Just North of Whoville Turiskylie, Joyce (smart books to read .TXT) 📖

she said as she wiped tequila residue out of her navel.

“Um… Is this proper? I mean, in public, aren’t we supposed to pretend we don’t know each other?”

“Excuse me,” she said as the chicken head came out. “Did I say you were a patient? Did you hear me say that? Because I do not recall those words leaving these lips.”

Even dressed in a mistletoe bikini, she was scary.

“Look,” she explained, “I only get about fifty bucks a session for most of my patients. Barely covers the rent---let alone a receptionist, insurance, student loans. And MY salary? Hello?”

“I pay an extra fifteen dollar co-pay,” I tried to be helpful.

“Please. I just got fifty bucks for letting Junior over there suck Cuervo out of my belly. You think I like doing this? What do I look like? Spring Break? I graduated with honors. Life’s hard, boo.”

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Antoine said into the mike. “There is a lovely young lady here tonight who is celebrating her birthday with us. Her name is Dorrie, so let’s all encourage Dorrie to come up here and sing for us.

Sing? What?

Suddenly the whole place began chanting, “Dor-rie! Dor-rie! Dor-rie! Dor-rie!”

“Go get ‘em, tiger” she winked.

I took a deep breath and made my way to the garland-draped stage. Antoine handed me a small book of songs. All Christmas tunes. Great. The room got silent as I perused the book. The whole place was staring at me. I paged thru the book quicker and quicker, getting more nervous with every second of silence that passed. Why did they keep staring at me? Can’t a girl have a minute to choose a song?

“Um…number ninety-seven, please.”

Antoine nodded and started up the machine. A Hawaiian guitar sound started and I took the microphone and made my way to center stage. I think I might have swayed waiting for the song to kick in.

“Christmas Island” was one of the few Christmas songs I could tolerate. You didn’t hear it very often and it was kinda catchy. The Andrews Sisters did it back in the 40s. Three-part harmony as they sang about hanging your stocking on a “great big coconut tree”.

I can’t say I’m a singer. But I can carry a tune. And the cocktails helped. So I started to swing and sway like Sammy Kaye. It wasn’t much, but it was my birthday so people clapped and were quite kind and generous.

I looked into the crowd and saw Dr. Prince smiling and giving me the thumbs-up. I felt cured. This was going to be my year. I just knew it.

I looked around the room for Celia, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. But just then, walking in the door…

It was Nate.

I know I should have been nervous, but seeing him actually made me happy. He saw me on stage singing and gave me a smile and a wave. So I sent a smile and a wave right back at him.

Because this was going to be my year.

Just then, it all started to go downhill.

Because a few feet away from Nate, I finally spotted Celia. She was at the coat check with her coat already on and leaning against the wall with her arms folded in front of her. Alex stood next to her making gestures that looked like pleading.

And then, at the instrumental break, a couple of the waitresses jumped onstage and began to dance alongside me---a sexy hula with a dirty grind on each other. I stepped off to the side and tried not to look too embarrassed. But my eyes were glued to Alex and Celia. If body language was any indicator, it wasn’t looking good. I could see even thru the glare of the spotlight that she was hurting.

Next thing I knew, Alex leaned in for a kiss. It felt too intimate. Something I shouldn’t be staring at. I turned my head away just in time to see Nate who had seen the whole thing.

He’d seen me turn away from my “boyfriend” attempting to kiss yet another woman.

Shit.

And then it was time for me to sing again. I could barely get the words out about Santa sailing around with presents in a canoe as I saw Nate’s sad, puppy dog face sympathize with me from the crowd.

“Don’t touch me!” Celia yelled from the back of the room. “I said, ‘Don’t touch me!’” she repeated, threw her bag over her shoulder and stormed out. Alex ran after her.

Hawaiian steel guitar faded out, and now twice-cheated-on girlfriend fades in.

“Are you okay?” Nate pulled me aside as I got off stage.

“Sure,” I said coolly. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Antoine invited me. My company owns this building.”

“Oh, well that’s…super.”

“Dorrie, you don’t need to pretend. I saw everything,” he said as he reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”

He looked at me carefully, waiting for me to crack. I wasn’t sure what attitude I should take. I figured that a woman in this position might do one of three things: break down and cry, go after the bastard with a steak knife, or try to laugh it off.

A joke seemed to require the least amount of effort.

“Doesn’t look like things are working out so well,” I said with a vaudevillian flair.

“No. Doesn’t look that way,” he said in all seriousness.

“When a man chases after another woman on your birthday, that’s when the fat lady has sung.”

I knew it wasn’t my best material. But I’m not a song-and-dance man.

“It’s your birthday? Happy Birthday!” Then he switched gears, “Oh—I’m sorry. That’s a pretty lousy birthday.”

“You know what?” I said trying to brighten the mood. “It’s still my birthday, so I’m just going to have a nice time.”

“Wow. That’s….a really strong attitude,” he seemed to stand back and admire.

“Well, you’ve got