Page 5 of Notes About Vodka

It’s been two nights since I heard her sing, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. Her voice lingers, a haunting melody that stays with me as I go through my routines. The way she seemed to pour herself into every note, every word—it’s stuck with me in a way that I can’t shake. I’ve found myself replaying the sound of her voice in my head, wondering what her story is, why she sings the way she does.

After finishing my cigarette, I head back inside and make a quick detour to the bathroom. I splash some water on my face, trying to shake off the fatigue and the haze of my thoughts.

As I return to the bar, I pour myself and Mads a shot of vodka.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass.

“Cheers,” Mads echoes, clinking his glass against mine.

Just as I’m about to take the shot, I hear a familiar raspy voice coming through the speakers.

My heart skips a beat, and I set the full glass down, looking towards the stage. There she is, my redhead from two nights ago.

“Hello, everyone,” she introduces herself without giving her name, “it’s a pleasure to be here atPianissimo. I’m grateful to Dante and Tony for giving me this opportunity. I’m even more excited to join this beautiful piano bar as one of the new evening entertainers.”

Then, she begins playing a slower version of Led Zeppelin'sStairway to Heaven, her fingers gliding gracefully over the keys as she sings.

The rowdy crowd falls silent, enchanted by her voice. I’m captivated as well, my heart beating in time with the rhythm of her music. From my vantage point behind the bar, I can see her back, that long thin scar stands out under the gauzy red dress hugging her delicate pear-shaped frame. Her vibrant red hair falls in natural waves, like she’s just emerged from the ocean.

Throwing back the vodka shot, I decide then and there to make it my mission to get to know her better.

She will be mine and I will be hers.

Normally, I don't mix business with pleasure and have workplace flings, but for her, I am willing to make an exception. There’s something about her that calls to me, something that I can’t ignore. I need to know more, to understand what makes her sing with such raw emotion, what secrets lie beneath that scar, beneath her voice.

As the night wears on, she continues to serenade the crowd with her unique versions of classic rock songs, each one more captivating than the last. The way she transforms each piece, making it her own, leaves me spellbound.

My shift ends and I finally have a chance to approach the wait station to introduce myself, but when I rush to the back she is nowhere to be found.

This is unfortunate because she should be here doing her side work, but she’s just gone. The disappointment in my heart increases as I search and still can’t find her. I want to ask Isabella if she left already, but I don’t even know her name.

My heartache continues to linger when she doesn't show back up for work atPianissimo.

Days pass…

I hope to see her again, but as each day ends, I am met withdisappointment. It's strange to feel such a pull towards someone I barely know, but it's there, undeniable.

I even made a playlist with the songs she sang, adding fuel to my sad obsession. Until I see her again, I'll be waiting. There is a spark of excitement keeping me going, reminding me that there’s still something out there, someone out there who intrigues me and gives me something beyond being stuck in a country I don't belong.

Chapter Two

VAL

“In Russia it is legal to make your own vodka, from whatever you want, for personal consumption. Keyword, personal consumption.”

The following Sunday arrives.

A storm rages outside ofPianissimowith unrelenting fury. The oppressive heat is finally pushed aside by the torrential rain, which lashes against the windows and drums a chaotic rhythm on the rooftop. Thunder booms in the distance, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

Despite my best efforts to stay dry, I’m drenched as I make my way into the back office to hang up my jacket, my hair plastered to my face and my clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

Yet, even through the discomfort, there’s a sense of relief and renewal in the air, as if the storm has washed away all my worries and troubles with its cleansing downpour. I have always loved the rain.

Stepping back into the bar area, I steel my nerves and decide to approach Isabella at the hostess stand to ask about my mystery girl.

Maybe she worked during the two nights I was off this week…

But before I can even take a step away from the bar, she materializes as if summoned by my thoughts.

---