Chapter 1

When the phone rang, I knew it was Joan. Again. I let the machine pick it up this time. “Lexi, don’t forget to wear the ring! See you in five.” Joan thought that karaoke night at The Pluto Lounge was the perfect event for revealing her new collection. And it sure was a collection. A week earlier, in a “fans of plastic jewelry” chat room, she met a man who claimed to have an inventory of 2000 yellow plastic rings with black magnets embedded on the top.

According to him, they were used in a children’s museum where kids could press the rings on a plaque and learn about an exhibit. So Joan, who immediately thought of at least 10 ways she could use these magnet rings, sent the guy 300 dollars in cash for 250 of them. Although I was skeptical of the shady transaction, true to his word, Joan received the much-anticipated package three days later, including a note that read, “USE THESE ONLY FOR GOOD”.

I’m proud to say I was the first recipient of Joan’s new found treasure, and after wearing the ring for only six hours, had four people ask me where I got it (just as Joan predicted). Joan and her latest obsessions never fail to attract attention.

When Joan arrived at my apartment, she was wearing black velvet pants and a black cotton tank top “to not distract from the rings.” Her only risk was her shoe choice, but I convinced her that the purple stilettos complemented the yellow without overshadowing the rings’ beauty. Having spent the better part of her day with a glue gun, six rings were linked together and hanging from each of her ears. As always, Joan looked fabulous.

When we arrived at the club, we were greeted by the usual Pluto crowd: Bartender Ralph, Pleather Man and Tiny Tina (when at Pluto, you refer to people strictly by their karaoke pseudonyms). Pleather Man, clearly enthralled with Joan’s accessory choice, said “Joan! You must tell me where you got those earrings.” Pleather Man, who had a miniature Barbie doll in a fat suit hanging around his neck, was once again out-styled by a Joan creation.

“I’ll never tell,” Joan replied with a wink. Joan’s the only unannoying winker I know. “But don’t you fret. I have something for you.” Joan then proceeded to give all of her Pluto friends the rings, each one with the “only for good” warning.

When Joan was a kid, I’m sure the other kids constantly made fun of her and whatever high school version of Pluto types she hung out with. I’m talking goth, marching band, Shakespeare troupe, Dungeons & Dragons. You name it; I’m sure Joan was into it. But I think they were just jealous of those who had a community full of unconditional acceptance. I mean, I don’t think Joan has one judgmental bone in her body.

Case in point, last month, this hipster college student came to karaoke night, wearing Chuck Taylors, Dickie’s pants, trucker hat, “Jesus is my co-pilot” t-shirt – I’m talking about the whole ensemble. Rolling my eyes, I tried to explain to Joan how this guy just does not belong at Pluto and how his t-shirt probably cost him fifty dollars, and she replied, “That’s just silly. If Jesus were his co-pilot, he’d give that boy the t-shirt for free. Jesus is not about the cash, y’know?”

By the end of the night, Joan and hipster boy had sung a medley of three Fleetwood Mac songs masterfully mixed by DJ Karl. More on him later. As a true lesson in the power of acceptance, The Boy Formerly Known as Pabst Blue Ribbon (his official karaoke pseudonym) is now a regular. And he’s a little toned down now.

After one too many vodka and cranberries (which is three, in case you’re wondering), I was ready for a duet with Joan. DJ Karl asked, “What’ll it be tonight, gorgeous?” I hate to admit that a man calling me gorgeous has the power to make me feel better about myself, but oh well. The man has a thick Boston accent. I can’t resist that.

“”Friends Can be Lovers” by Dionne Warwick” I answered. As I took a sip of my fourth vodka and cranberry (two too many), I tried to wink at DJ Karl. But I’m a really terrible winker, and since I spilled half of the drink on Pleather Man in the process, the moment was lost.

“Don’t worry, hon. It’s pleather. It just slides right off.”

Even though I knew they were cheering mostly for Joan, it still felt good to be appreciated by the crowd. I left the stage, and Joan continued with a Madonna medley (medleys are her favorite).

Joan is classically trained in voice, so every song she sings sounds like opera. It brings a whole new element to karaoke. Where most people are so bad, they’re good, Joan is so good, she’s bad, and thus good. Brilliant. That night she chose to add some high notes Madonna never intended for “Open Your Heart to Me.”

Pleather Man followed with Whitney Houston’s “Didn’t We Almost Have it All”. Although Joan won in the wardrobe category, Pleather Man unarguably took the karaoke award. So they called it a draw, and Joan and I walked home, each a little too giddy. Joan from her victory, and I from my drinking.

As she dropped me off at my apartment and started walking the two blocks further to her own, Joan yelled back, “Remember, Lexi. Use it only for good!”

Feedback questions from Chapter 1:

Does Lexi seem obsessed with Joan (not intended)?
Does the ‘Joan in high school’ paragraph sound preachy and out of place?