Ruin My Life
ONE
“You should come; please, please say you will! I won’t be half as nervous if I know you are there watching.”
Sophie places her splayed hand over Héloïse’s book pressing it flat against the table and thereby pulling the words away from her friend’s ravenous gaze. “Were you even listening?” Sophie asks.
Héloïse blinks repeatedly trying to extract herself from the mythology being painted by her text and ground herself in the present. She throws an apologetic look at Sophie who scoffs and removes her hand from the book, picking up her fork again.
“Your loss, that was some of my best groveling.”
Héloïse chuckles and bends the corner of her page, shutting the book. “And what, pray tell, was the objective of this groveling I have so regretfully missed.”
Sophie places a large bite of Macaroni in her mouth holding Héloïse in suspense while she chews. “Karaoke.” She says finally, “I want you to come tomorrow night and watch, I’ve finally found something worth playing.”
“Playing?” Héloïse asked, scrunching her nose and eyebrows together, “karaoke is when bars scroll lyrics over an impossibly small screen, and people who have had entirely too much to drink screech the chorus of ABBA or Shania Twain at the top of their lungs; is it not?”
Sophie laughs loudly drawing glares from other students in the dining hall that are trying to cram for midterms over their rushed lunches. “Usually yes, but this is like karaoke on steroids!” She abandons her fork once more, using both hands to draw visuals in the air as she describes a grungy, mostly towny bar not far from campus that one of her musical theory classmates told her has an acoustic karaoke show one night a week.
“Most performers play their own accompaniment, but there’s also a woman there who kind of runs it that will back you up on guitar. She’s gor-geous and I swear half the people that perform do it just to sit on stage next to her.”
Héloïse files this information away as a point in favor of karaoke night. “And how do you know this?”
“I’ve gone with Melanie the last couple of weeks-“
“so this is where you have been sneaking off to on Wednesday nights!?”
“-but she will not be attending this week because her Biology exam is at 8 am the next day and she wants to be well-rested.”
“Glad to know you will be home at a reasonable hour tonight,” Héloïse teases.
Sophie just sticks her tongue out in response. “So will you come?”
“I don’t know Soph, maybe after midterms,” Héloïse says her eyes landing back on her book. She really needs to finish it so she can get on with her paper.
Sophie puts on her best pout and says, “you owe me H, remember when I ditched my totally hot Valentine’s Day plans to go to the Human Society and hang in the cat colony with you instead?”
Héloïse rolled her eyes. She love-hates this new nickname Sophie has been using during their semester abroad to dig at the gross mispronunciations of her name Héloïse endured daily. “Okay first of all, re-watching Love Actually for the 10,000th time does not count as ‘hot plans’ and second of all you wanted to cuddle the kittens too.”
Sophie disregards these arguments and deepens the pout, sticking her bottom lip out and clasping her hands beneath her chin, “Please please pleeeeeeeease, the term is half over and we have hardly made any American friends, sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in an island all alone. Plus, it's impossible to get on the setlist with all the regulars and a few of them have bailed for midterms. This is my shot! And I’m- not throwing away my- shot!”
“Oh god not again, I’ll be singing ‘Helpless’ all day now. Fine, I’ll come, but I swear to god if there are any show tunes I’ll walk out immediately.”
--
7:30 Wednesday night and the bar is FINALLY filling up. Marianne settles her guitar across her lap and begins tuning. The set has mostly regulars per usual, a few new names as well, and a few stubbornly empty slots. She can only be so angry, however, as she hopes that some of her own students have shut themselves in their rooms to study as well. Lord knows they need it if they’re going to pass Professor Boosheri’s class. She thinks she will actually scream if these American knuckleheads don’t get it through their thick skulls that fully ⅓ of the consonants in the French language are not aspirated. Her head still aches from correcting blundered attempts at discussing a trip to the zoo; the midterm oral presentation topic that she had reviewed with several more dedicated students during office hours that morning. It’s enough to make her wonder if taking the TA position was really worth the free housing.
