By: Cartooooonz
The karaoke bar was exactly the kind of place Bob had expected: dimly lit, sticky floors, and a smell that could only be described as a mix of cheap beer and bad decisions. It wasn't crowded—thankfully—but there were enough people to make Bob feel the weight of their potential judgment. Most of them were regulars, middle-aged men and women who probably came here every Friday to sing the same songs they'd been singing for years. A couple of college kids sat in a corner, their heads bent low over their drinks, laughing at something on one of their phones.
Jimmy Pesto, however, was in his element. He swaggered into the bar like he owned the place, flashing that infuriating grin at anyone who looked his way. Bob followed reluctantly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tried to make himself as invisible as possible.
"Belcher, you're gonna love this place," Jimmy said, clapping him on the back like they were old pals. "Great crowd, cheap drinks, and the best karaoke setup in town. Well, second best, if you count the one I'm installing at Pesto's next month."
Bob grimaced. "I'm sure it's great."
Jimmy waved to the bartender, a man with thinning hair and a permanent scowl, who raised a hand in acknowledgment before sliding two beers down the bar. Jimmy caught them both, handing one to Bob with a flourish. "First drink's on me, Belcher."
Bob took the beer, though he wasn't sure if he'd actually drink it. He just wanted to get this over with and go home.
"Come on, let's get signed up," Jimmy said, already making his way to the small table near the stage where a clipboard sat with the song list. "I picked a classic for us. You know, to really get the crowd going."
Bob raised an eyebrow, already dreading what Jimmy had in mind. "What song?"
Jimmy's grin widened. "Sinatra. 'New York, New York.' Ever heard of it?"
Bob stared at him, deadpan. "Yeah, Jimmy. I've heard of it."
"Great!" Jimmy said, scribbling their names down on the sign-up sheet. "It's a perfect duet. You'll handle the low notes, and I'll take care of the high ones. We'll be a hit."
Bob highly doubted that.
As Jimmy handed the clipboard back to the bartender, who doubled as the DJ for the night, Bob scanned the room. A few people were milling around, chatting at the bar or flipping through the song list. No one seemed to notice him, which was fine by Bob. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to actually pay attention to him when he was forced to sing in front of them.
"Relax, Belcher," Jimmy said, slinging an arm around Bob's shoulders in a way that made Bob tense up. "It's gonna be fun. Just you and me, two guys killing it on stage. The crowd's gonna love us."
Bob opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, the lights dimmed and the DJ's voice crackled over the speakers. "Alright, folks, next up we've got Jimmy and Bob, singing 'New York, New York.' Give them a round of applause!"
A smattering of claps echoed through the bar, and Bob felt a pit of dread settle in his stomach. He stared at the tiny stage, at the single microphone standing there under the harsh glow of the spotlight, and wondered for the hundredth time why he had agreed to this.
Jimmy, on the other hand, was already strutting toward the stage like he was headlining at Madison Square Garden. He grabbed the microphone and gestured for Bob to join him, his grin as wide as ever.
"Come on, Belcher!" Jimmy called out, his voice ringing through the bar. "Let's show 'em what we've got!"
With a resigned sigh, Bob trudged up to the stage, trying to ignore the few eyes that were now on him. The microphone felt awkward in his hand, too light and too heavy all at once. He glanced at Jimmy, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. Bob swallowed hard, knowing there was no way out of this now.
The music started, the familiar opening notes of the song crackling through the speakers. Jimmy's grin widened, and he leaned into the mic, belting out the first line with all the confidence of a man who had no idea he was completely tone-deaf.
"Start spreading the news…!"
Bob winced as Jimmy's voice cracked, but the crowd seemed to be enjoying it. A couple of people cheered, and someone at the bar whistled. Bob felt his face flush with embarrassment, but he forced himself to join in when his part came up.
"I'm leaving today…"
His voice wasn't great, but at least it was better than Jimmy's. Bob kept his eyes fixed on the lyrics screen, trying not to think about the people watching him. He just had to get through this. One song. That was all.
Jimmy, meanwhile, was completely in his element. He was gesturing with his free hand, winking at people in the crowd, and swaying his hips like he was performing at some Vegas lounge. Bob couldn't believe how much energy Jimmy was putting into this—he looked like he was having the time of his life.
"New York, New York!" Jimmy bellowed, holding the final note for far too long.
Bob jumped in just in time, his voice blending with Jimmy's in the final stretch.
As the song finally came to an end, Bob could hear the polite applause from the crowd, but all he felt was relief. It was over.
Jimmy, however, was soaking it all in. He raised the microphone like a trophy and turned to Bob, clapping him on the back. "See? What did I tell you, Belcher? We killed it!"
Bob managed a weak smile. "Yeah, sure."
Jimmy grinned, clearly riding the high of the performance. He looked out at the crowd, then back at Bob, his eyes gleaming with an idea. "You know what we should do next?"
Bob's stomach dropped. "I really don't—"
"'I Got You Babe!'" Jimmy cut him off, already making his way back to the sign-up sheet. "You'll be Sonny, and I'll be Cher. It's perfect!"
