Page 13 of AMS.TER.strum

Chapter Six

2018

Luuk

‘According to our information, someone on this stage has a birthday tonight.’

Joey surprises me after we sing our last song before the encore, as Gordon starts playing the very familiar melody, encouraging the audience to sing along. Phone torches light up as people start filming the entrance of a cake with sparkles, held in front of me by the barman. Happy 20-boo, it says, and I bet it was Gordon who ordered it. Perhaps he wants to rub in that I’m still in my twenties, while he turned thirty-three earlier in the year.

‘It’s twenty-three,’ I say, trying to be heard above the loud voices, and he shrugs.

There are spooky decorations around. People in masks, even costumes, listen to a country band being their equivalent of trick-or-treating. Pieces of cake are distributed, plus mini muffins, all courtesy of Ashley, who loves baking. I’m sure she put extra effort in the pumpkin patch, complete with pumpkins and a scarecrow. She knows Mom passed away three days before my birthday eight years ago. Since we aren’t playing far from Nashville tonight, she made a surprise appearance, ‘Bearing goodies,’ as she chirped, her eyes searching mine in concern.

I don’t make a point of celebrating my birthday, so I truly appreciate the effort to nudge me into it. The true surprise came two weeks ago when we were playing in Amsterdam, and Corrie organised an early celebration for me. I shouldn’t read into a kind gesture for more than it is—a friendly gesture from someone whose presence in my life is gaining importance.

There were sparkles on that cake, too, a simple one from HEMA, ‘Because echt HEMA!’ Dory reminded me of our national department store’s commercial. And there I was, ten again, surrounded by the faces of those I loved, only one from the present added to them—her blue eyes and bright smile shining even stronger than the sparkles on the cake.

Of course Johan was his charming self again, casting jokes funny only to him, making me secretly cringe every time he wrapped his arm around Corrie or pulled her near with a satisfied, show-off smirk. I wanted to punch him. He had the nerve to tell her to hold the cake, because her ass was starting to overflow from his palms. I wasn’t meant to hear it, but I went to refill my glass and eavesdropped totally on purpose. And I fumed, was almost tempted to tell him to fuck off, for he doesn’t deserve her. But last time I jumped to her defence, she seemed irked, so I waited, hoping I would be able to talk to her later.

I was grateful at the rapidly fleeing moments I managed to have Corrie to myself in a room full of people. So I told her not to listen to comments about her body because she looked fabulous. I blamed the prosecco afterwards when we both stared at each other in embarrassment—I for having blurted out the comment; she for my having heard what Johan said. She quickly changed the subject, so it wasn’t too mortifying, yet the intimacy was there, although there was nothing we could or would do with it, other than the lingering high.

The same high that spikes when I see her message.

Corrie

Gefeliciteerd!

Corrie

On the right date this time!

Corrie

Lang zal je leven…

Corrie

In the gloriaaaaa!

Emojis of a cake and sparkles and confetti follow the verses of the Dutch version of the birthday song. The long row of digital images makes my heart swell like it has absolutely no right to.

‘If you stopped looking at the frigging screen, you’d notice you’re being eye-fucked.’ Gordon slaps the back of my head. ‘You kids these days! Two o’clock,’ he adds, when I finally look around, right as a shot is lifted my way and ‘Happy Birthday’ is mouthed.

The woman is beautiful, with dark features and golden skin and full red lips smiling at me, as she tilts her head to show me the second shot on the bar.

‘Put. The. Damn. Phone. Down,’ Gordon orders between his teeth, almost pushing me towards the offered drink.

I switch the device off, shove it into my pocket, and wedge towards the other side of the bar.

‘Happy birthday,’ she says in my ear, lifting her glass, while I reach out for mine and down the tequila.

Corrie

I munch on a gummy bear from the bowl meant for the trick-or-treaters, while checking my phone for Luuk’s reply to the birthday wishes. It’s early morning in Nashville, and I know he had a show somewhere out of town. I saw the photos and a particular one, where he was having celebratory shots with a beautiful woman, which had absolutely no right to bug me. Yet here we are, me fangirling over a stunning youngster while emotion-bingeing on sugar. Apparently, facing my unpleasant reality is tougher.

‘Aren’t those for the kids?’ Johan has just caught me with a handful of the frigging things I don’t even like.

‘Less sugar high for them.’ I sound nonchalant, but am bracing for what I know is coming next.