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Mary: Call has been made. Get outta there!
Sirens blare in the distance as we weave our way through the neighborhood, away from our crimes. If there’s a God, both the priest and deacon will be long dead before anyone gets to them. That’s the only way no one else gets hurt.
Before we get too far, I turn to stare at the burning building one last time. Flipping both middle fingers in the air, I embrace the man I know I’m going to become.
“Fuck you, Father, for I have sinned.”
Four years later…
“Last Call!”
I close the lid on my guitar case as the bartender bellows across the bar.
“And that’s a wrap folks,” I mutter under my breath.
I tip back the rest of the rum and coke one of the servers brought me during my last break and grab my guitar case.
After walking down the stairs of the small stage, I turn and head to the bar. I’ve been singing at The Nightly Habit for almost two weeks in Bloomington, Indiana. I try to hit bars that have open mic nights so I can get my name out in the world but sometimes, after a particularly good set, an owner or manager approaches and asks me to stick around.
Gary came to me right after my first time singing here and offered to let me sing for a couple of hours every night. He also invited me to open and close the next two scheduled open mic sessions. I’ve stayed longer than I anticipated, but the tips are good, and Gary has also thrown me a little cash for sticking around.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Running low on money was one of the reasons I said ‘yes’. It’s worked out well for both of us, though. Business is booming for Gary, and I picked up a few fans who come to see me every night. Some of them I can do without, but you take what you can get in my line of work.
“Hey Apple, how’d you do tonight?” Gary asks as I hand him my glass.
"Pretty good." I shake my tip jar, and the change that's mixed in with the bills rattles against the glass. "Thanks for letting me play here the last few weeks, Gary. It's been fun."
"It was a good business decision," he says with a teasing quality in his tone.
I grin. "Glad I could help. But I think I need to be moving on now."
"You're not sticking around?" Gary's face falls, and I can't tell if he'll miss me or the customers I draw in more.
"I'd love to," I say honestly. "You've been great to me, and the town is really nice, but I need to be where the action is if I'm going to make it in this industry."
“Well, girl, with the set of pipes you have, no doubt fame will find you soon.” Gary reaches across the bar and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “We hate to see you go, but I understand. Just don’t forget about us when you’re rich and famous.”
I squeeze his hand back. “I won’t, promise.”
And I won’t because I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Last week, I wrote the name of the bar, and Gary’s name and number, in the ledger I keep on hand. Every bar, restaurant, and venue I’ve ever played in is written in that ledger, and I separate the good from the bad. That way I know exactly where I’d go back and where I’d stay away from. The Nightly Habit is one I would definitely come back to. Someday, somehow, I’ll be back.
“Want me to walk you out?” Gary asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Nah, I'm good. Stella is waiting for me."
"You and that damn VW van," Gary teases. "I swear, you treat that thing like it's a person."
I gasp in mock horror, pressing my hand to my chest. "Bite your tongue," I quip.
Gary chuckles, shaking his head. "Come give this old man a hug before you leave."
Walking around the bar, I step into his arms. Gary hugs me tight before pulling a Polaroid out of his back pocket and handing it to me. I take it from his hand, and my eyes gloss over when I see it’s a picture of me.
“What’s this?” I whisper.
“What’s it look like?”
