I tilt my head while I continue to play a general series of chords. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but she’s still pointing the phone at me, so I ad lib for a few more seconds until she tells me we’re clear.
But she doesn’t.
A laugh bursts out of her. “Hey you, holding the phone,” she says louder, I’m assuming as she reads a comment from the screen. “Tell him to play Never Gonna Give You Up.” She looks at me with bright, wide eyes and a big smile. “Play it!”
So, I play it. “Who’s asking?” I call above the music.
“Jason from Salt Lake City,” Ava calls back just as Meyer scampers across the room to switch on another mic and positions it next to the piano strings.
“Well, Jason from Salt Lake City,” I say, rapidly plunking out the notes of the song in a ragtime style. “This Rick-Roll goes out to you.”
I make it about a third of the way through the song when Ava calls out, “Larissa from Atlanta wants to hear Last Night by The Strokes.”
I seamlessly transition the music. “Larissa from Atlanta, how ya doing, sweetie? This one’s for you.”
After a few bars of that one, Ava hollers at me again. “Stacey from Portland wants to hear Call Me by Blondie.”
I flash a grin at the camera and transition the song yet again. “Stacey from Portland, you got good taste.”
I continue to tickle the ivories, seamlessly moving from song to song every minute or so as Ava calls out the requests. I keep the rhythm fast paced and perform for the handful of folks gathered in the big room like they’re a crowd the size of however many thousands of people are watching this livestream. Every so often I look sideways at Ava while she points the phone at me. Meyer moved to stand next to her a few minutes ago, and he’s watching the screen like it’s showing him the friggin’ eighth world wonder.
“All right, one last request, and then I’m gonna get lost, folks,” I say, flashing a grin at the camera. “But this has been a lot of fun. What’s it gonna be?”
“Sweet Child of Mine!” Ava chirps. “From Emily in Kentucky!”
“Sweet Child of Mine for sweet Emily from Kentucky,” I echo, slamming out dramatic chords for the transition and intro. “We’re gonna do this in a blues style, and then I’m gonna treat myself to a Kentucky bourbon in honor of you, darlin’.”
While I play through the bars, I keep a side eye on Meyer. He’s now talking in Ava’s ear, emphatically gesturing, and she’s nodding enthusiastically while quietly responding to him.
Drawing the music to a close, I turn on the bench and rest my elbow on the edge of the piano. “Well, guys and dolls, that was fun as hell. You fine folks don’t forget to get your tickets to the show, and I’ll see you again on April 30.”
At that, Ava finally lowers the phone and turns to Meyer with a gobsmacked expression. “Holycrap.”
He claps his hands together with gusto, wearing a victorious smile. “I know, right!”
I stand up from the bench and approach them. “What are you guys so friggin’ stoked about? Did a bunch of them buy tickets already?”
“I’ll have to check…I mean, probably…but,Lucky…” Ava meets me in the middle of the room with Meyer at her side and turns the phone toward me. “They startedtipping.”
I squint at the screen, trying to make sense of it. I’ve never livestreamed before, so the layout doesn’t entirely register. “They can tip on this thing?”
“Yeah, apparently.” Ava turns the phone back to her face and starts tapping the screen. “They tippedthree thousand dollars. Inone hour.”
My eyes widen at her. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“Yeah, look, Vin!” Meyer swipes the phone out of Ava’s hand and points it at me again. “Three thousand bucks!” He chuckles gleefully. “You ain’t never been tipped like that in your friggin’ life!”
“I know I haven’t.” I peer at the screen, and sure enough, it’s showing a ledger of transactions from my page’s activity, each with a zero dollar sum next to them other than the livestream. That one has a sum of $3,263. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, there were about ten thousand people watching,” Ava adds. “Every time you switched songs, they tipped with comments like, ‘This is awesome! Love that song! Great cover!’” She looks at me with a focused expression. “You should do this again. You should host a virtual piano bar where you take requests from the chat box, and, oh!” She turns to Meyer, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m going to see if Zoey can add an online tip jar to the concert site.”
“Yeah, yeah!” Meyer claps his hands together and laughs again. “Maybe she can make it look like an actual tip jar. Like a little Mason jar that has little stickers on it just like they got in all these hole-in-the-wall bars.”
Ava giggles adorably, clutching the phone to her chest. “I bet she can!”
I find myself smiling at her. For someone who definitelyhates my guts after all the shit that’s gone down in the past thirty days, she sure is happy about this victorious turn-of-events.
“Oh my gosh.” She hands the phone to Meyer and then presses her hands to her cheeks. “This is so exciting. I’m going to go check the registration site to see how many people have bought tickets.”