There is a soft cough entirely too close to her and Marianne raises her gaze from her pegs. There is a short, extremely short, young woman standing in front of her just at the edge of the stage with dark hair, heavy eyebrows, and a ukulele clutched to her chest.
“Hello, I am Sophie, you are the host Marianne; yes?” Ah, she’s French too, Marianne thinks and her annoyance at being interrupted during her pre-show ritual evaporates.
“Yes Sophie, I recall your messages,” She watches a smile spread over Sophie’s face as well as she recognizes Marianne as a fellow countrywoman by her accent. “You will be playing ‘Somewhere over the rainbow.’ Do you need accompaniment?”
“No. I will do well on my own, but can you confirm the time? I confess I am feeling nervous.”
Marianne smiles encouragement at the new performer, then turns and scans the clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall at her shoulder, “There is a gap in the program right before you, so I cannot say which song you will follow, but you have the 9:15 slot as requested.”
Sophie nods and offers brief thanks before placing the ukulele in the line of other instruments resting against the stage and retreating. The tables have been filled since almost 6 o’clock by the dinner crowd, but there are some stools still available along the bar and Marianne’s curious gaze follows Sophie as she navigates toward the end furthest from the door where another woman seems to be waiting for her. Marianne wishes she could have prolonged the conversation, asked for news of Paris. ‘I have been away too long,’ she thinks and makes a mental note to call her grandmother tomorrow. Marianne notices the other woman throwing Sophie pleading glances, her hands extended possessively over the empty stool beside her, as she attempts to shoo away an aspiring Romeo who doesn’t seem to believe the seat is taken.
The woman’s eyes blaze and her loose honey-colored hair floats around her face like fire in the harsh neon light of the bar signs. Marianne sucks in an involuntary breath, she is stunning. The man seems oblivious to the woman’s discomfort and leans an arm against the bar, not touching the stool, but bringing himself into her orbit. Marianne is surprised he doesn’t combust under the waves of stoic anger that wash off the woman as she tilts back away from him. Marianne half stands from her own chair to go to her defense when Sophie slides tactfully between them. She places a kiss on the edge of the other woman’s mouth and hops up into her lap. The woman pulls her arms off the stool to settle them gently around Sophie instead, holding her securely in place as they whisper conspiratorially.
The man straightens up and says something, which the women ignore. Sophie drags her fingers sensually up the woman’s arm, before resting her hand firmly around her neck, thumb tracing her jaw. The other woman’s eyes shut and she says something inaudible. Their foreheads press together. The man walks away and it is only then that Marianne realizes she has been staring.
---
Sophie slides off Héloïse’s lap and onto the other stool.
“I told you it would be the fastest way to get rid of him.” She says, switching back to English as she leans over the bar and attempts to flag down one of the people working behind it. “I do not understand what it is about physical affection that makes American men so damned uncomfortable, but we might as well use it to our advantage.”
Héloïse huffs and glances back up at the stage. The woman Sophie had been talking to is staring at her. Her mouth slightly open, outlined by deep red lipstick, one side dragged up in a barely-there grin. Her short, deep brown hair is wind-blown and her position on stage is awkward, half leaning over her instrument and half standing out of her chair. She drops back down gracefully, her grin spreading as she holds Héloïse’s gaze. Her hair stays in place perfectly coiffed out of her face. ‘What a gift that is,’ Héloïse thinks because she could happily spend a lifetime staring into those hazel eyes that twinkle with- something? Is it amusement or desire? Does she recognize a trick between friends or does she assume it is not a trick and that she and Sophie are together? Does she care if this woman thinks she is taken?
Sophie makes a sound of deep discontent down in the back of her throat and throws herself back down on the stool, dragging Héloïse from her reverie “I cannot do it, they will not look at me, Héloïse help me.”
Héloïse breaks her connection with the woman on stage and turns to look first at Sophie then at the bartenders flitting like hummingbirds between the shelves, bottles, and patrons. “What makes you think I will be any more successful? It’s packed!”
