Friend of the Family

Wednesday Night at the Beulah TavernBernie slid the microphone onto its stand and took a bow, smiling as the small crowd in the Beulah Tavern whistled and cheered. Roger leapt onto the stage and leaned into the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen, a warm and wondrous thank-you to our star turn tonight-the very beautiful lady with the very big lungs! The talented, the supreme, the incomparable Miss Bernie London. She'll be here again next Wednesday to sing the old songs and to give us a bit more winter cheer. So don't miss it!" Bernie grinned again and headed straight for the bar, where Roger already had a gin and lemon waiting for her. She pulled her Silk Cut Ultras from her handbag and leaned back against the bar, releasing a little of the tightness from the strappy sandals around her swollen feet. Bernie had been singing at the tavern for nearly three years now, ever since Roger had taken over the license, ripped out the twirly carpets, the tatty tapestry upholstery, and reproduction Turners and turned the tavern into "Crystal Palace's Most Exciting Music Venue." It was, Bernie was perfectly able to admit to herself, nothing of the sort-it was just a nice local pub that happened to feature live music a few times a week, mainly Irish bands with names like the Ceilidhs or old rock and roll singers in threadbare drapes with wilting white pompadours. Bernie sang what she liked to call lounge songs: "Cry Me A River," "The Way You Look Tonight," "I Say A Little Prayer For You," "Whatever Lola Wants." Roger, now back behind the bar, lit her cigarette, gave her a wink through large, round spectacles, and then moved away to serve someone else. Bernie settled herself on a barstool. She loved this part of the evening-the fifteen minutes after her set, when she sat alone with her gin and lemon and a fag and was just Bernie, a middle-aged woman in a black spangly dress and cubic zirconium earrings who could sing well enough to get paid for it. A big-boned, bosomy woman with great legs, a little bit heavy around the waist now but with the thick, corn-colored hair and sharp cheekbones of an older Geraldine James. She loved these fleeting moments of solitude when she wasn't her husband's wife or her sons' mother. Bernie always had the feeling that if her life was ever going to change, it would change now, during one of these brief windows of possibility in her otherwise structured existence. When she'd finished her drink and smoked another cigarette she'd call Gerry and he'd walk over to meet her, then they'd wander home hand in hand and her real life would begin again. Bernie loved her real life, but she'd miss these moments if they were ever denied her. She bent down to rub at her tender stocking feet. She really wasn't used to wearing heels anymore, even though she'd practically lived in them when she was younger. Now they were just for Wednesday nights and special occasions. As she straightened up, a figure at the far side of the pub caught her eye. A young man, all in black. A nice-looking man? Bernie couldn't tell from this distance. He was very pale, and Bernie caught the glimmer of silver in his lobes. She was sure she'd seen him here last week too, sitting at the same table. He smiled at her then, the self-conscious smile of someone unaccustomed to smiling. For some reason, Bernie found herself smiling back. Bernie didn't usually have much time for the sort of men who hit on her in pubs. But there was something about this guy, the set of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the way he moved. Something reassuring. He picked up his drink and wended his way around the tables to join her at the bar. Bernie's fingertips went immediately to her earlobe, twisting the little chunk of zirconium. "Great voice," he said, sliding his drink next to hers on the bar. Close up, the man revealed himself to be anywhere between twenty-five and fJewell, Lisa is the author of 'Friend of the Family' with ISBN 9780525947349 and ISBN 0525947345.