Getting Wet - It's Raining Men

"I was going to stay sober tonight and scout the talent," I said, eying the stage. It was set up with sad little wilting lantern lights on a string that decorated the perimeter. "Looks like the show's about to start."

"Oh, the open mic? I can give you the low down. I usually start off to break the ice, and because my dad, who has Alzheimer's," he waved at his father, who was seated at the bar. His dad waved back with a massive smile on his face. "My dad is my biggest fan, and he loves to hear me sing." He then swiveled in his chair and took a sip of his beer. Coming in close to my face and gesturing at a packed table in the corner, he said: "That couple, in the matching windbreakers? Those are the Johnsons, Mike, and Linda. Depending on how much they've drank, they'll sing next. Linda has a powerhouse voice, but she's weak on her delivery. Kind of like a fish out of water. Blinks at the lights, never smile, doesn't move her body at all. Then Mike will step up, and he's the exact opposite. His voice is like a table saw, but he's got the moves despite the gut; he winks at the girls, swivels his hips, purses his lips—the whole nine yards."

"Wow!" I said, impressed with his knowledge.

"Do tourists ever sing?" Katy asked suggestively.

"Not often, but when they do, we give them free drinks," broken song guy replied with a smile.

"Your dad is a cutie. Was he a sailor or something?" Katy asks him.

"Nope, at least not in my lifetime. He just likes hats."

"Is it okay for him to be drinking?" I ask. His father has been taking off his sailor hat and tipping it to us.

"Oh, it's fine. I filled that beer bottle with orange juice. He just likes the swagger of tipping one back."

"That is kind of adorable," I said. I made eye contact with him, and my whole body felt effervescent. "Who sings next?" I asked to change the subject.

"Good question. Usually Stu. That guy standing against the wall by the plant. Stu is meticulous in his delivery. Can you guess what he sings?"

"Journey," I said.

"Rick James," broken song guy tells us. I burst out laughing. "Super Freak," he says, and I can't stop smiling.

"Is he any good?" I ask.

"Terrible," he says, shaking his head slowly. "After Stu, Patrice usually makes her way up there. She does Janice Joplin or Joan Jett, sometimes Heart, any of those big belting ballads are what get her off."

"Amazing," I tell him. I could play this game all day.

"Your cup runneth dry. Can I offer you another?"

This man is so charming. I've already let my defenses down. He could sweep me off my feet with another one of these strong drinks in my bloodstream.

"I probably should call it a night. We had some champagne in the room."

"I totally understand. You ladies here on business?"

"Excuse me!" my loudmouth bestie barges in. "We need to take a ladies' room break so some of us can get our priorities straight!" Katy says, hauling me off my seat toward the loo.

"I'll be at the bar," the gorgeous man says cheerily.

Katy pulls me through the crowd to the pink-painted door.

"Oh my God, he's gorgeous, he's nice, he owns a freaking bar—what is wrong with you?!"

"Calm down, Katy. Now you're mad because I don't want to get wasted and make decisions I might regret?" I defend myself.

"The WHOLE REASON we're here is so you can make decisions you can regret later on. It's called a rebound, and you need one hella-badly!"

"It's been a year," I say, mulling it over.

"Exactly, so get out there and take him up on another drink and get your pussy licked until you scream and rip the sheets. Sheesh, you deserve it! I'd lick it myself if I were into you that way. But I'm not, so dreamboat here is the very next best thing."

"Well, when you put it like that. He is exceptionally hot."

"So pee, reapply your lipstick, and fellate the damn straw in front of him while he eyes your cleavage."

"Wow, you've really got a plan worked out. What are you going to do?"

"Find one for me. Now go!"

I washed my hands and stared at my face in the mirror.

I was pretty.

Long black hair. Blue eyes. Full lips. Great teeth. Big tits. Huge, actually. Small waist. Nice legs. I was a size eighteen on a good day and comfortable in my skin. But getting cheated on does something shaky to your self-esteem.

Katy banged out of one of the bathroom stalls, came over to me, grabbing my hand, and shoving something into it.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked. "Planting drugs on me?"

"It's a condom, SheRa. This is twenty-twenty-one."

"What do you expect me to do with this?" I asked, holding the gold foiled wrap up to her.