Music Notes
Music Notes
Copyright © 2016 Lacey Black
Photograph & Cover design by Sarra Eirew
Website: www.saraeirew.com
Editing by Karra Hilldebrand
Format by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
All rights reserved.
Index
Dedication
For my parents – all of them.
Thank you for your constant encouragement and support through the journey of life. This means that much more to me to have you by my side!
Note to self: When your mom hands you a new dress, a bus pass, and a bikini wax certificate, be afraid. Very afraid.
“What can I get ya, sugar?” I ask the young twenty-one year old college student across the bar. He’s been staring at my girls for the past fifteen seconds solid. Like tongue dangling out on your chin and drooling all over yourself kind of staring. At this point, I don’t even think he knows I have eyes, let alone what color they may be.
“Corona with lime and your phone number, baby,” he says with a huge grin. Great. Just what I need tonight. Another winner with a stellar pick-up line. It’s not like I haven’t heard that one before. Shit, I’ve already heard it more times tonight than I can count on one hand.
“All out of phone numbers, but I’d be happy to grab that beer for ya,” I say as I reach down into the chest cooler under the bar. “Three seventy-five,” I tell him with a friendly smile as I pop the top and slide it in front of him with a napkin. As much as I want to accidentally drop the beer in his lap, I have to be nice to the customers. It’s guys like him who make bartending so lucrative. Show just a little skin and flash a pearly white smile and the tips are usually pretty decent.
The pick-up lines? Not so much.
“Keep the change, baby doll,” the awkward college kid says as he slides four bucks across the bar at me.
Instead of throwing the smart-assed comment that is hanging dangerously close to the tip of my tongue, I give him a forced smile and drop my shiny quarter in the tip jar. Tight ass.
Saturday Nights are always hopping, but throw in karaoke on the first Saturday of the month, and the bar is packed. I’ve worked at Chaser’s Bar on Madison Street on the lower South side of Chicago for almost three years. There’s a ton of regulars that tip well, and a crap-ton of college kids that don’t. Chaser’s is a great place to relax, watch a game on one of the big screen televisions, and have a good drink. The burly bouncers rarely have to get in the middle of a scuffle, but when they do? It’s always on karaoke night.
“The crowd is thickening early tonight,” Tiffany says as she sets a case of Bud Light down on the floor.
“It’s the first nice weekend of spring. I think everyone’s been a little stir crazy after the frigid winter,” I tell my boss. Winter in Chicago can be very unforgiving, and this past one wasn’t any different. You know, Windy City and all. It definitely holds up to its name. As much as I love Chicago, I’m just thankful that I’m not along Lake Michigan.
“That just means they’ll be starting crap early and causing trouble. Watch yourself,” she says over her shoulder as she continues to stock the chest cooler with popular bottles of beer.
Tiffany opened Chaser’s seven years ago after her ex-husband left her for a younger model. And I mean that–a model. Tiffany is only thirty-five now which made her twenty-eight when the jerkwad took off. Nikki (AKA Slutbag Model) wasn’t the only dirty little secret he kept, either. After a little digging, Tiffany discovered that Gordo had a nice little nest egg worth half a million dollars tucked away in an off-shore account in the Caymans. I guess if you want to hide your extra cash from your soon-to-be-ex-wife, then you better make sure you take all of the bank paperwork with you when you leave.
And don’t have your password be: Tiffany.
Note to self: Stay away from guys who go by Gordo.
After her lawyer annihilated the assbag in court, Tiffany was awarded a quarter of a million dollars and their small colonial home in a decent suburban subdivision. The first thing she did with her half of the divorce? Tiff purchased this old, rundown bar for a steal, along with a nice pair of Double D’s, and she has been content and happy ever since. It’s amazing what fake boobs do for a girl’s trashed confidence.
“Keep your eyes open tonight. I’ve already had enough crap-tastic pick-up lines to keep me warm for a long time,” Tiffany says sarcastically as she tears down the empty boxes.
It’s kind of our thing. We share those incredibly annoying pick-ups at the end of each shift. You wouldn’t believe some of the things young guys say when they think they can get a free beer and a piece of ass. Of course, it never happens. Tiffany has been anti-men since her divorce. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t engage in extracurricular bedroom activities, she just doesn’t take home anyone from her bar. And I don’t need to get into my past drama. We don’t have enough time for that right now.
“I hear ya. I’ve had the same phone number line already six times,” I say as a group of guys saddle up to the bar in front of me. Their laughing and carrying on reminds me more of high school boys at a pep rally than of college and young twenty-year-olds. Tonight’s going to be interesting to say the least.
“What can I get you guys?” I ask, dropping napkins on the bar.
“How about a Miller Light draft,” the first one says with a huge grin. The other three throw their orders at me as I pour drinks.
“Fourteen dollars,” I say as they each throw a few bucks onto the smooth, refinished wood top. I watch as they grab their respective drinks before the taller blond turns around.
And here we go…
“So, I’m new in town,” he says with a sideways grin. “I was wondering if you could give me directions to your place.”
I refrain from the dramatic eye roll that I’m so close to doing. Really? Do they teach Lame Pick-Up Lines 101 in school now?
“Wow, that’s a new one for me. Sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I tell him with a wink and smile.
“I could be the love of your life, you know,” he adds with another huge smile.
That makes me laugh out loud. “It’s a risk I’m just going to have to take,” I say before turning towards the next customer. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he rejoins his friends a few feet away from the bar. He actually isn’t a bad looking guy. Okay, fine. He’s hot. His blond hair is a little on the shaggy side, but styled to perfection. Combine that with his high cheekbones, blue eyes, and his handsome smile, he’s a pretty hot specimen of the male species.
Unfortunately, I’m just not interested. Not now. Not ever.
“How’s your mom, Layne?” I hear over my shoulder. Lee Shore sits down at his usual stool at the very end of the bar. Lee has been a regular for two years, and I frequently find myself chatting it up with him during slow times.
Lee is in his late forties and recently divorced. He started coming in here when they separated as a way to avoid the solitude of his quiet house. Since the divorce, he’s turned into one of the regulars at Chaser’s. His stool is always left open for him by other frequent patrons, and he never makes a scene. Furthermore, he’s probably the only person who knows my story outside of Tiffany and my mom. Lee is easy to talk to and offers sound advice without leaving you feeling like he’s imposing.
“She’s good. Working like crazy still,” I tell the man before me. I’ve watched the lines around his eyes become more defined and his caramel brown hair slowly fade to gray over the recent months. Even then, aging is graceful on Lee. He’s definitely what I’d classify a handsome man.
“Tell her I said hello,” he says before taking a sip of the Heineken I just deposited automatically in front of him. Lee and my mom have only met once, probably more than a year ago, but it was enough to leave an impression on him. He asks about her every time he’s here. Mom on the other hand isn’t looking for love and has avoided my encouragements at giving the divorcee a call.
“You gonna sing tonight?” Lee asks as I mix a Jack and Coke for a young male with a preppy button down shirt and khaki pants. Even his haircut screams country club.
“I don’t know.” It’s my standard response to his regular karaoke night question. The fact is, I need to sing. I need it like I need air. Singing calms me and allows me to take a breath for what feels like the first time in days. It’s my solace. My drug.
“You know she will, Lee. If she doesn’t kick off karaoke night, you know we’ll have a revolt on our hands. And since I’m running low on martini glasses, we can’t have that,” Tiffany says as she pulls bottles out of the cooler.