“Come on we both know you are far prettier than me, now, put your powers to work and get us some beers.”
Sometime later Héloïse is surprised to find she is actually having fun. The bar still sings along with songs they know, but in a much quieter rumble that shows respect for the acoustic style of the karaoke session. It is careful not to overpower the performer, but still show support and appreciation for their song choices.
Héloïse sways on her stool, the last bars of ‘Landslide’ falling easily from her lips.
She takes a sip of her beer as the performer exits the stage and checks the watch on her other wrist; 9:11. It is almost time, she looks to Sophie who has a slightly green tinge to her face.
On stage, the host looks at the clipboard at her shoulder and stands. Unusual. Until now she had simply been calling the name of the next performer from her seat off to the left side of the stage. She takes three long strides to stand before the mic at center stage and lets her guitar hang slack around her as she grips the mic stand and begins adjusting it to her height.
“I hope you have all been enjoying yourselves.” The bar erupts in raucous cheers. Héloïse whoops along with them. The host smiles, flashing straight white teeth as she looks around the room, nodding here and there. “My name is Marianne, as some of you know, and I do not usually sing during these events; but there is an empty slot and I do not wish to deprive you.”
More cheers. Sophie makes a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death knell, “I’m going to have to follow her?! We need shots.” She stands on the slat of her stool and waves an arm violently at the nearest bartender.
Héloïse sets her beer at a safe distance and chuckles good-naturedly at her friend as the host continues, “I initially learned the guitar to impress a girl.” The room whistles and hollers. Héloïse feels her breath leave her as the host’s, Marianne’s, eyes lock on hers, “Perhaps it will impress somebody tonight.”
Marianne strums a few chords then presses the floor pedal, setting them on repeat. She plucks the notes of the melody with deft fingers, stomps on the floor pedal again, and dances up on the mic as she launches directly into a chorus:
I want you to ruin my life
You to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, yeah
I want you to fuck up my nights, yeah
Fuck up my nights, yeah, all of my nights, yeah
I want you to bring it all on
If you make it all wrong, then I'll make it all right, yeah
I want you to ruin my life
You to ruin my life, you to ruin my life
The crowd erupts in delighted applause and echoes of “I wonder who she’s playing for.” Marianne’s eyes cut back to Héloïse as she slows for the verse and changes some of the lyrics:
I WANT you more than I thought that I could
I WANT you
I know you WANTIN’ me too like you should
I WANT you
You set fire to my world, can I handle the heat
I’ve been sleepin’ alone and I've started to freeze
Baby, come bring me hell
Let it rain over me
Baby, lean into me, yeah
Héloïse cannot breathe. Honestly, the kind of sex appeal oozing off the stage should be illegal, its more intoxicating than the alcohol. At the thought of alcohol, Héloïse becomes aware that Sophie has been nudging her more and more insistently with her elbow. She turns and is very displeased by the golden liquor she sees inside the offered shot glass, “Please tell me that is not-“
“Tequila, yes, but at least it is not the rail silver this time. I remembered to ask for gold.”
Héloïse lifts the shot gingerly out of Sophie’s hand as if afraid it might leap out of the glass and start beating her about the head.
“Come back to me, come back to meeeee” Marianne holds a long beautiful note as the friends clink glasses, “I want you to ruin my life, You to ruin my life, you to ruin my life,” the glasses hit the bar top, “I want you to fuck up my nights, yeah, fuck up my nights, yeah, all of my nights, yeah.” Héloïse raises the glass to her lips and finds Marianne’s eyes again, they are shining with confidence and the joy of performance and they burn hotter than the tequila in her throat as she tosses her head back. “I want you to bring it all on, If you make it all wrong, then I'll make it all right, yeah.” The empty glass hits the counter again and Héloïse searches fruitlessly for a lime. “I want you to ruin my life, You to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, yeah.”
