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Melissa King does not sing karaoke.
Sure, on occasion you could find her belting out Do You Want to Build a Snowman alongside her sister, Becca, or pretending the driver’s seat of her Subaru was her own personal stage, but everyone did that, right? Not even her shower walls saw anything close to a performance, as she usually utilized that time to go over schedules and lists and tough cases from work, overthinking and planning until the water ran cold.
But karaoke? That was a whole new beast entirely. Real singing? In front of people? People that weren’t Becca or on the very rare occasion, her good friend Frank Langon? Forget it.
Trinity Santos can be persuasive, though, and when she suggested that the Pitt Crew go out to celebrate her birthday at a new, slightly underground karaoke bar that just opened up downtown, it was hard for even Mel to say no.
That’s how she ended up here now, nestled in between Frank and Dana on a too-small velvet loveseat and watching Trinity and Dennis give a spirited performance of Evanescence’s Bring Me To Life. Santos is killing it, a focused and passionate vocal powerhouse, whereas Dennis is backing her up through a fit of giggles every time he attempts to rap along.
“You gonna get up there soon?” Frank asks, the sharp of his elbow teasing lightly at Mel’s side. There is a pinch in his voice that tells her he already knows the answer.
Still unsure if the question was serious or not, Mel picks at the label of her cider. It was mostly for show anyway, the same bottle she’d been nursing all night, a social drink for a social drinker. Something to occupy her hands so she wouldn’t pick at her cuticles when the music got too loud, the lights too overwhelming. “I don’t know,” she breathes, “this isn’t really my thing.”
“Oh come on, honey,” Dana encourages with a warm grin and shakes her head at the pair on stage. A red-faced Dennis is stumbling his way off the stage and heading straight for the bar for more liquid courage, but Trinity is confidently walking toward the couch with the microphone outstretched toward the older woman. Dana takes the microphone gracefully, free hand giving Trinity an affectionate pat on the cheek as they switch places. In the background, the emcee announces Dana as the next act, the intro to Meredith Brooks’ Bitch rising around them, and Dana gestures to the room. “It’s just us here, just the people who love ya.” Pointing across the room to a gaggle of middle aged women celebrating a divorce, “and the desperate housewives over there, but they’re not paying any attention.” She raises her eyebrows in encouragement, but hops up onto the tiny stage to take her turn.
Chatter rises around them with the music, the day shift crew all eager to see the iconic performance from their fearless leader that they were promised when she asked to join them. There’s some interference from the microphone and a commotion to the left from a spilled drink.
“C’mon,” Frank mumbles, his hand squeezing just above Mel’s knee, and he nods his head toward the bar. “Let's step away from the noise for a moment.”
It’s probably Mel’s favorite thing about him, she thinks as they shuffle around Javadi and Mohan hunched over the collection of music.His attention to detail…his attention to her. His observation skills were always as sharp as his wit (though cheesy and hard for her to follow sometimes). She admired it from their very first shift together, when he picked up on all her cues, assigned her the menial task of picking gravel from a wound to clear her head, heard her out regarding the treatment of patients on the spectrum and thrived with that information moving forward, putting it to use all those months later with Becca. Mel never had to say anything, not a pause in conversation or nervous fiddle with her hair went unnoticed under his careful gaze and he would easily jump into action to find the root of the problem or soften the nervous pinch between her brows.
Up at the bar, she deposits her empty glass bottle and requests a glass of water much to the bartender’s chagrin. She’s never been a big drinker, but would partake socially here and there to appease her colleagues and give herself a small confidence buffer for socialization. Frank orders a ginger ale, but tips generously on the $2.99 to keep the bartender on their good side. Mel is convinced he could have gotten it for free and still been on her good side, the way he smiled his charming smile and made the young woman behind the bar giggle at nothing.
Though the night goes on and her blood alcohol content remains at a plateau, the group around them loosening up and having a good time help Mel to relax in her environment. She finds herself clapping along to the beat as Whitaker does his best Shania Twain, leaning in to the soulful performance of Edge of Seventeen that Cassie can put on with her eyes closed. Even the death metal song that Joy flawlessly screams along to has her engaged, despite not understanding a single word. Song by song, her friends have her more and more convinced that it might not be the end of the world to let loose and try a song of her own.
The problem comes when she finally decides to take a peek at the song list. It’s not that the song selection is bad, plenty of the bar’s usual suspects would surely go crazy for the mix of karaoke classics, current pop hits, and the occasional Broadway showtune. There was something for everyone here, but still, none of it stood out to Mel enough to embarrass herself on stage. She’s beginning to hand the iPad back to the emcee with a wrinkle in her nose when something at the very bottom of the screen catches her eye.
