Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 18

Sal s Singalong was, as the kids said, a little sketch. It sat at the shabby corner of a mostly empty strip mall, and we all paused for a few seconds before pouring out of the van like a group of incognito clowns. I pressed the keys into Mom s hand. She d generously offered to be our designated driver.

Are you sure about this? Rachel asked. She carried three bottles of wine in her oversize purse. She d told us that she couldn t go back to cheap wine. She simply couldn t.

Sal offered us a significant discount if I would make a video about our experience here.

And sometimes you get what you pay for, Mom said.

Maybe it looks better on the inside?

And it did look marginally better on the inside, even if it reminded me of the dark, disco-ball-lit skating rinks from my teen years. Instead of a rink, though, there was a bar to one side, several caf tables and chairs, and a stage complete with a monitor and microphone. Screens to the left and right catered to the crowd.

Well, to where the crowd was supposed to be. One woman stood onstage, and four other people sat out in the audience. The place felt dead.

It also smelled of smoke, even though the website had said the place was nonsmoking.

To be fair, they hadn t said how long they d been nonsmoking.

How does this work? asked Mom as she put her coat on a chair.

Oh, we have our own room. Or we re supposed to. I put on my brightest smile and went to find Nita, the person I d made reservations with yesterday morning. The rest of my party gathered to watch the woman onstage sing a pitchy version of Man! I Feel Like a Woman!

The surly bartender called for Sal, and the owner of the establishment appeared moments later, reeking of cigarettes and just as rotund and bald as I d imagined a man named Sal might be. I introduced myself.

Oh, you re the Mom Scout! he said with a chuckle. And you re going to make a video of the whole thing, right?

I hesitated. Did I really want to promote a dive like this? What would people think if they came here on my recommendation? Then again, I supposed I could let the video do the talking? Buyer beware? Maybe all karaoke bars looked like this. I didn t know.

Sal shrugged as if he knew what I was thinking. It ain t much, I know. I just bought it six months ago. We re hoping to do a full remodel in the next year. You could mention that maybe?

I agreed and paid him the corkage fee for Rachel s wines with an apology. She s very picky, you see.

That s a good quality for your friends to have, Sal said as he gestured for me to follow him down a narrow hallway. Then it means something that she likes you .

Now I felt bad for having apologized for Rachel. I didn t want cheap beer or questionable wine, either. I should be applauding Rachel s ingenuity.

I gestured for our motley crew to follow Sal, too.

And here s our best room, Sal said as he opened the door. Usually it s booked on Thursdays for bachelorette parties and the like, but it was open when you called so I saved it for you.

Thank you for that, I said as I gave him my best smile.

He showed us how to use all the equipment and where the button was to call for someone to bring us food or drinks. By the time I realized he was hanging around because he wanted a tip, Rachel had already figured out how everything worked and was singing a pretty good version of One Way or Another.

Resigned, I slipped Sal a twenty and told myself to focus on what a great video this would make. It would have to be better than the ones I d recently put together. I pulled out my phone to catch at least a little bit of Rachel in action.

Mom surprised me by taking the stage next. She sang George Michael s Faith, and I had to admit I felt much better as I sang along. Maybe all I needed was some time to pick my own heart up off the floor.

Okay, Abi, what s it gonna be? Rachel asked.

Lady Marmalade. The 2001 version.

Oh.

You re damn right, oh. You re Mya. She pointed to Rachel before turning to me. And you re Pink. I m doing both Lil Kim and Christina Aguilera.

Someone feels like flexing this evening, Rachel said.

Abi gave her a half smile, and then she killed it.

We dissolved into laughter and hugs and took a wine break.

Second glass? asked Rachel.

Yes, I said.

Then it s time.

She made the statement with the gravity of a doctor about to wheel a patient back for a risky surgery.

Time for what?

For you to sing your new anthem. Grab the mic. I ll cue it up.

I don t know about-

Just do it, Vivian!

I handed off my phone and stepped on the tiny stage. My eyes got wide when I saw that my new anthem was about to be I Will Survive.

But I was not Gloria Gaynor.

My heart beat so hard, I thought it might come up my throat. My palms were so slick I almost dropped the microphone.

One glance at the women in the room, though, and I knew I was in the safest place I could possibly be.

I took a deep, ragged breath and then belted the song for all I was worth. The others joined in. By the end, adrenaline coursed through my veins in a brilliant catharsis.

I wasn t going to limit myself to singing backup anymore.

To make things better, Mom had figured out how to order an appetizer sampler platter, so we all paused to gorge ourselves on chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks and all sorts of snacks that were bad for us but oh so good.

Time for some mother-daughter bonding, Mom said.

I don t know about this, I said. I might have been feeling the wine, but I was feeling the grease even more.

It ll be a slow song.

Fine, I said. That was how I ended up singing Love Can Build a Bridge with my mother.

Now warmed up, Abi tackled Beyonc , Alanis Morissette, and Britney Spears. Then Rachel took over with an impassioned Wrecking Ball before calling Abi and me up there for the Black Eyed Peas Where Is the Love?

Mom recorded the whole thing with my phone, including the part where Rachel sang into a champagne bottle instead of the microphone. We all collapsed into another fit of laughter after that and decided that it might be time to go home.

One more, one more, Abi said. She cued up a song, while Rachel propped my phone up to record us and led Mom to the stage. Mom grinned when she heard the telltale harmonica in That s What Friends Are For.

Still smiling, we cleaned up after ourselves and headed out into the main area of the club, where every seat was now filled. Someone was singing an off-key version of Saving All My Love for You.

Someone thinks she s Whitney Houston, and she sure ain t, Abi said under her breath.

Rachel stopped in her tracks, and my tipsy self ran into her. What?

Nothing, she muttered quickly, picking up her pace.

But it was my turn to stop dead in my tracks and have my mother run into me. There on the stage was Tabitha in a slinky red dress. And there in the front row, grinning like a jackass eating saw briers, was Mitch, the man who supposedly hated red.

Oh, for the love of Pete, Mom said. Come on, Vivian, let s go.

For a few hours, I d forgotten about my soon-to-be ex-husband. I d forgotten about his cheating. I d forgotten about all of it. Of all the karaoke clubs in the world, why did he have to bring his new girlfriend to the one where I was going to sing? And that was before we even got to all the times Mitch had told me he had no interest in making a fool of himself at some karaoke joint.

I took a step in his direction, but Mom grabbed my arm. Don t.

But he-

I know, she said, her eyes locked with mine. Live to fight another day.

So I followed my friends out, and we rode quietly home, our joy dissipated like air from a deflated balloon.

As I watched the video to edit it, though, I saw a different version of myself. The Vivian at karaoke was in her element, her eyes bright and laughter prevalent. The last snippet of video was an off-center selfie-style version of all of us-Abi, Mom, Rachel, and me-swaying as we sang That s What Friends Are For, but it was my favorite.

Life doesn t come to us in perfectly centered frames or precisely performed moments.

I knew then that I couldn t afford to put off the things I wanted to do. In fact, now that Dylan was off at college and Mitch had decided he didn t want to share life with me, I had no reason to put things off. I needed to live my life.

Mitch s loss. Because the Vivian Quackenbush I saw on video was fucking delightful.

I recorded a coda for the video, my voice scratchy but my heart light. I had done something new, something I had always wanted to do but had been afraid to do. I had worn the color I wanted to wear. Most importantly, I had shared the experience with the very people I wanted to.

And I had walked away from trouble.

No matter what Mitch did, he couldn t take that away from me.