WWAWR - [08] You are My Song
Chapter Eight [PG]
You are My Song
Time for rehearsal comes and as eight of the top nine gather downstairs --the young Filipina can hear Syesha repeatedly shouting up the stairs for Kristy Lee to "hurry up and just let your hair down!"-- Ramiele holds on to the sheet of paper where she's written down her lyrics. She goes over them in her mind and fumbles over them once or twice, and sighs in frustration. The song had been the one that instantly caught her attention, and listening to Dolly Parton's version of it, she fell even more in love with the song, and although she adores the tune, she believes country isn't just her 'thing,' country isn't just her niche, so to speak. By the time Syesha exclaims "Thank God, Kristy Lee!" in exasperation, the rest of the remaining contestants have stepped into the white van.
Jason opens the door and gestures to it playfully and bows, "Your ride, sirs and madams."
This elicits a chuckle from Michael and the older David as they enter first, making their way through the narrow space and occupying the very last row. Even if there is room for three, even Ramiele knows that it would be rude for anyone else to intrude on them while they were in their own world; in fact, as she sits in the row in front of them and Syesha and the younger David take a seat next to her, she cannot help but notice their laughter and a smile finds its way onto her lips.
You just couldn't have David Cook without Michael Johns.
In the row in front of them sits Brooke, Kristy Lee, and Carly, and Jason proceeds to slide the door shut and then goes ahead and slips into the passenger's side seat up front. The van begins to move, and as soon as everybody begins talking about their song choices, Ramiele is staring at the sheet of paper in her hands again. She begins to hum the tune lightly, but then immediately loses her train of thought as the van makes a sharp right. She groans in frustration, and Syesha wraps a comforting arm around her shoulder.
"You'll do fine, Rami," the other contestant assures her. "You're going to have a great week this week."
And Ramiele opens her mouth and readies herself to say, "I sure hope so," but a loud guffaw from Michael and a "Shut up, Mikey!" interrupt her. There is shifting in the van as all heads swivel around and stare at the pair at the very back, but neither one of them seem to notice as David eventually joins Michael in his laughter. Michael is leaning into David, a hand covering his eyes as he continues to laugh, and David is shaking his head and repeatedly saying, "Oh, my God, Mikey."
Ramiele turns around, looks at the messily-scrawled "Do I Ever Cross Your Mind" lyrics, and sighs.
At least they're worry-free.
"That's not nice at all, Mikey," David whispers harshly as Michael removes the hand covering his eyes and looks at him; the Missouri native's anger disappears quickly as he stares into those charming Australian eyes. "You don't have to go around mocking everyone else's falsetto."
Michael gently slaps him on the shoulder. "Mocking?" He raises an eyebrow. "And what do you mean, everyone else's falsetto? If I remember, I was talking about you."
David frowns. "Excuse me for attempting to make myself feel better."
"Aw, Dave," Michael says with a sheepish grin, and then leans in closer. He says in a low voice, "I'll make it up to you, baby."
David can feel the hairs on his neck rise up as he feels Michael's warm breath spread over his skin. "You better, Mikey."
Within thirty minutes, the nine remaining Idols have reached their stop. Jason is the first to step out, slides open the door, and begins helping everyone else off. He takes a hold of Carly's hand and holds it tightly as the Irishwoman takes a step down, and then does the same thing to Kristy Lee, Brooke, and Syesha. He offers his shoulder as something to balance on as the younger David makes his way down, and then he playfully offers both of his hands to Ramiele, who takes a hold of both of them, and then jumps down with a large grin on her face. He stands by the open door, waiting for the last two contestants remaining in the van, before he comments to those gathered around him, "I don't think they've realized we're here."
"Oh, boys," Carly says under her breath, and Jason grins. He, Carly, and Brooke head over to the back window, where they can see Michael and David in a discussion of a topic holding great interest to both of them, as they both seem to be passionate about whatever it is they're saying, and there isn't one hint of recognition that the van had stopped in their eyes.
Jason cannot help himself. "I'm surprised they're not just making out."
"Jason!" Brooke has the grace to look scandalized. "Of course they can't just make out everywhere. Not everybody knows about this. And you only figured out by chance."
He takes hold of one of his dreadlocks, twirls it, and then releases it. "I dunno about you, but they really aren't doing much to hide how much closer they've gotten. I mean, you don't go around pretending to lean in for a kiss on the lips with everybody, do you?"
A loud sound abruptly ends their conversation, and the two look to Carly, who is opening her fist, to the window, where Michael and David are looking in their direction. Michael has a startled look on his face, and he looks around, their location finally dawning on him. He begins to say something to David, something David laughs at; David disappears momentarily from their view, and then the two are off of the van, a guitar case in David's hands.
"Sorry about that," Michael says in his smooth Australian drawl, and the Irishwoman walks over and throws him a sideways glare. Jason looks at Brooke, and smiles toothily.
"Yeah, yeah," Carly answers. "Now, let's go. No need to keep Dolly Parton waiting, you know."
With everyone quickly walking towards the entrance of the building, Jason firmly believes that he is the only one who caught the fleeting glance between Michael and David. It is a short one, but it is enough to leave David smiling and Michael throwing an arm around David's shoulders, holding him close.
