You don't have a choice

Shaking your head with a nervous grin you stand and climb onto the stage. There's some polite applause and you feel like ten thousand eyes are on you, waiting for you to fuck up.

"What are you doing?" you hiss at Christina. "I don't belong up here."

"You'll be fine champ, just think of it as turning the six four three double play. Here's your harp. How 'bout we start off with Canned Heat's 'On the Road Again'? Don't fuck it up." she grins wickedly and you suddenly understand all the questions Lisa and Carmen asked about your playing.

Taking a deep breath you nod, trying to fight the butterflies in your stomach, telling yourself that it's just a small town saloon. You take the mike off the stand and hold it behind the harp, and nod a readiness you don't feel.

Lisa counts into it, tapping a drumstick on the edge of her snare, and with a sense of jumping off a cliff into a pool you start to play, letting the familiar chords flow. To your surprise, it's Christina who sings this, her voice in the soprano range, but with a vibrato that sounds remarkably like Bob Hite of Canned Heat. She stands near to you, playing and singing, occasionally glancing at you with a wry smile of approval.

The applause when the song ends isn't the roar they've had for some other numbers, but it's adequate and no one is yelling ****. You nod your head in a little bow of acknowledgement, and are about to step off the stage, when Vicki goes "How about one more? Whattya say Red Falcon, one more from Bad Brian?" She's answered by a burst of applause and with your heart in your mouth you come back to Christina.

"'Midnight Rambler'," she says, nodding at you. The band launches into the Stones hit, and you find yourself carried along with them, your harp wailing as you lose yourself in the music. The crowd loves it, filling the dance floor and clapping with their hands over their heads. Although you're sure the reaction is for the band and not for you, it's still immensely satisfying, and tremendously exciting, giving you the same visceral rush that you used to get from baseball.

When the song ends Christina grabs your hand and holds it up as if you're a winning boxer, a huge smile on her face.

"Bad Brian Watts! Ain't he somethin'?" she yells to the crowd who responds with a roar. She nods and grins at you, giving you a wink as you leave the stage and return to the table.