You Give Love A Bad Name [part V]
Continued from part IV.
Now I understand why Ashton wants me to take him home.
It's been fun flirting with him, but now I see that neither one of us has been serious about what we've been saying.
Ashton takes the mic and sings "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day. He's a so-so singer; there's room for improvement. He has trouble hitting the high notes, but he's not awful, and he has just the right degree of self-deprecating humour when he's finished.
"That was really bad, wasn't it?"
"No, not really," I tell him, "It was okay; I've heard better but it wasn't bad."
I can't outright lie and tell him he was great, when he wasn't, and he knows he wasn't.
"I guess I shouldn't quit being a chef," he says.
"We're all good at some things, and not so good at others," I say, philosophically. "Myself, as a chef I make a pretty good karaoke singer."
Ashton laughs at this. "Yeah, and as a singer I make a great chef!"
Now it's my turn. I sing "I Fall To Pieces" for no particular reason other than that I suspect it'll go over well with this crowd. When I come back to the table Ashton is sitting in my chair. There's only the one table in the karaoke zone at The Hole In The Wall, with four chairs, one of which is holding our coats. Lana and Sparky are in the other two, Darla and Nadia have pulled up bar stools to the table, and Scully and Tara are standing against the bar, talking to some people I don't know.
I move behind Ashton and touch the back of his neck, between his hair and his black shirt, and he almost jumps out of his chair again. But not quite.
"Sure, I turn my back for one minute and you take my chair," I say. Neither the most original nor the cleverest line in the world, yeah, yeah, but it was amusing because he and I both know that it was his chair before I got there.
"That's right," he says, "So you're going to have to sit on my lap, I guess."
Bob, the resident octogenerian, is on stage again, this time singing "Fly Me To The Moon." Ashton has turned his chair to make room for me, and is now facing the front of the bar, which means he can't see the stage or the screen with the lyrics.
And it was right then and there, at a hole in the wall bar in The Junction, sitting on the lap of an adorable sous chef fifteen years younger than me, with my arm around his shoulders and his around my waist, as he sang every word of Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me To The Moon" to me, without having to look at the words...
...that I began to wonder, what if?
To be continued tomorrow, and concluded on Friday.
Now I understand why Ashton wants me to take him home.
It's been fun flirting with him, but now I see that neither one of us has been serious about what we've been saying.
Ashton takes the mic and sings "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day. He's a so-so singer; there's room for improvement. He has trouble hitting the high notes, but he's not awful, and he has just the right degree of self-deprecating humour when he's finished.
"That was really bad, wasn't it?"
"No, not really," I tell him, "It was okay; I've heard better but it wasn't bad."
I can't outright lie and tell him he was great, when he wasn't, and he knows he wasn't.
"I guess I shouldn't quit being a chef," he says.
"We're all good at some things, and not so good at others," I say, philosophically. "Myself, as a chef I make a pretty good karaoke singer."
Ashton laughs at this. "Yeah, and as a singer I make a great chef!"
Now it's my turn. I sing "I Fall To Pieces" for no particular reason other than that I suspect it'll go over well with this crowd. When I come back to the table Ashton is sitting in my chair. There's only the one table in the karaoke zone at The Hole In The Wall, with four chairs, one of which is holding our coats. Lana and Sparky are in the other two, Darla and Nadia have pulled up bar stools to the table, and Scully and Tara are standing against the bar, talking to some people I don't know.
I move behind Ashton and touch the back of his neck, between his hair and his black shirt, and he almost jumps out of his chair again. But not quite.
"Sure, I turn my back for one minute and you take my chair," I say. Neither the most original nor the cleverest line in the world, yeah, yeah, but it was amusing because he and I both know that it was his chair before I got there.
"That's right," he says, "So you're going to have to sit on my lap, I guess."
Bob, the resident octogenerian, is on stage again, this time singing "Fly Me To The Moon." Ashton has turned his chair to make room for me, and is now facing the front of the bar, which means he can't see the stage or the screen with the lyrics.
And it was right then and there, at a hole in the wall bar in The Junction, sitting on the lap of an adorable sous chef fifteen years younger than me, with my arm around his shoulders and his around my waist, as he sang every word of Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me To The Moon" to me, without having to look at the words...
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing for evermore
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, in other words
I love you
...that I began to wonder, what if?
To be continued tomorrow, and concluded on Friday.
3 Comments:
The tension is killing me. At least I know that I'll have something to look forward to tomorrow....
Hey, look what happened to the other Ashton that got involved with an older woman...
They seem to be doing ok. Although, daddy Bruce seems to be a bit TOO ok with it. Or, maybe I've just seen to many of his movies...
I told you, I have a lot in common with Demi Moore. She used to be on General Hospital, and I used to watch General Hospital.
But I never would have divorced Bruce Willis!
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