“Wait,” she murmurs, taking the tablet back into both hands and nudging her glasses up her nose with a knuckle. Focusing in on the number, she puffs her chest with a fake-it-till-you-make-it type of pride and smiles at the emcee. “Can I do number D-49?”
The man to the side of the stage hesitates, taking the tablet back and looking between the glow of the screen and Mel’s tight smile. “You sure?” He asks, tapping away at the music system, “You know that’s a duet right?”
“Oh, I know,” Mel says, as if she’s never been more certain of a choice. If they give her any more room for doubt, she may start to go back on her decision, so she pushes on, “I do both parts in my car all the time.”
It’s with a mild shrug that the emcee sighs, “you got it, then. You’re up after, uhh…” he trails a finger down the list of names on screen, “Victoria.”
It’s clear this man is very indifferent about his job here, especially after finding out that the bulk of his crowd for the night are all one large group of friends and acquaintances – there isn’t much for him to hype up when a tipsy team of nurses are doing all the hyping for him. So instead of replying, Mel offers a clumsy thumbs up and meanders back over to the loveseat to perch against the armrest.
“Did you actually sign up?” Langdon inquires, reaching out to clamp a hand over her nervous fidgeting with her fingers. He tries not to sound surprised, hoping his smile is more soft than amused.
“Uh, yeah- yes. It seems like everyone is enjoying themselves. When in Rome, right?”
Cassie approaches then, balancing three glasses as best she can. She offers the third one, sandwiched haphazardly between her middle fingers, to Mel before she drops the fizzy pink concoction. “For courage,” she says with a wink and passes the second to Frank. When Cassiei notices Mel eyeing the drink cautiously, she takes pity and explains. “It’s a Shirley Temple, don’t worry.”
Frank thanks her with a nod and tips his glass toward them, clinking the mocktails together before the group erupts into hoots and hollers and applause for Samira’s rendition of Man I Need.
“So what song convinced you to sign up?” Cassie asks around her straw. “I saw you about to back out.”
“It’s stupid,” Mel insists, cheeks already heating at the thought of getting on that stage. “It’s from a movie, I doubt anyone will recognize it.”
“Oh come on,” Frank practically pouts, leaning against Mel’s shoulder to look up at her with his best impression of his daughter’s puppy dog eyes. “Try me, I might know it.”
The burning in Mel’s cheeks has reached the tips of her ears, and she shakes her head, once more adjusting her glasses. She won’t let him break down her defenses that easily, and it’s not like he won’t find out soon enough. She tells him just that as Victoria trips on the top step to the stage with her newfound 21-year-old tipsy confidence to the intro of Golden. “You’ll hear it soon, why should I tell you now?” Then with an accusing glare, “especially when you haven’t even looked at the song list yet, let alone signed up?”
He’s smug when he says, “I’m an observer, Dr. King.” He only calls her that outside of work when he wants to push her buttons. “I observe. You wouldn’t want to hear my caterwauling anyway.”
“Sure.” Mel mumbles, at the same time Garcia drapes herself over the back of the couch to pester Frank all the same, poking his cheek and insisting, “Karaoke isn’t about being good, Langdon.”
They continue to bicker, but the blood begins rushing in Mel’s ears, nerves taking over as her turn on stage gets closer and closer. She’s about ready to back out again when Frank’s arm absentmindedly wraps around her waist, scooting closer to the armrest to make more room on the couch as Garcia climbs over the back to join him. He squeezes her hip in encouragement as the emcee says her name, and it’s enough motivation to let her body auto-pilot up to the stage.
Frank and Yolanda’s argument is all but done the moment he sees Mel take the stage. A little curled in on herself, both hands idly fidgeting with the end of her braid, but she’s got a small, tight-lipped smile on her face and she’s swaying a little in place to the tinny piano music coming from the sound system. The melody is familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it. Something in the short intro grabs his attention, but maybe it’s just the girl who’s about to sing along to it.
Mel gives a little nod, almost giving herself permission before starting to sing.
I've been living with a shadow overhead
I've been sleeping with a cloud above my bed
I've been lonely for so long
Trapped in the past, I just can't seem to move on
The moment the first line crosses her lips, he places the song. How could he not? She spoke so highly of it the first time she mentioned it.
_____
After his divorce he and Mel, then only colleagues, had made a habit out of calling each other after long shifts to debrief. One rare Friday when he was on shift and she had the day off, he forgot about her movie night tradition with Becca until it was too late, and he could hear Becca’s protests on the other line when Mel answered his call.
“I won’t keep you from Elf,” he had said, rubbing at his forehead and staring into the empty fridge, hoping for a miracle, “I just wanted to update you on the patient from the RV accident yesterday.”
There was a smug sort of glee in her voice when she informed him, “Becca actually let me pick today.”
