The band came out of the curtains and towards their respective musical instruments. At a glance, the lead singer looked like Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction with his bob haircut and deep blood red lips, but the singer's masculine voice said otherwise.

"Good evening, ladies and gents," The singer greeted as he waved to the crowd that stood and surrounded the stage. The crowd cheered and yelled back at their greetings. Some of the women were about to lose their minds as they screamed.

He glanced at Don, who was staring at him, and whispered to the bassist, "Lookie, one appears different than the others.

The bassist looked briefly and turned around to snicker, "Oh, I see him." 

The singer pondered for a bit then whispered with a devious wink, "I want to pick on this lost businessman. Watch me..." 

Don noticed the two whispering to each and crossed his arms, guessing that his attire was the topic. 

The singer went back to his microphone stand and visibly stared straight at him with his hands on his waist, leaning his head to the side.

He called out as he held the microphone close to his lips. 

"Hey! You, blondie with the black suit!"

The crowd darted their eyes to where the singer pointed. They murmured and gossiped as they looked at the blonde man. 

Don sighed and forced a smile, "Yes?" 

"Why are you wearing formal attire? This ain't a funeral!" The singer mocked.

Most of the audience laughed. Don raised his head and retorted with a dead serious face, "Why are you wearing make-up? This ain't Rupaul's Drag Race." 

The singer glared at the drummer who cackled at the response. The crowd responded variously, some laughed and some boo-ed. He whipped a strand of hair away from his face and replied. "Touché. Enough chit chat!" 

He signalled his band to start with a head tilt and started to perform a punk rendition of Bad Romance. Everyone was banging their heads and dancing to the music while Don listened to the band silently, his arms in his coat pockets. Punk Rock was not his thing, but he had to stay for a while.

After the guitarist played his solo, the singer pulled the unsuspecting Don to the stage to tease as he poised roguishly. "I want your love and I want your revenge."

Don coyly shook his head and pretended to be embarrassed as the singer gave him the microphone.

The singer's smug face was wiped off in a second when Don started to sing the next lines fluently.

"Je veux ton amour
Et je veux ta revanche
Je veux ton amour..."

The singer became stunned as the stranger in front of him quickly stole the spotlight. Don continued to sing the next lines of the song and gestured elegantly as he sang. The crowd cheered in amazement as he hit the notes. He refused to return the microphone until the singer stole it back and finished the last part of the song.

After the concert, the singer went back to Don for another round of banter.

"I didn't know you were a singer, Sir." He spoke, his intrigued eyes examining Don head-to-toe.

"You didn't ask," Don retorted with a satisfied smirk. 

The word "Impressed" was written all over the singer's face. He realized it quickly and arched an eyebrow in pretend contempt before he made a subtle exit behind the black velvet curtains. The band mates waved goodbye and also left the stage.

Most of the patrons gazed at Don admiringly as he sauntered into the bar counter. He signalled the bartender and ordered a shot of vodka. 

Back at the stage, the singer beckoned his female bassist for a spare cigarette. A roadie tossed the singer a lighter, which he caught perfectly. 

"Nice." The drummer said while nodding his head slowly.

"Not as nice as the suave guy in a suit." The bassist commented, which prompted the singer to roll his eyes.

The singer lit the cigarette and gently put it in his blood red lips. He opened his lips to let out smoke and pondered audibly. "Who is that stranger, I wonder?"