The night had stretched on longer than Bob expected, but as he sat at the bar nursing his fourth—maybe fifth—beer, the initial dread of karaoke had dissolved into something strangely enjoyable. The sharp edge of reality had softened, and the world around him felt lighter, more absurd, as if none of his problems mattered quite so much in the glow of cheap neon lights and the haze of alcohol.
Bob leaned back on his stool, laughing as another group took the stage, absolutely butchering a rendition of "Don't Stop Believin'." The lead singer, some guy in a neon tank top, was off-key and wobbling on his feet, clearly having lost the battle with his balance a few songs ago. His friends tried to cheer him on, but they were laughing just as hard as Bob was.
"Wow, this guy," Bob muttered, taking a long drink from his beer. "You'd think he was being paid to sound that bad."
"Right? It's like he's never even heard the song before!" Jimmy chimed in from beside him, equally as buzzed and significantly less obnoxious than usual. He slapped Bob on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "I swear, we're the only ones keeping this place afloat with any real talent tonight."
Bob chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, real talent. Sinatra would be proud."
Jimmy puffed out his chest. "Damn straight he would."
The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the disaster on stage unfold, and for the first time in Bob's life, being around Jimmy didn't feel like a chore. The rivalry that usually simmered between them had melted into something else—something lighter, almost like friendship. It was bizarre, but it was happening.
And Bob was actually kind of having fun.
"Hey, you know what we should do?" Bob slurred, sitting up a little straighter. He gestured vaguely toward the song list that was sitting a few stools down from them. "We should pick out something ridiculous. Like, really ridiculous."
Jimmy's eyes lit up. "Oh-ho, Belcher's got a wild side! I knew it was in there somewhere." He reached for the song list, flipping through the pages like a man on a mission. "Okay, what's the most absurd thing we could sing?"
Bob squinted at the list, leaning in closer. His head was swimming, and everything seemed just a little bit fuzzy, but he was riding the wave of alcohol-fueled enthusiasm. "How about… 'Endless Love'?"
Jimmy nearly choked on his beer, snorting into the glass. "Oh my God. Endless Love. That's it. That's the one." He slapped the bar with his hand, grinning from ear to ear. "We'll kill it. You take Lionel, I'll take Diana. We'll bring the house down."
Bob was already laughing, the absurdity of the idea hitting him harder than the beer. He couldn't believe he was doing this—singing duets with Jimmy Pesto at a dive bar on a random weeknight—but somehow, it was exactly what he needed. It was a break from the stress, from the constant worry about the restaurant and the bills and everything else.
Jimmy was already on his feet, stumbling slightly as he made his way to the sign-up sheet, scribbling their names down for yet another performance. Bob watched him go, shaking his head in disbelief. This was insane. But maybe a little insanity was what he needed right now.
"Hey, Belcher!" Jimmy called from across the room, holding up the microphone like a trophy. "You ready to make history?"
Bob stood, swaying slightly as he made his way to the stage. "Ready as I'll ever be."
The lights dimmed as the opening chords of "Endless Love" started playing through the speakers, soft and slow. Bob took the microphone, blinking against the spotlight that seemed way too bright for a place like this, and shot Jimmy a look.
"This is ridiculous," Bob muttered, though he couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, but it's the good kind of ridiculous," Jimmy replied, grinning as he lifted the mic to his lips.
Bob started the first line, his voice shaky but surprisingly on-key given the amount of alcohol in his system. "My love, there's only you in my life, the only thing that's right…"
Jimmy jumped in with all the grace of a drunk Diana Ross impersonator. "My first love, you're every breath that I take, you're every step I make…"
Bob couldn't hold back his laughter, nearly missing his cue for the next line. The ridiculousness of it all—standing on stage with Jimmy Pesto, singing one of the cheesiest love songs ever written—was too much. And somehow, it felt perfect.
The crowd, half-drunk themselves, started cheering them on, laughing and clapping along as Bob and Jimmy stumbled their way through the song, leaning into the silliness with abandon. Bob even threw in a dramatic hand gesture, mimicking the kind of over-the-top stage moves he'd seen on those cheesy old music videos. Jimmy followed suit, swaying and belting out the chorus with gusto.
By the time they hit the final note, the entire bar was cheering, and Bob felt a strange surge of satisfaction. For once, he wasn't worrying about the restaurant or the bills or anything else. He was just… having fun.
Jimmy turned to him as the song ended, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. "Belcher, I gotta say, you're not half bad at this. I might have to make karaoke night a regular thing for us."
Bob rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. "Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. This was a one-time thing."
"Sure, sure," Jimmy said, though Bob could tell he wasn't taking it seriously. "But admit it—you had fun."
Bob hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Yeah. I guess I did."
Jimmy clapped him on the back again, clearly pleased with himself. "See? Told you. You and me, Belcher, we make a great team."
Bob didn't know if he'd go that far, but for now, with the buzz of alcohol still in his veins and the sound of laughter filling the bar, he couldn't argue with Jimmy. At least for tonight, they weren't rivals. They were just two guys, enjoying the absurdity of it all.
And for the first time in a long time, Bob felt a little bit lighter.
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