Efrem plays ukulele and Wisteria bangs a tambourine against her round butt. She’s a shrill soprano, but his voice is gravel. They sing into the same mic even though there are two on stage. He’s a half beat behind her on the lyrics.

“These guys are here every week,” Jim says, resting his arm on the back of my chair, “and they never get any better.”

I smile and hunch forward, so my back doesn’t touch his arm. “When are you up?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m not playing. I mean, I do play, but not here.”

I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask more or let it go. I let it go. It’s freezing. I pump my hands, trying to trick feeling back into my fingers. “Cold in here.”

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Here’s the trick.” He raises his hand. Eyelash Girl must have looked up from her book at just the right time. She comes over with a small pad of paper and a pen, ready to take an order.

“I’m fine,” I say, because I only have a handful of coins I swiped from the ashtray in Mrs. Varnick’s car.

Jim doesn’t hear me. “Could we have a hot water for her, and a refresh on mine,” he asks.

Eyelash Girl gives him a dirty look and clears his mug.

“This will help,” he says. “Hold it or drink it. Either way. And they can’t charge you for hot water.”

When Eyelash Girl comes back with our mugs, I make a point of saying thank you as sweetly as I can. She gives me a dirty look too, and I decide I will leave her all of Mrs. Varnick’s change as an apology.

I cup my hands around the mug and hold it up to my face, breathing the steam into my lungs, like cigarette smoke, only clean.

“Better?” Jim raises his mug in my direction.

“Much. Thanks.”

“No prob. You gotta learn the ropes. And if you know the ropes, it’s your job to teach them.”

Wisteria and Efrem finish their songs and come back to the table, flustered and blushing. Jim stands when they sit, applauding loudly. “That’s the stuff, man,” he says, and mimes tipping a hat in their direction. When he sits, he crosses his leg over his knee and rests his arm on the back of my chair again. I don’t think he’s hitting on me. I think he’s just less into personal space than I am.