Karaoke, the Universal Language

At the moment, they were Colombian pop diva Shakira, wandering slowly among the tables with microphones in hand and eyes darting to the upper corners of the room, where lyrics scrolled across television sets.

"Wow!" Reyes shouted to them. "I'm having a ball!"

He ordered a tequila shot, his first ever, he said. It was delivered by a waitress in a white blouse who moved through dimness tinged by colored Christmas lights draped high along the walls. Patrons smoked and sipped but rarely chatted. Thunderous ranchero music made conversation nearly impossible.

Owner Freddy Merino stood by the cash register in a pressed paisley shirt and trim mustache, watching over it all like a headmaster. The karaoke was a business strategy.

Merino first tried a mariachi group that charged for songs sung tableside, but the stiff prices angered patrons. Next, he hired a piano player. Too mellow. Finally, he settled on karaoke -- but not in the traditional free-for-all sense, which Merino thinks encourages drinking. At Las Americas, karaoke is part show: The two hostesses sing, choosing songs that rev up clients but maintain a family ambience, Merino said. There is no stage, just cleared-out space against a mirrored wall.

"It is a team: music, cooking and waitresses," said Merino, a Salvadoran immigrant.

Up front, Saavedra and two friends smiled as they slapped the backs of three newcomers to their table, where they sipped beer mixed with Coke to keep it "softer," he said.

Nearby, Falls Church carpet installer Otoñel Rivera, 24, drank Coronas alone and waited to sing, as he does every Friday.

"I do not have friends," he said between cigarettes.

He had sung once this night and was signed up for more, but he couldn't remember which. The Coronas have added up.

The women summoned him to sing a hit by the Mexican rock band Maná.

"Excuse me," Rivera said. His was motionless as he sang. His voice drifted around the octaves in ways that did not always match the music.