“Oh? Are there pigs flying outside your window, too?” He had become bolder in his teasing the more they spoke, and she picked up on his jokes more often, too.
“Well, she insisted that she still got to pick dinner and ice cream, so really not much has changed.”
Despite saying he would let her go, he couldn’t help but ask, “What’d you turn on?”
“You would hate it.” She informed him, “it’s this bad rom com that our mom used to love. It’s cheesy but it makes me happy.”
The condiments in the fridge door rattled when he slammed it shut and decided instead to rifle through the takeout menu drawer. “What is it? Maybe I’ve seen it.”
He could hear Becca’s groan in the background, Mel probably paused the movie. “Music and Lyrics.”
She was correct, he had never heard of it – but then, weeks later when the title came across his Netflix home screen, he couldn’t stop the nagging curiosity urging him to turn it on. It’s cheesy but it makes me happy. What could be so wrong with that? Of course, it wasn’t his go-to kind of movie, it was actually quite bad, but it made him smile. Or rather, the thought of Mel, curled up with her cross stitch project and a steaming cup of tea, smiling and singing along to the music made him smile. Naturally, Way Back Into Love and Pop! Goes My Heart both snuck their way onto his Spotify likes, and into regular rotation of his daily listening.
_____
This is a duet, it dawns on him. A duet that Mel is going to sing alone if he doesn’t do anything about it. Suddenly every claim that he can’t sing, that he doesn’t want to sing falls flat. There isn’t much of a musical interlude between the first two verses in this song, so he doesn’t have much time, and he finds himself mumbling a rushed, “here– hold this will you,” as he shoves his drink in Yolanda’s hands and stands to join his friend on stage.
Mel isn’t sure what she’s looking at as Frank trips over his own feet to skip all the steps completely and join her on stage in one leap. He’s moving awkwardly, like he doesn't know what he’s doing either, but then he holds his hand out and curls his fingers in a give it motion and she finds herself handing the microphone over just in time for Hugh Grant’s first verse.
I've been hiding all my hopes and dreams away
Just in case I ever need 'em again someday
I've been setting aside time
To clear a little space in the corners of my mind
She notices three things, and her heart constricts with each one.
First, he isn’t so much singing as he is rhythmically speaking, and even that is generous, but second, he isn’t looking at the words on the screen at all. In fact, third, he is looking at her, eyes soft and boring into her own with an intensity that makes her think she might actually be in the movie, not in a cliche karaoke bar in downtown Pittsburgh with her coworker. How does he know this song? And why is he looking at her like she’s Drew Barrymore herself? There isn’t much time to ponder on it though, as the chorus is coming up. Frank lowers the microphone between them so that they can both utilize it as the short chorus picks up.
All I wanna do is find a way back into love
I can't make it through without a way back into love
Oh
He leans into her as the music swells, reaching out for her hand that is still twirling the tip of her braid anxiously. There’s a glint in his eye that she can’t quite place, but the way he’s grinning and nodding along to the beat fills her with more confidence as her next verse begins. The only time he drops her gaze is to reach off stage momentarily for the second microphone that Princess is eagerly passing him.
I've been watching but the stars refuse to shine
I've been searching but I just don't see the signs
I know that it's out there
There's gotta be something for my soul somewhere
At that last line, there’s a whoop! from one of the drunk housewives, but with Frank reaching out toward her and the encouraging hollers from their friends, she can’t quite be bothered by the unwanted attention from strangers. Somewhere beyond the lip of the stage, Emma and Jesse sway together and hold up their phone flashlights. Dana joins in with a lighter. Frank can’t help but laugh and look out at the display when he begins his next verse.
I've been looking for someone to shed some light
Not somebody just to get me through the night
I could use some direction
And I'm open to your suggestion
He practically rejoices when Mel’s fingers intertwine with his outstretched hand. Her face, once reserved and cautious at the start of the song, is joyous and free, a look Frank has only had the pleasure of witnessing a handful of times. Usually this face is reserved for Becca. For the times his kids are oh so sweet to her, or when she gets praised for a particularly clever diagnosis. Even then, her eyes don’t light up with this much carefree delight. It’s truly a sight to behold, Frank thinks.
All I wanna do is find a way back into love
I can't make it through without a way back into love
And if I open my heart again
I guess I'm hoping you'll be there for me in the end
There’s another instrumental break here, one where the original artists ad libbed and danced and fell further in love, but these two stunningly sober friends in a room full of tipsy company do not ad lib. They don’t dance. They let the music swell around them with their dopey smiles and meaningful glances passed between one another. Mel’s stare is confused, with a little squint and labored breathing that Frank can’t help but find endearing. If you asked her how she thought this night would go, she never would have guessed that it would lead here, singing a song from her favorite bad movie, with her favorite unlikely friend, in front of all their colleagues (and four drunk, middle-aged moms). The music slows, and Frank drops her gaze, reminding her that there is still another verse, one that is only her, and suddenly the weight of that final verse hits her square in the chest. She squeezes his hand as she continues.
