Tara a struggling musician. (DC Universe)

A beautiful melody flitted through the air. The patrons of the unassuming Café Au Lait were hardly paying it any attention. And yet many of them swayed, hummed, and tapped their toes along to it. Some, like a group of businesswomen in expensive-looking skirt suits, even found themselves chatting about how nice the guitar sounded. And yet few if any spared a glance at the girl in the corner producing the lovely tune.

In a way that was unsurprising. Tara was even more unassuming than the café. Short and skinny, she seemed to disappear behind the guitar she played. Her plain, gray, oversized hoodie and baggie, frayed jeans certainly didn’t help. Her heart-shaped face was actually rather cute and was almost guaranteed to catch someone's eye. At least if it wasn’t perpetually downcast and hidden behind her wild, curly, black hair and thick-framed, coke bottle glasses. But if this lack of acknowledgment or attention bothered her she didn’t show it at all.

Instead, she kept her eyes closed, focusing entirely on the song she played. As was her tradition her last piece in each set she would simply improvise. Her fifth-grade music teacher always called it playing from the heart. Tara tried not to think about it that way. Bearing her heart to a room full of strangers was absolutely terrifying. But it always smoothed out the jitters she developed when she performed in front of people. She could let her mind wander and just let the music flow like water.

So she played. Her fingers danced wildly up and down the neck of her precious acoustic partner. And yet the wild movements belied a graceful melody. Tara’s mind’s eye was filled with visions of the coming spring. Fresh blossoms, gentle breezes, and playful sunshowers. Picnics, birdsong, and new life. Young love, first kisses, and warm, bouncing-

Tara’s eyes snapped open in a flash and her face, normally pale as milk, flushed a florid crimson. Those thoughts certainly didn’t need to go into the song. So, doing her best to not break her rhythm or concentration, she brought her song home.

With a few final strums, she let it end. A single chord left hanging and fading in the air. Till only silence remained.

Caught up in the moment as she was Tara nearly jumped out of her skin as the customers applauded. It was hardly a standing ovation. Most people kept it gentle, more polite than enthusiastic. But some people seemed pretty into it, and almost everyone seemed genuine. But this happened a lot. She would get deep into her performance that she forgot about the audience.

"Th-Thank you!" She squeaked out. Flustered under their attention she scrambled to scoop up her case from the foot of her stool. Then scurried, case in one hand and guitar in the other, behind the counter. Seeking the comfort of the dry storage/employee break room. Throwing a quick "Have a nice day" over her shoulder.

At long last she found solitude. Peace and quiet. Well except for her deep breathing and the staff radio that apparently thought she really needed to hear about a new and exciting brand of detergent. But it was good enough.

Carefully adjusting the strap so her guitar hung behind her, she turned her attention to the battered case. Popping it open she began to go through it's, hopefully, valuable contents. It was mostly singles, with a few fives and coins to mix things up.

Altogether it came out to $38.75.

Not exactly a king's ransom. It admittedly wasn't too bad for an hour's work, but living in Metropolis was far from cheap. Especially for a small-town girl with no savings.

"Looks like it's ramen again this month." Tara sighed heavily.

"Slow day again sweetie?" A voice behind her asked.

Tara spun wildly to face the woman behind her, arms flying up in surrender.

"Sorry." The older woman said. "Didn't mean to sneak up on ya. My husband's always threatening to make me wear a bell."

Realizing who it was Tara relaxed almost immediately. Mrs. Guidry was a nice lady. Patient, calm, and comforting. She was the main reason Tara kept coming back to play for this particular café. Even if she didn't always make good money the owner was always nice. And was willing to pay her for her time. Something not all owners were willing to do.

Speaking of which the woman counted out a batch of twenties before adding $200 to Tara's stack.

"But wait, there's more!" she said excitedly, laying a fifty-dollar bill on top of the rest. "This is from that lady in the blue pinstripes. Said to say you were fantastic."

Tara blushed furiously at that. She never did well with compliments. Mrs. Guidry, meanwhile, took a moment to choose her next words carefully.

