Harriet caught me on my way out.
“Karaoke?” she asked. “In public?”
But we weren’t on tour anymore and I wasn’t Katee Rose. Well, not exactly.
“Trust me,” I said.
I could tell that she was confused, but I’d also never known Harriet to turn down a sing-along. Part of me wondered if she was aware of the problems with ticket sales. If Cal had told me, surely he’d told the writer-lyricist. Maybe it was part of the reason she’d been so distant. All of us keeping secrets from each other.
The place was packed when I arrived—practically all of the cast and crew had shown up early. It was a good sign, but I scanned the crowd, hoping there’d also be some locals, ideally with good cameras on their phones and a decent social media following.
It was possible that this was a terrible idea. It was also possible that it was utterly genius.
Karaoke started at six-thirty, so I ordered a drink and put myself on the list. There were a handful of names above mine, but I could tell that everyone from Riveted! had been waiting for me to sign up.
I kept watching the door, waiting for Cal to arrive. It wasn’t until karaoke had already begun and he still wasn’t there that I actually began to worry that he might not show up. His presence wasn’t necessary for this to work, but I’d also never thought that he just wouldn’t come.
“Next up is Kathleen Rosenberg,” the host called.
The room—still mostly made up of the cast—cheered as I hit the stage.
“Hello, Rhode Island!” I said.
I got some hoots and hollers.
“Before I knock your socks off,” I said, “I want to tell you all a little secret.”
I could practically feel the room lean toward me.
“My real name is Kathleen Rosenberg,” I said. “But it’s possible that some of you might know me by another name.” I held for a count of five. The perfect length for dramatic effect. “Does anyone remember Katee Rose?”
I could feel the vibration of excitement travel through the crowd, all those whispers of “OMG” or “I knew it” or “What is she doing here?” I had them in the palm of my hand.
“Well, in case you’ve forgotten about her, I’m here to jog your memories,” I said. “Let’s go!”
The music started and the crowd went crazy.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d performed one of my songs live. I’d spent so much time lip-syncing them that I wondered, for a brief, horrible moment, if I still had it.
Then, the door to the bar opened and Cal walked in.
My eyes locked on his and I began to sing.
“Kiss me, baby. Once. Twice. Kiss me again, honey. Doesn’t it feel so nice?”
I watched as Cal’s expression went from surprise to shock to what I assumed was understanding. He crossed his arms and shook his head, the smile on his face both encouraging and disbelieving.
I let myself really sing the song. I didn’t do the Katee Rose version, everything coming up out of my nose. Instead, I put my whole voice, my whole throat behind it, and a silly song about making out became a heartfelt cry for love.
I finished, holding that last note way longer than I ever did on any of my records, and the room. Went. Nuts.
“Thank you!” I said, taking a bow. “If you like what you just heard, then you’re going to want to see me and my amazing co-stars in Riveted! Tickets on sale now!”
I hopped off the stage, accepting compliments and high fives as I headed back to the bar where Cal was standing.
“Unbelievable,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I’m incredibly talented.”
He laughed and took a drink of his beer.
“Anyone get a video of it?” I asked.
“Just half the bar,” he said.
“Excellent,” I said. “Let’s hope they included the part where I talked about the show.”
He turned to face me. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “We—I—would have figured it out. The performances would start generating word of mouth, we’d sell the tickets. It was all taken care of.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just say thank you.”
I could tell that there were probably a whole bunch of other words he’d rather say, but in the end he just nodded.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
We sat at the bar while the rest of the cast got up and killed. I kept paying for drinks and even signed a few autographs for those in the bar who weren’t involved with Riveted!
“Tell your friends about the show!” I told them.
It was shameless, but I didn’t care. I wanted to sell tickets. I wanted to go to Broadway.
The truth was, if this didn’t work out, I’d contact the press myself and give up the story—the real story—about what happened all those years ago.
But still. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
The performances were incredible. We got an amazing duet of “I’ll Cover You” from Rent, while Taylor brought us all to tears with her hilarious version of “I Cain’t Say No” from Oklahoma! I couldn’t help myself and went up a few more times, doing “Joey” by Concrete Blonde and some Linda Ronstadt, while Harriet did a truly terrible rendition of “Hold On.” Even the more reserved crew members, like Morgan in wardrobe, took a swing and surprised us with a sweetly sung “Hard Candy Christmas” from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
The entire time, Cal stayed in the back, watching, applauding, but not moving from his seat.
As the night went on, the bar got more and more crowded. I signed up again to sing, willing, once more, to put myself on display for the benefit of the show.
But this time, I didn’t plan on being alone.
I picked up the microphone.
“You’re welcome,” I said as the song started.
“Oh my god,” Cal groaned.
“Oh my god!” everyone else cheered.
“Shore Leave” wasn’t CrushZone’s best-known song, but it was the one with the most iconic music video and the most memorable dance moves. Dance moves I still remembered. And I bet Cal did as well.
“Baby, baby, baby,” I sang. “It’s my last chance for love.”
Cal had his head in his hands, but everyone else was on their feet cheering. I saw his shoulders shaking and when Harriet pulled him out of his chair, I could see that he was laughing, his face red. She dragged him toward the front of the room. Toward me.