my
leg toward his groin, hoping to send his precious balls
into
the
pit
of his stomach,
but
continued with
my
newfound
skill
of pepper shaker filling instead.
“I doubt
that
...
very
much,”
I retorted.

Leigh leaned forward and
gently
blew in
my
direction, sending a small
plume
of
pepper
into
my
face, enough to make
me
sneeze.

“You
arsehol—” I tried to finish the
word, but
another sneeze
broke
through.

He
laughed and rocked back
on
his chair. “Uh-huh
...
very
much.”

Before I could respond with a clever comeback
or
the tipping of the entire bag of pepper
on
his head,
an
angry
voice
sounded from behind me. “Hey!”

I wiped the pepper from
my
face and tried to stop another onslaught of sneezing only to find Lawson holding Leigh by the scruff of the neck. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“None
of your business, Drake. I was just having a friendly chat with
Toddy
boy’s
baby
sis.”

Lawson’s
grip tightened. “Only
you
would
call
that a friendly chat. I
call
that being a fucking
prick.”

“Lawson, let him go.
Not
in
here,
mate,”
Todd
said, stepping up beside me.
“You
all
right, Stel?”

A little stunned by
Lawson’s
anger, I stood up and tried to play what had happened down.
“Yes,
of
course,
I’m
fine. Leigh was just introducing himself
as
the town
jerk,”
I said with mock seriousness, holding
my
hand
out
to him. “Pleased to meet you. I knew there’d be
one
around
here
somewhere.”

He
laughed and
pried
himself
free
of Lawson’s hold, brush
ing
his
hands
down
his
t-shirt
and
leather vest before
taking
my
hand and
pressing it to
his
lips. “The
pleasure
has
been
all
mine.”

Lawson inched
closer,
but
was restrained by
Todd.
It
was then that I twisted
my
wrist and latched
onto
Leigh’s nose, screwing
it
to the extent
of,
I hoped, causing great discomfort to him. “Has it?” I asked with a sinister smile.
“Are
you
sure?”

“Ah,
fuck!” he mumbled.

“You’re
a
jerk,
Leigh, and
you
have a
lot
to learn, especially if
that’s how you
prefer
to
blow on
a girl’s
face.”
I let go, swivelled
on my
good foot, and proceeded toward the back room.
“Todd,
if
it’s
all
right with you, I might
call
it
a
day.”

“All
good,
Stel.”

“Thanks.
Oh,
and Lawson,
can
I get a ride? I
don’t
fancy walking
home.”