"I know it's hard for you, but you really should stay for a bit after you finish." Her voice was soft but her reproving tone was clear. "People like to chat with the musician. You'd make more that way. I hate seeing you miss out like that."

Tara knew she was right. It was impossible to argue with the face of Ulysses S. Grant.

"I… I'll try." Tara knew that was a lie. And the sympathetic look on the older woman's face made it clear she knew it.

The awkward silence hung between them. Tara stewed the whole time, staring down at her boots. She hated that about herself. Being a little shy was cute. Panicking when strangers noticed you, was not.

Before she could truly begin to wallow in self-pity Mrs. Guidry spoke again.

"Here you go sweetie," she said, offering her a muffin. "I know chocolate chip is your favorite."

It was her favorite. But she hesitated to take it.

"You don't have to-" Tara started before she was interrupted.

"I know I don't. But I want to." The older woman insisted, offering the girl her most motherly smile. One that told Tara this was authentic generosity. And that she would absolutely not be allowed to refuse. So she gave in, gingerly taking the warm, muffin.

Rule number one in The Starving Artist's Guide To Life was to never turn down free food.

"If it makes you feel better think of it as a bonus. You were really good today." With that Mrs. Guidry spun on her heel and walked back towards the front of her cafe. Leaving Tara to her muffin and embarrassment.

It only took a few seconds to pack up. Carefully returning her guitar to its case. Before stuffing her money in her sock (she quickly learned a purse was a bad idea in the part of town she lived in.) Before finally peeling the confection from its paper wrapping and taking her first bite.

Savoring the fluffy, chocolate goodness in her mouth Tara retreated towards the back door. All the while she repeated Mrs. Guidry’s words in her head over and over again. It was hardly the first time she had tried to get Tara out of her shell. And in all her life she had to be well into quadruple digits by now. And every time Tara always agreed. She should be more assertive, She should be more outgoing. She should be more confident. She would be better off if she just found her courage.

But in the moment she always lost her nerve. And it affected so much more than just her career. Part of why she fled her hometown was that it was easier to run than explain to her parents that she wanted to follow her dreams and be a musician. It was easier to tune out the dripping faucet in her apartment than talk to her building's scary super. It was easier to stuff her money in her sock like she was still twelve than learning to defend herself or make friends who could protect her. It was why she didn’t make more money. It was why she never sang in front of people. It was why she had no friends. It was why she stayed in the closet.

It was why she was still a virgin at twenty-two.

Tara sighed at that. Intellectually she knew it wasn’t that weird to be a virgin at her age. Plenty of people were. But she didn’t want to be. She wanted to find someone. Someone who would celebrate her successes or wipe the tears from her eyes. A hand for hers to hold and a heart to beat in unison with her own. The idea of finding someone like that, someone she loved and who truly loved her, was as exhilarating as it was daunting. And in so many moments of her life, Tara returned to that fantasy. Sometimes it was as simple and innocent as that. Other times it was decidedly less so. Other times she dreamed of passionate kisses. Come hither eyes and licentious moans. Of her and her mystery lover, consumed by their carnal desires, tearing the clothes from one another. The feeling of her fingers running through her lover’s hair as they kissed a trail of sweet fire down her neck. Then her petite breasts. Her flat tummy. Her oh-so-sensitive hips. Before finally settling her head between her legs, extending her pretty, pink tongue and-

Again Tara caught herself. Blushing both from the thoughts in her head and the noticeable wetness in her panties. Apparently, she was quite horny today. Unsurprisingly. At least she would be home soon. While she was nowhere near as skilled as her imaginary lover, she had become quite good with her own fingers over the years.

Though she suspected the real thing would outclass them both.

But before she could know for sure, Tara had work to do. After all, she could hardly fuck someone if she could barely even talk to them without freaking out. And what better setup could she get to practice socializing? She was at her best when she played. Music was as close to a true home as she had ever known. If there was one thing she could feel comfortable talking about this was it.

And so as she opened the door to the alley behind Café Au Lait she decided. She would do it. The next chance she got she would talk to someone after her shows. No matter how scared she was. No matter where she performed. No matter who it was.