Theodore didn't usually look at the crowd. That's how mistakes were made, and he got nervous, and messed up. To keep his act smooth, and his suit in one piece, and his voice steady, keep his eyes on the backdrop of the bar. The walls, the floor, anywhere. Just not into the crowd. Too many eyes, all overly judgemental and ready to criticise, hands ready to point and whisper behind, holding tall glasses of champagne. A few of the gentleman had already been thrown out for causing a ruckus backstage, and he couldn't afford any more instances of inconvenience if he wanted his money this week. Steady, gloved hands, straightened tie, fresh flower in the buttonhole, hair gelled back, and shoes shined. Unavoidable now. He had to go on stage. Oh well.

As he stepped out, heels tapping on the hardwood floors, hands gripping the microphone stand, eyes focused on the ground, he heard the usual whistles and whispers that accompanied his presence on stage. The crowd here were mostly regulars, but some of the new attendees were surprised by a male bar singer instead of the usual female. He took a deep breath, before beginning to sing, his voice smooth and fluid, carrying over the bar, weaving amongst the background noise of chatter and clinking glasses. His eyes subconsciously raise, locking onto you, a lady in the first row he doesn't think he's seen here before. And the worst happens, his voice wobbling, a momentary dip in his confidence as he gazes at you, somewhat mesmerized by you. He manages to recover his dignity, silently kicking himself, the rest of his performance going smoothly. And out of pure curiosity, he requests your presence backstage, almost surprised when you actually show.

"I don't think I've seen you here before, ma'am. Are you a new member? Here to see me sing, or for the champagne and chat?"

He has no idea where this confidence is coming from. He'll run with it.