(ESP)
Las lentejuelas de su vestido centelleaban. El charol de sus botas altas y blancas también brillaba. Ella resplandecía. Sus labios pintados de rojo, y aquel color que había adquirido su pelo con ese “tinte para cabello rubio” que había comprado en el supermercado. Allí arriba, subida en aquel escenario de madera barnizada y moviendo su cintura de un lado a otro, tenía un look setentero que le sentaba estupendamente. Las piernas juntas, las rodillas flexionadas y un ligero balanceo a tempo de cuatro por cuatro.
Estaba preciosa.
Tenía el micrófono agarrado con la mano izquierda, aunque no era zurda. Cantaba bien alto el tema que sus amigas le habían escogido. Ellas tenían esa costumbre navideña de terminar en un karaoke obligadas a cantar canciones que otros escogen. Da igual que la sepan o no, si la conocen, suerte, si no, a improvisar.
No podía apartar la vista de su cara. La piel fina y tersa. Sus abultados mofletes en los que termina ese flequillo abombado y los ojos marrones con forma de almendra. Era esa mujer de sus sueños.
Del altavoz emergía un sonido estridente. El karaoke no era lo que se dice un lugar agradable, sino más bien un antro cutre en el que por cada canción que cantabas te premiaban con un pequeño bol de plástico con palomitas de bolsa.
El camarero, dueño y DJ era un señor bastante maltratado por la vida. Un caballero cansado de todo. Un señor para el que su mayor obligación era, casi cada noche, barrer, literalmente, a algún borracho que se había quedado dormido en los acolchados bancos de espuma.
"Te quiero", gritó mientras ella cantaba.
Ella le miró y sonrió ampliamente.
Se emocionó. Creyó que eso significaba que ella sentía lo mismo por él. Al bajar del escenario se acercó, y sin dejarla que se ubicara en la sala de nuevo, le plantó un beso en los labios. La cantante la miró extrañada, frunció el ceño y le dijo:
(ENG)
The sequins on her dress sparkled. The patent leather of her high white boots shone too. She glowed. Her lips painted red, and the colour her hair had acquired with that ‘blonde hair dye’ she had bought at the supermarket. Up there on that varnished wooden stage, her waist swaying from side to side, she had a seventies look that suited her perfectly. Legs together, knees bent, and a slight swaying four-four tempo.
She looked beautiful.
She held the microphone in her left hand, although she was not left-handed. She sang loudly the song her friends had chosen for her. They had that Christmas habit of ending up in a karaoke bar obliged to sing songs that others choose. It doesn't matter if they know it or not, if they know it, good luck, if not, improvise.
I couldn't take my eyes off her face. The fine, smooth skin. Her puffy cheeks ending in her curved fringes and her almond-shaped brown eyes. She was the woman of his dreams.
A shrill sound came out of the loudspeaker. The karaoke was not what you would call a nice place, but more like a sleazy joint where for every song you sang you were rewarded with a small plastic bowl of bagged popcorn.
The waiter, owner and DJ was a gentleman rather battered by life. A gentleman tired of everything. A gentleman for whom his greatest duty was, almost every night, to sweep up, literally, some drunk who had fallen asleep on the foam-padded benches.
‘I love you,’ he shouted as she sang.
She looked up at him and smiled broadly.
He was thrilled. He thought that meant she felt the same way about him. As he came off the stage he walked over, and without letting her reposition herself in the room, he planted a kiss on her lips. The singer looked at her strangely, frowned and said, ‘But... what are you doing?
-What are you doing? We're friends. What was that for?
- I'm sorry. I shouted that I loved you and you smiled at me. Sorry, I thought that...
*- What? With the speakerphone next to me, I couldn't understand anything. I smiled at you like any other time. You misunderstood, I'm sorry.
Her friend in love felt the cold water. She turned and looked both ways, on one side was the door to the bar. On the other, the bar. *
In three minutes she was back with her hands full with two glasses overflowing with ice and bubbles.
Este texto ha sido creado por un humano sin ayuda de la IA.
