Page 37 of Lady Sings the Blues

11.

Elise

It’s been two weeks. Two long, lonely weeks since I arrived home from Kentucky. I’d spent the first week constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying myself sick Beau would show up. But those fears quickly abated as I realized the likelihood of him finding me in a city the size of Chicago was next to nil. Especially considering I work from home, so no employer to track, and I sublet my apartment from my landlord whose mother died last year.

Situated halfway between Lake Michigan and Wrigley field, the building sits smack in the middle of a prime real estate market. I got lucky. The apartment stays in her name, so he can keep on claiming those social security checks each month. A small cut to his buddy for falsifying documents andvoila!I get rent control for keeping my mouth shut. Bureaucracy at its finest. It’s not my problem if he’s not smart enough to realize that he’d make a killing selling the property. So much more than he collects in those checks every month.

We’d only spent a few days together, but my time with Maryanne showed me just how much I’d missed having girlfriends to gab with. What kind of self-respecting woman goes five years without a good-natured gossip fest?

Really, the only woman I know is Livvy. And I haven’t even seen her in person before. She works with me at the phone sex line, and we found out we were both in the same online finance class at DePaul. She’d asked me several times to meet up for a drink, but I’ve just been so closed off to people for so long and what kind of conversation do you have with a woman you’ve had a phone sex threesome with? I’ve sucked her virtual nipple into my mouth. And those threesomes are strictly off the cuff. So what if she thinks I really flow that way and that’s the reason she wants to meet?

A person’s into what they’re into. I’m not judging, but that’snotmy scene. At all. Although I did find it exciting when Mark—I mean Beau—slapped my bottom during sex. That I liked. I can’t think about that, though. The numerous things I liked sexually or otherwise with that man.

What’s Livvy’s number?Scrolling through my contacts, I hit the call button before chickening out. She picks up on the third ring.

“Elise?” I forgot she’d said she programmed my number in her phone. “This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Now I really feel like a heel for not being nicer. Her concern sounds like all she wanted was to be my friend, nothing concerning hookups. I’m an idiot. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out finally.”

“I’d love that. What are you doing tonight? There’s this new club, Scepter, if you’re into that scene. Or there’s this old bar—a real hole in the wall—my brother and I used to hang out in before he moved away. Moe’s. It’s a dump but the booze is cheap, the people are friendly and they let you get up and sing karaoke if you know the words because it’s not a karaoke bar.”

“That sounds perfect,” I tell her, trying real hard for her to pick up on my enthusiasm without sounding too enthused. It’s a delicate balance.

“Give me an hour. Will that work?” Livvy asks.

“Sure. But um—how will I know you?”

“I’ll be the one with the strawberry blonde hair and a bright yellow tube top,” she says.

She gives me the address before we hang up, and I jump into the shower with a smile on my face. The first smile I’ve smiled in two weeks.

Smokey eyes lined in black kohl, thick volumizing mascara. I let my long golden blonde locks fall wild in loose waves down my back. Why am I putting all this effort in when I’m just going out for drinks with a girlfriend? Maybe I’m hoping as I slide my black tank top on under the cut up to hell black cotton and lace T-shirt which hangs off one shoulder, and the miniest denim miniskirt I’ve ever worn in my life—a recent retail therapy purchase to help me forget Beau, which ironically looks more biker chick than anything I own—with a slit up each thigh and my black booties, that maybe I’ll meet someone who can help me forget about Beau Hollister, at least for the night.

One thing I have to give Beau credit for, he woke the sex beast which lay dormant all these years. No putting that baby back to sleep.

The cab honks outside my brownstone apartment. Tree-lined street full of small front yards bursting with lush greenery. Less than a ten minute drive from Wrigley Field. It’s safe to walk everywhere from here. Not all areas of the city can claim that.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing out front of Moe’s. Livvy was right, it’s a hole in the wall in a rundown part of town. No trees. No one out walking. Boarded-up, condemned buildings pepper the landscape. It’s kind of depressing, to be honest. Several bikes sit parked out front. She never told me it’s a biker bar.

“You sure you want in there, sweetheart?” The cabby actually sounds concerned for my safety.

“I’m good,” I tell him and pay my fare.

“Don’t seem right. Nice girl like you should be down at Scepter or someplace.”

“I’m meeting a friend here. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

He nods and drives away once I’ve closed the door.

Now or never.I step inside Moe’s and part the curtain of smoke to get a look around. From the smell assaulting my nostrils, tobacco wasn’t the only plant the patrons partook of. Beyond the smoke and alcohol, there’s a third layer of atmosphere, a grease layer so thick I feel it coat my skin.

Though dark inside, at least two overhead light fixtures hanging dangerously by only the cable connecting it to the outlet, I spot her right away. Just as promised, strawberry blonde hair and a bright yellow tube top sits on a stool at the bar. A bar that yeah, is as biker as the movies portray. More jean and leather clad men than a girl like me knows what to do with. Twice as many of them as there are woman ratio, but those women make themselves count. Bent seductively over pool tables. Rubbing their behinds against the men wrapped around them, helping aim the dart at the dart boards. Giving the green light for a whole lot of bad intensions. Biker babe chic to the max. Yet all I can think about is the chaffing from all that leather. It’s a sight to behold. I’m kind of in awe, still I’m together enough to not let my mouth gape open.

“Livvy?” I call out.

She turns, drink in hand, ice clanking against the glass.

“Elise?”

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