There are moments when I don't know if it's real
Or if anybody feels the way I feel
I need inspiration
Not just another negotiation
The pair turn back to the room, a small sea of phone flashlights and lighters and smiling faces and raised glasses. Dana sends Frank a knowing look, a smirk that tells him they'll be discussing this on Monday. He drops Mel’s hand in lieu of wrapping an arm around her waist, swaying happily with her to the melody with the last chorus.
All I wanna do is find a way back into love
I can't make it through without a way back into love
Her own hand rests nervously on his opposite shoulder, squeezing meaningfully along to words she isn’t sure she wants to actually say out loud.
And if I open my heart to you
I'm hoping you'll show me what to do
And if you help me to start again
You know that I'll be there for you in the end
They’re both a fit of laughter as the final instrumental swell plays out, Mel hiding her face in her hands at the sound of applause. It’s almost jarring when Frank shakes her shoulders, proud smile and all, taking a step back and gesturing toward her as if he were simply the ensemble and she, the leading lady, taking her final bow.
When it all becomes too much, and the piano fades away into the next song, she bolts off stage and toward the patio door, overwhelmed in all the best and worst ways.
It’s still too cold in Pennsylvania for the patio to have any business. Tables and chairs are stacked up together along the fence, and the only lighting comes from the string lights woven through the canopy above, but the cool air is soothing on her hot face, and the brick wall that she leans on grounds her enough. She’s pressing her fingers into her cheeks, willing the blush to go away, though she isn’t certain if it's from exertion, embarrassment, or the memory of Frank’s intense stare. Perhaps it’s a unique combination of all three.
She’s so focused on that thought that she doesn’t hear the music and chatter build and then quiet again when someone comes through the door after her, and she jumps slightly when Frank sits on the ground next to her, praising, “That was fantastic.”
“You were fantastic,” she rebuts.
They both laugh. “I was not,” he says, voice flat. Then, eyebrows pulled high, “but that was a lot of fun. You never told me you could sing like that.”
Mel draws her knees to her chest for warmth, shying away from his grin and resting her cheek on one knee to look at him. She chooses to ignore his last comment. “I can’t believe you know that song.”
“It’s karaoke, Mel, the words were right there in front of me,” he lies coolly.
She sees right through him. “You didn’t look at the screen once.”
Nose wrinkled, he admits, “I watched the movie after you told me about it.” As if he can hear the argument brewing in her mind, he continues, “even if you said it was bad, it seemed important to you, so I wanted to check it out.” A profound beat of silence passes, the sound of the wind and their dopey eye contact filling the space, and then in typical Frank Langdon fashion, he breaks it. “It was bad, by the way.”
“You liked it anyway,” she accuses, knowing him better than anyone these days.
His head rests against the cool brick behind him, the ghost of another laugh on his tongue. “‘Course I did.” He looks down the bridge of his nose at her, huddled and pink-cheeked and still smiling ear to ear. “Hey you look cold. You cold? It's chilly out here.”
“No, I'm fine,” she stutters, “I'm - well, yeah it's a little cold, but it- it's peaceful. Quiet. I'm not ready to go back in there yet.”
“Then here,” he shrugs out of his hoodie, insisting upon wrapping it around her shoulders, she doesn't protest much. The small gesture is all he can think to do at the moment. In this moment that feels monumental but so small at the same time. Just two souls in the chill of the night, best friends hanging out like they always do as if they hadn't just bared their souls to one another through song. Because it wasn't just a song, not really. Yeah, sure, it was just a song that Mel picked because of her fondness from the movie it was written for, but both of them have to admit that the words felt a little too close to home. She’s looking up at the clouds, a contentment on her face that he almost doesn’t want to interrupt. He breaks her from her daydream with a gentle, “hey,” as he turns to her.
“Hmm?” She blinks, mirroring his posture and turning toward him.
“You want to ditch those guys? They got a performance from each of us, they won’t even notice we’re gone. Let’s go get some coffee or something.”
“Coffee? Frank, it’s midnight.”
“Decaf then.” He says, matter-of-factly and shifts up onto his feet, offering a hand to help her up. When she doesn’t take it immediately, he shakes it with a playfully impatient raise of his brows.
“Decaf,” she agrees and takes his hand. She expects him to let go as soon as she’s steady on her feet, but that isn’t his intention. Instead, he slots his fingers between hers and pulls her close to his side, thumb brushing comfortingly against her knuckles when they slip back inside to say their goodbyes.
And if you help me to start again
You know that I'll be there for you in the end