“Get me one too, Rosie,” the Peach called to his friend, edging in close to me as he made a space for himself to stand between two stools. Resting his elbows on the polished wood, he turned his head and regarded me curiously as if he was assessing me.

“What?” I asked, feeling uncharacteristically insecure by his appraisal. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Looking at you how? Like you exist?” the Peach inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Is there any other way to look at someone?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, off-kilter from the question.

“Your giggle juice, Sheikh,” Rosie said, sliding a generously poured glass of Canadian Club my way. “And for you, Cal.” He handed a drink to the Peach. Cal. I drank to his name, letting the liquor wet my dry throat.

“You’re not going to call me Sheikh too?” Cal asked playfully, chuckling when Rosie shook his head ‘no.’

“You’re not my type,” Rosie replied, with as much of a grin as I had ever seen on those puckered pink lips. “Not like him.” He stared at me with those sullen, cinder block eyes, and instantly the discomfort I’d felt around him during our previous run-ins crept back in.

Averting my gaze, I watched as the ice cubes in my glass glistened an amber hue, and when I looked up toward Cal again, he was gone.

I scanned the room, finally finding him in front of the stage as Rosie took his place in front of the microphone.

Dream lover, fold your arms around me. Dream lover, your romance has found me. I’m here in your spell, knowing so well dreams never tell. We two can leave the world behind us. Nobody indiscreet can find us. All dreams are of mine, secrets divine I will share them with you.

7

April 1931