Pablo waited a moment for the punchline. “You understand that’s not possible.”
“Absolutely.”
“Totally,” Puppy agreed.
“Then why do you persist in insisting it’s real?”
Puppy sighed. “Because it is.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Once you meet her…”
“I mean real, tangible proof which could be presented.”
“Whoa, presented where?” Puppy asked.
“Before the Science Commission.”
“You’re reporting this?”
Pablo laughed humorlessly. “Life beyond death would be something of a scientific breakthrough and might change a few ways we view the world.”
“And help you.”
Diaz leaned forward angrily. “You think I’d use this for myself?”
“It would kind of clinch becoming a Fifth Cousin.”
“How dare you.”
“How dare you even suggest revealing something we told you in confidence.”
Pablo struggled momentarily with that. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight.”
“Lower your voices,” Zelda warned as a few diners turned.
“Although I think this is absurd and impossible, I’m willing, as part of our friendship, to approach this scientifically.”
“Thank you, my precious.”
“I will conduct tests.”
“You’re not going anywhere near Mooshie with one of your tongue depressors.”
Pablo reddened. “I have a responsibility on several levels and yes, a candidate for Cousin is one of them, along with being a health officer. If this is nonsense, we’ll act as if it never happened.”
“No.” Puppy shook his head back and forth.
“Zel,” Pablo said wearily. “Make him listen.”
She pushed away her plate. “I’m with him, honey.”
Pablo rose sadly. “Okay. I’ll do you a favor and act like we didn’t talk.”
“Good. How about acting like we don’t know each other.”
“Puppy!” Zelda scolded.
“I can do that, too.” Pablo stormed away.
They finished their beers in silence. A young woman leaned over from the adjoining table.
“We guessed you guys were just friends. Sorry we had you wrong.”
By the time they got to Monroe’s, Puppy’s mood had shifted from rage to anxiety. Fridays at Monroe’s catered to the young, who had the energy to go out after a long work week, and the old, who weren’t bound by any niceties about dating, just getting out of the way. He’d told Mooshie that Friday was the wrong night. Mondays or Tuesdays were best with smaller, more attentive crowds; she’d slammed the door in his face and told him to get screwed under a goat.
Behind the bar, Jimmy jerked his head angrily toward the line waiting to use one of the bathrooms.
“She’s been in there thirty minutes,” he snarled.
While Zelda secured a table, Puppy apologetically pushed to the front of the queue and rapped on the bathroom door.
“It’s Puppy.”
“Suck me.”
He smiled sheepishly to the dozen or so irritated people with fading bladder control. “Let me in, Dara dear.”
Mooshie yanked him inside by his belt buckle. She wore a beautiful tight black dress above knee-high black boots. He recognized them from Zelda’s pre-fat closet. Mooshie looked terrified. That terrified him, but now wasn’t the time for a contest.
“You okay?” He sat on the toilet.
“If you give me a pep talk about how it’s like the bottom of the ninth with the score tied I will cut your throat.”
He mimed tearing up paper. She clenched her groin.
“You still have the same amazing voice, Mooshie.”
“Except it’s been dead and call me Dara, dimwit.” She searched for herself in the mirror, sighing at the cropped bleached hair and overdone eyes and lips.
“You can cancel, Ms. Dinton.”
Her dark eyes blazed. “That’d break your heart. This breaks your heart. Mooshie Lopez scared. I ain’t never been scared. Of anything.” She poked at the lipstick with her finger. “Too red, right?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Would you say if it wasn’t?”
He shook and nodded his head simultaneously.
“Get Zelda,” Mooshie shouted.
“Why?” he asked, hurt.
“Because she won’t bullshit me.”
As Mooshie shoved Puppy out the door, Jimmy turned up his hands questioningly.
“Next time get her a dressing room. She’s a star.”
He slid next to Zelda and told her Mooshie’s request. With a squeal bordering on orgasmic, Zelda bounded like a pug toward the bathroom. Ty took the vacated chair; Mickey fell onto a spare seat, spilling their drinks.
“Where’s the senorita?” Ty smirked.
“Getting ready.”
“Oh my, cue the music.”
“Damn right. And her name’s Dara Dinton.” He glared at Mantle. “You drunk already?”
“I don’t know. What’s it your business?”
“Because I don’t want you falling on your ass tomorrow when I’m pitching. Aren’t you the manager? Do something.” He downed half of Ty’s beer.
The bar rocked with Mooshie’s nervous laugh as she headed toward the microphone in the corner.
“Sing something in English,” Ty pleaded.
“I’ll try, White Grampa.”
Zelda grabbed a chair from another table and slipped back next to Puppy.
“What’d you say?” he asked. She smiled meaningfully, suggesting he had a better chance of sleeping on Pluto tonight than understanding.
More couples and would-be couples straggled in, panicking Puppy. Conversation centered on love and romance and sex, not Mooshie, talking over her shoulder to the piano player.
“Will you make an announcement?” Puppy returned to the bar, where he wasn’t greeted with joy.
“Why? They’ll hear.” Jimmy poured a beer.
“And kill the vidnews sound,” Puppy yelled. He waved his arms for attention; getting little. “Evening, everyone. On behalf of Monroe’s, we want to welcome you to a special night of music from an amazing singer.”
“Cut the crap, handsome,” Mooshie shouted into the microphone. “And let the people decide if I’m any good.”
That earned the first applause of the evening. Mooshie nodded to the pianist, who played softly. Puppy shot her an encouraging smile. She sneered.
“I’d like to start off with an oldie which my mother loved.” Her eyes twinkled impishly. “I bet you haven’t heard this one for a long while.”
Mooshie jumped up and kicked the stool away.
“Let the lovin’ in, baby.
Let the lovin’ in.”
Shit, she’s singing Lovin’ It, her number one hit from the first album, Lovin’ It All. Puppy and Zelda exchanged astonished looks.
“If you got my beat,
Then you’re getting a treat.
‘Cause you gotta let my lovin’ in.”
Mooshie wailed a wild animalistic cry, delighting the crowd. She spun around, flinging out her arms and flipping her head from side to side. Unbound. Unleashed.
Screw you and your tongue depressors, Pablo.
“Because it’s date night, bitches.” Mooshie leaped out of the song with a wiggle of her butt. “Time for some baking and shaking in
