“Sarah! Mary!” Nothing beats the rush of hearing your name called when you enter your favorite piano bar after a long week of drudgery.
I can’t play a single note on the piano, so the image of me in a piano makes my friends laugh. Mary tried to teach me about middle C once and I made a joke that she forbid me to make again. I enjoy singing and luckily my voice is good enough for the often inebriated denizens of Puck’s Pub. After a rough Friday at the office, we put on slinky black dresses and headed down to the pub, anticipating the lift from our traditional greeting.
“Ready?” Mary asked, rearranging a wayward strand of my hair.
“Almost.” In turn, I wiped a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her lip.
“Now?” She asked anxiously.
I nodded. We opened the door and stepped inside. We paused and waited. A few people glanced our way disinterestedly.
“That’s odd.” I muttered, let down by the absence of greeting.
“Yeah. What’s the joke?” Mary asked.
“Let’s see if we can find out.”
Mary directed her steps toward the piano while I made my way to the bar.
“I’ll take a water, Joe.” I gushed as I leaned on the bar.
“My name’s Ralph, ma’am.” He replied gruffly, filling a glass from the tap and pushing it toward me.
“I know…” I paused.
Ralph’s reaction floored me. We’d played this same scene over and over with smiles on both sides every night. Suddenly, he didn’t want to joke anymore?
“Then don’t call me, Joe.” This time he didn’t add ma’am, which offered me a semblance of comfort.
“Arnold won’t let me play the piano.” Mary hissed in my ear.
I looked toward the piano. The short, bald man with his fingers on the keys eyed us suspiciously. His gaze morphed to annoyance as he saw our eyes resting on him.
“Really?”
“You can’t see the look he is giving us?”
I frowned. “Ralph acted like our standing joke was just me being stupid.”
“He refused to answer to Joe?”
He looked up as if he had heard the question or noticed our attention turn to him. His gaze lingered on me questioningly before turning to another regular. He leaned in to speak to the woman, who looked back at me with an equally quizical glance.
“She asked you to sing three songs last Friday and now we’re strangers?” Mary asked.
“What’s going on?”
Mary shrugged. “I think my urge to entertain has left the building.”
“Shall we join it?” I offered her my elbow. “Unless you want to take a try at amateur detective work?”
“We could do that…” She started toward the bar.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I called after her.
“What gives, Ralph? Why is everyone acting like we’re strangers?” She asked as he came over to take her order.
He looked up startled. “Sorry, ma’am?”
“Ma’am? Since when do you call me ma’am?”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Mary.” She turned to me exasperated. “Are we crazy?”
“I think it is everyone else.” I muttered.
“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” Heavy hands clamped down on our shoulders, directing us to the door.
“What’s going on, Bruce?” I asked the bouncer as he continued to force us from the pub.
“I’ll tell you next Friday.” He whispered and then raised his gruff voice. “You’re causing trouble. You have to go.”
Mary and I looked at each other, frowning but this was the closest to an answer that we had received. I tried to keep my lips from moving too much as I tried again. “Why can’t you tell us now?”
“Not enough time.” With that, he shoved us toward the door which swung open as another customer entered the pub.
As the door closed behind us, Mary grabbed my hand and squeezed it gently. “I guess we’ll find out next week.”
“Maybe.” I looked at the door, pondering whether I wanted to return in a week for a repeat performance.
Shall our story continue? It's up the you, dear readers. Do Mary and Sarah return to Puck's Pub and find out what was going on. Feel free to cast your vote in the comments below.
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