Page 38 of Lady Sings the Blues

I smile.

So does she.

“You’rebeautiful.” Not that she isn’t, because she is, I just totally didn’t mean to say it out loud.

She stands and walks over to hug me.

“House rule,” Bartender calls. “Hot chicks start going at it, I get to watch.”

“Shut up, Rick,” Livvy calls back.

“We’re not going at anything,” I tell him. “It’s just we’ve never met in person before. We only know each other from work.”

“You both do the phone sex thing?” His voice goes up at the end. What, like a girl like me can’t do phone sex? All it takes is a good imagination or the internet when you’re stuck for creativity.

“Yes…yes…oh yes big boy,” I tease in my best oncoming orgasm voice. I notice several men in the bar quit drinking, playing pool, or talking to take notice. My antics earn me a smile from Rick, the bartender.

“You know we’re an anomaly, right?” Liv tugs on my hand to get us moving back toward the bar.

I purse my lips, not knowing where she’s going with this.

“Most phone sex girls are actually four hundred pound, fifty-five year old divorcées with seven kids, five of which have different baby daddies,” she says, laughing.

Ah, there it is.

“You’ve ruined the fantasy forever,” Rick tells her. “So—”

“Elise,” I offer.

“Elise,” he repeats. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Whiskey sour?”

“I see—man troubles?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because pretty things like you only order whiskey sours when they’re trying to forget. Otherwise it’s Piña Coladas and Daiquiris.” He pinches his voice higher to make himself sound like a sorority girl on the last word.

“Well, Rick. You could say I havementrouble. I just got back two weeks ago from Kentucky. Had to bury my dad. But I couldn’t even stay to do that because of a man I used to know.”

He stares blankly at me. And blinks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too. Thanks, though. Dr. Manning was a real respected member of the community so…”

“That your name, Elise Manning?” After dropping several ice cubes into my glass, he pours a healthy pour of whiskey to start my drink. Then he tops it with lemonade. I guess that makes sense, since the other two ingredients are sugar and lemon juice.

“Very same.” And I slightly bow my head to complete the introduction.

Rick sets the glass down in front of me where I immediately swipe it from the bar top, swirl the ice around a few times to mix it and then drink the whole thing down at once.

“Another,” I cough out. “Come on, Livvy. Let’s sing.” Grabbing her hand, we jockey from the stools so fast she almost bites it, that is, tumbles over her feet in those ridiculously high, bright yellow espadrilles.

We start off entertaining our fellow bar goers with a rousing rendition of Aerosmith’s “Dream On.” Moving next through a couple of Dixie Chicks tunes, “Sin Wagon” and “Goodbye Earl” where instead of singing, “Maryanne and Wanda,” I sing, “Maryanne and Elise were the best of friends all through their high school days…” And when it gets to the chorus, of course it becomes, “’CuzBeauhad to die.”

Livvy laughs. My words slur as the waitress has been quite attentive. Not one man makes a pass at me.

“What the hell kind of biker bar is this?” I yell at the men after my last song, the female anthem, “I Will Survive.” They only stare. “I look hot tonight and not one of you has had the balls to hit on me?”

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