Yeah, he thinks as he enters the building behind Michael and David and closes the door quietly behind him. I still don't get why they just don't make out in public and let everyone know.
I don't think I'd stand a chance up against Dave Cook if I were Stacey. I really don't.
But that's just me.
David's feet cannot help but fidget as he waits for Syesha to exit the rehearsal room. He nervously plays around with the strap of his guitar, adjusting it over and over again, before the door opens in front of him. The sudden movement makes him jump, and Syesha looks at him with surprised eyes. Don't ask it, don't ask it, don't ask it --
"Hey, Dave," she says casually, "you all right?"
Oh, you asked it. "Oh, uh, yeah," David nods quickly as he adjusts his guitar strap until it comfortably rests against him. "Yeah. I'm good."
The look in Syesha's eyes clearly say that she doesn't believe a word he says --there isn't a large number of words to believe, anyway, so this doesn't really surprise David-- but he is thankful that she lets it slide. She taps David's shoulder in a reassuring manner and says, "You'll be fine, Dave. Now, go do your thing and show Dolly what you've got."
David throws a quick thanks in her direction as he slips into the room. The very first thing he notices in the large room is the figure of Dolly Parton, standing by the piano and looking expectantly at him. Immediately, he has to bow his head and close his eyes, because this is more surreal than surreal. To be standing in front of someone like Dolly Parton, who's penned beautiful songs covered by the most talented artists, by the largest names in the industry, to be standing in front of someone so --so large in the industry, is just-- David is at a loss for words. She greets him with a large smile on her face, and spreads her arms invitingly. He walks toward her, puts his guitar to the side, and then hugs her gently so that his larger frame doesn't knock her petite one over.
"So what do you have for me, David?" she says, bubbly.
"I've --" David feels like gravy and bread have been shoved down his throat, but he makes the greatest of efforts to down them. "I've decided to, uh, sing 'Little Sparrow.'" He has a sheepish grin on his face as he repositions his guitar, readying his fingers on the fingerboard.
"One of my favorites," she comments, and suddenly, the butterflies that have started their departure from David's stomach settle down again. "All right, let's see what you've got, David."
He takes a deep breath, wills all of the butterflies away, and then begins to sing. Putting away all thoughts of Michael grinning as he brings his voice up to the first falsetto of the song, he goes through the first verse with thoughts proclaiming his disbelief in going through with this song. The story of the song is told in a beautiful, heartbreaking way, but such a story --such a story had an ending that he didn't want right now. In fact, he's quite sure he doesn't want the ending, ever. He doesn't want his story --his and Mikey's story?-- to go down that path. First comes along his tomfoolery with Michael, this song choice being the result of their need for something unexpected; then comes the fact that here he is, right now, in front of Dolly Parton and singing an original arrangement of one of her self-proclaimed favorite songs. His thoughts wander back to Michael as he enters the next verse, and he immediately questions his ability to properly convey the emotion needed for such a song.
David enters the chorus with renewed vigor, closing his eyes and bringing his voice up to a falsetto again, and he cannot help but grin. I'll show you not to mess with my falsetto, Michael Johns, he thinks firmly. He finishes the final call of "little sparrow," and opens his eyes to measure Dolly's reaction.
She is clapping, smiling appreciatively at him, and the bright "Yay!" she gives his performance encourages him just a little bit more. "That's beautiful," she continues. "Your voice is beautiful."
He is humbled immediately by the words coming out of her mouth. To hear those words coming from her is unbelievable. To be hit with the realization that it had been a compliment coming from Dolly Parton --who, in his opinion and certainly many others', could write one hell of a song-- is indubitably incomprehensible. He knows his meek "Thank you" just isn't enough.
But the way she responds to it lets him know that it's enough for her. She wraps him in a hug, and says to him, "That was really good, David. I'm looking forward to watching it come Tuesday night."
"Thank you," he repeats. "Thank you so much."
Dolly giggles, waves him off, and he is out of the door, nearly crashing into Michael as he begins to remove his guitar from around him.
"Hey." Michael's wave is accompanied by his gorgeous smile and smooth Australian drawl.
He knows the smile on his face must look ridiculous, because it certainly feels ridiculous to him. "Hey right back at you."
"How'd it go?" Michael clutches a single sheet of paper in his hand --Since when did he have that?-- and takes a peek inside the slightly opened door. David can hear the sound of crumpling paper as Michael crushes it with a tightening of his fist.
"Pretty good," he answers. "At least she's polite enough not to mock people about their falsettos, unlike someone I know." He frowns at Michael, his eyes narrowing, but he knows he cannot hold this expression for too long around the other man.
Michael wraps an arm around him and draws him close. "Aw, Dave." He proceeds to ruffle the shorter man's hair. "I'm sorry. But I think this song'll be more than enough of an apology?"
David pulls away and looks curiously at Michael's tight fist. "What song?"
The grin on Michael's face is infuriatingly handsome. "Our song."
And before he knows it, the Australian has already slipped behind the rehearsal room's doors.
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