Héloïse abandons the hunt and turns back to the stage. The burning sensation spreads everywhere and pools in her stomach as she watches Marianne have her way with the song. It’s not exactly a love song, but damn if it isn’t hot.
The song fades and the bar erupts once more in cheers, Marianne is breathing heavily as she thanks the room and gives a little bow. Then she pulls the guitar strap over her head and sets the instrument on its stand. “Now to slow it down a bit, please welcome a new performer, Sophie!”
The crowd claps politely and Marianne squeezes Sophie’s arm briefly as they pass on the steps of the stage. Marianne walks with purpose toward the bar, people part on the packed floor to let her through. Héloïse thinks it must be a coincidence that Marianne is now standing beside her because it is about the only empty space on the entire length of the bar when she hears in a breathy undertone, “so were you impressed?”
Héloïse’s face is neutral as she thinks. She does not turn to look at Marianne but keeps her eyes on the stage. Was she impressed? The edges of her mouth curve down in a slight frown. It was a good performance but…"it is not what I expected you to play.”
Marianne raises her eyebrows and shifts her weight. She places her hands on her hips, drawing Héloïse’s attention with the movement. “How so?” she snaps.
Héloïse feels her mask begin to crackle, “Is that how you see love? Something to “ruin your life’ and ‘fuck up’ your nights?” Damn tequila back to the hell in which it was distilled. When did this become about love?
Marianne recoils visibly and pursues her lips. With her head cocked slightly she rubs the center of her forehead as she mounts her defense. “It is not only me.” She replies.
“What do you mean, it is not only you?”
“There are rules,” She explains, looking at Héloïse again “conventions to lyrics, ideas about what a new crush is like.”
“You mean there is no life? No presence of the subject? Only object and desire.”
“Life is fleeting and so is love.” Marianne bites back, “It is made up of moments that may lack truth. But desire, as you say, forms in an instant and you know it is real. Why not sing about that?”
“Not everything is fleeting. Some feelings are deep and should not be cheapened by the lense of eroticism and entitlement.” Héloïse fears she has revealed too much. She wants to look away but is captivated by the tempest of emotions brewing in Marianne’s eyes. She presses on, “It doesn’t surprise me that the song is not close to my own feeling on this. That I can understand. What surprises me is that it is not close to yours.”
Marianne scowls, “how do you know it is not close to me?”
Héloïse thinks of the passion she saw in Marrianne while she was on stage. The way she wove her music through the other performers, supporting them, masking their mistakes, helping them find their way to loving music and performance as she did. No, there is tenderness there, and a capacity for deep love beyond this superficial taking of time. However, she does not think she can say any of this, not in an articulate manner, not to a stranger, so instead she shrugs, “perhaps it is, but if that is the case then it is sad.”
“I didn’t know you were an art critic.” Marianne retorts.
“You don’t even know my name.”
---
Marianne realizes she's been outmaneuvered. She is unsure of what she expected by coming over, but it wasn’t this. The person before her feels like a one-woman riot and rather than being turned off by her abrasive attitude and unapologetic criticism Marianne longs to prove her wrong. She wishes she could scrub her earlier performance away and start again, but she can’t, words once spoken or sung cannot be erased.
She realizes she is breathing through her mouth and snaps it shut. Then she gestures toward the stage in frustration and says, “You should go support your girlfriend, it is impossible to see past what is right in front of you when you first begin.”
Héloïse stands and Marianne is surprised to find they are almost the exact same height, Héloïse even having a slight advantage in her Doc Martens at the moment. At 5’9” Marianne is accustomed to towering over most women and a good number of men too and she is thrown by this switch of position. Everything about Héloïse has Marianne thrown.
“She is not my girlfriend, and if this is the beginning of something then I suggest you be more honest with yourself.” She says not allowing Marianne’s double entendre to go unchecked. Marianne blushes so deeply she feels it touch her ears. Héloïse scans her face one more time and Marianne guesses that she finds what she is looking for because her expression softens and she says, “Try again,” before walking off to stand by the stage.