Rockin' and rollin' with Aunt Stacey and a dark-haired stranger

It’s been said there’s no better ice breaker than a cigarette — between a woman and a man, that is. And last Saturday night, luck matched me with a Marlboro Light and a dark-haired man, proving this adage true.

It was my Aunt Stacey 25th birthday, an age she’s celebrated since I was a kid. And I was attending her annual birthday bash with my best friend Kris, hosted at downtown Raleigh’s Berkeley Café.

Truth be told, Stacey is my “adopted” aunt. She’s married to Kris’ uncle, Epsom native Frankie Winn, whom I likewise claim as my kin. Both musicians, the pair met decades ago when big-hair bands were the rock and roll rage. Stacey’s guttural vocals and Frankie’s electric guitar forged their 80’s rock group, Driver. And today their band still performs at local venues, as it did last Saturday night.

“Happy birthday!” Kris and I cheered as Aunt Stacey approached our booth at the Berkeley.

“I’ve gotten my birthday wish!” Aunt Stacey smiled as she hugged Kris, who’d made the eight-hour drive from Pittsburgh, Penn., for the concert.

While the band conducted its pre-show sound checks, Kris and I joined cousin Melissa and her husband James near the stage. Moments later, multi-colored lights flashed as electric guitars and drums introduced the birthday dame. Leaning toward her microphone, Aunt Stacey roared the lyrics of her opening song.

“My mom’s a rock star,” Melissa posted on her Facebook page.

Aunt Stacey screamed into her microphone, stomping her black boots onto the stage as she entertained the crowd of Driver fans.

And that’s when I saw him. No, not the dark-haired man …

The bald-headed man.

Now, I have nothing against bald men. My dad’s practically bald himself. But this bald-headed man, who was likewise celebrating a birthday, had an agenda that night — to dance with every woman in sight.

“Oh no,” I grimaced as he grinned in my direction and then dropped to the floor, crawling on all fours.

Aghast, I turned toward the exit door, eager for an escape. And that’s when I noticed a nearby guy carrying a pack of cigarettes.

“Can I bum a smoke?” I asked the dark-haired man in desperation, accompanying him onto the smoking porch.

“Sure,” the stranger smiled, pulling forth a Marlboro Light from his front pocket.

I’m not a frequent smoker. Therefore I wasn’t convinced I could masterfully light my cigarette beside of my new friend, let alone smoke it. So I did what any non-smoking gal would do — I leaned towards his lighter’s flame, dragging on my cigarette until its orange glow gave way to ashes.

And then came the small talk: Where do you work? Where do you live? Have you ever been married? Do you have any kids?

After I’d successfully answered his questions, the dark-haired man asked for my phone number.

“It’s cold. I’m going back inside,” I replied.

As the concert concluded, Aunt Stacey summoned her family and closest friends to the stage. And as we belted out the lyrics to her final song, I beamed at my rockin’ and rollin’ aunt, who’d cracked the mold of a male-dominated music genre back in the ‘80’s — and continues to do so today.

And still smiling, I slipped my phone number to the dark-haired man, whose Marlboro Light had rescued me from a dancing disaster at the Berkeley Cafe on my Aunt Stacey’s 25th birthday.