The waitress scurried away, and the group settled back down. There was much more joking and laughing now, and more enthusiastic cheering for the other people participating in the singing. Their adrenaline high lasted a long time.

Finally Angel took another gulp of her drink—she'd switched over to iced tea, like Murdock, by that point—and said, "I'm on deck again. And I need a volunteer to help me up on stage."

As good as he was feeling, B.A. immediately shook his head. "Ain't no way I'm getting up on that stage, baby."

But she wasn't looking at him. Face realized her semi-request was directed at him.

"Oh, hey. I'm no good up there, you know that, Angel."

Murdock watched the scene: Face declining, Angel looking expectant, and B.A. slowly becoming conscious that Angel wasn't asking him, and maybe that was a little weird. Before Face could suggest it, Murdock said with blatant fakeness in his voice,

"I don't think I'm up for another go."

That seemed to settle it for Angel. She continued to ignore B.A. and walked around to Face's chair. She held a hand out to him and tapped her foot. With a resigned sigh, Face took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the stairs.

"Hey—wait a minute!" B.A. called after them. "What—?"

He didn't seem quite sure how he should be reacting to his girlfriend not wanting him to join her. Murdock smothered a giggle at his perplexed confusion by fishing the lemon slice out of his tea and shoving it in his mouth.

The last singer left the stage, and it went black. It took everyone's eyes a moment to adjust to the even darker area now, but from the sound of high heels above the conversations around them, B.A. could tell Angel walked out on stage and set something down with a thump. Then there were more footsteps, Face's dress shoes, maybe?, and a slight fumbling of the microphone.

Finally a few accent lights in red came up behind the stage, and the spotlight winked on. Face was seated on a chair on the stage. It was difficult to find a casual position on a straight-backed chair; too loose and he would be sprawling, too upright and he would look tense. He opted for a slight relaxation of his legs with his ankles hooked together. His hands rested lightly on his knees, although he smiled and waved as women and men in the audience cat-called to him.

He didn't have much time to be uncomfortable, however. Another piano riff began, then brass and drums joined in a dirty, rockabilly style.

A second spotlight hit Angel, standing closer to the other side of the small stage. Because she sang with such a low voice in the first number, it didn't surprise B.A. that her voice was deep and throaty for this one too. But this song was written for a woman, and the lyrics were both more and less appropriate for her and Face up on stage.

The man is tall, bad, mean

And good-lookin' . . .

When he looks at me

I grow weak in the knees . . .

As she sang, Angel sauntered across the stage. The spotlight followed her, and by the time she made it to Face, it was like there was only one light on them.

Face had obviously been told he didn't need to sing, he just needed to sit there and look pretty. With her slinking to him and now around him, however, he shifted on his seat, trying to act like he was detached but not quite convincing anyone that he was.

He's my big bad handsome man

He's got me in the palm of his hand . . .

He's the devil divine

I'm so glad that he's mine . . .

With the next verse, it wasn't any less sultry; Angel may have actually increased the average temperature in the room. She stood over Face as she sang, running her hand over his shoulders and down his chest.

Her voice grew husky and captivated the audience beyond the lights as well as her audience on the stage. Face visibly swallowed as she leaned down and her hair brushed him.

Enthralled like everyone else, Murdock somehow became aware that B.A. was not agreeing this was a great act. The air around the black man almost shimmered with anger, and that was never a good thing. It usually preceded something or someone being broken.

Murdock swallowed too, almost in time with Face, and slid into the conman's vacant seat.

Risking his own safety, he grabbed B.A.'s upper arm and squeezed it.

As he expected, B.A. whipped his attention to him.

"Bosco—knock it off! Calm down, muchacho!"

"Shut up fool! Can't you see—"

Murdock took an even bigger risk than touching him; he interrupted. "Can't you see? Look at her, Bosco!"

B.A. growled and tried to jerk away.

"No! Really look at Angel!" he insisted, digging his fingers into the large bicep. Maybe pain would cut through the wrath. "She's not singing to Faceman, Bosco—she's singing to you!"

The hissed assertion pulled B.A. up short. Once he could concentrate on her instead of the entire scene, and now that Murdock mentioned it, Angel did seem to be directing her gaze out to their table instead of down at the ensnared man below her.

No one else seemed to recognize it . . . damn Murdock for being so damn with it!

And bless him too.

Murdock relaxed his grip as B.A. relaxed beside him.

Angel and Face, oblivious to the ruckus their performance was causing at their table, finished the song to thunderous applause once again. The spotlight went out, then came back on. Face looked slightly flustered and somehow sweaty; Angel smiled beautifully as if she didn't know the affect she'd had on him or anyone else.

She forced him to bow as she waved and blew a kiss, and she kept her hand on his elbow to guide him off the stage.