Chapter Text
"No offense, kid," said Ernie, looking him up and down, "but I don't think they're your kind of crowd."
“Ev’rybody’s my kinda crowd,” the kid replied, a half-second after that flicker of dejection was replaced by a smooth, almost teasing smile.
“Ha!” Ernie barked, impressed. “Well, you’ve got confidence to spare—I’ll give you that. But these are college kids. Real—.”
“Jus’ gimme a chance,” the kid insisted. “One song. I c’n play t’any crowd.”
Ernie’s mouth twisted. He liked the kid. He was charming. Handsome. A tall strapping specimen of all-American youth. But that kind of all-American handsome didn't really play to these kinds of kids. They were the misfits, the oddballs. The self-proclaimed outcasts who slouched around the place in oversized t-shirts and ugly chunky combat boots. And the sort of acts that made it with them were of the same mold; lanky, awkward young men with expressions like soured milk and perpetually bedraggled looks. Not six-foot something farm boys with chiseled jaws, perfect hair and dazzling eyes.
But...he sorta felt sorry for the kid. He was nice. Winning. Clearly not from around here and way too young to be out on his own—even if he did look a touch older than his work papers said he was. Kids like that usually ended up on the street. Lots came out to New York City every day to follow their dreams—selling themselves as the next great actor, model, or rockstar—and lots ended up selling something else on the corners. It was sad. But he’d learned a long time ago you couldn't save everyone.
Still...it seemed wrong to not even let him try. He’d clearly come a long way—if those clothes and that accent were anything to go by. What could it hurt?
Even if he did fall flat on his face or that pretty speaking voice was nothing but an empty promise. Who cared? He’d get his ass booed, maybe hightail it back to the farm, and Ernie still got to say he did a nice thing. Besides, he wasn't even asking for payment. So, why not?
“Okay," he said finally. "One song."
The kid brightened but with a dignity few of his fellows ever had—sincerely gratified but not desperate.
"One song's all I need,” he promised.
“We’ll see,” Ernie chuckled, deciding he liked him even more. "She's all yours."
Already eyeing the stage with an eager grin, the kid turned back and held out his hand.
"Thank yuh, Mr. Hughes."
Ernie smiled at the firm, hearty handshake, then gave him an almost pitying look. The kids in this place had probably spent most of their young lives getting picked on by people who looked an awful lot like him and up there, he’d be at their mercy.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said kindly.
The boy shook his head gravely but there was a glimmer of that teasing smile again.
"No, sir."
"All right then," he said, shaking his head a little ruefully, "get up there."
The boy nodded; a perfect movie star smile breaking out as he mounted the steps two at a time, and in spite of his reservations, Ernie couldn’t help but smile back. Suddenly feeling a lot more invested than he had a second ago, Ernie watched from the floor as the tall kid very gently tapped the mic, listened intently, then flexed his hand around the guitar’s neck. It was the first sign of anything like nerves he’d seen from the kid and inexplicably, his own heart fluttered. But then, his other hand dropped in a strum and a melancholy chord rang out. Then another. Then a fancy little run. And the kid started singing.
And Ernie had to admit—he was good. Very good. Good enough to draw every eye in that room. And hold it. Including Ernie’s. That was when he realized the kid hadn’t been joking about playing to any crowd because while he might have looked fresh off the farm he was playing a moody little cover of an 80's pop song that was so creatively adapted, it sounded like a brand-new song. A better one. Which was… undeniably impressive. And judging by the reactions across the bar, Ernie wasn’t the only one who thought so. In fact, by the time the kid was stretching the notes of the once peppy chorus into a mournful lament for lovelorn hope and sweet delusions, everyone in the room was either swaying along in blissfully angsty communion or staring at the boy like he’d just stepped out of a dream. It wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting from this crowd, for this kid but there it was, and it really had only taken one song.