“I’m telling you, it’s a shame, seeing you girls lose it time and time again.”  Mina shook her head as she poured Michelle’s third drink.  The dancer didn’t hear her.  She was thinking, watching nothing at all.  What day is it?  Is it a weekend?  No.  It’s been at least a few days since Princess bit Julie, right?  At least.  Weeks?

Mina handed her a scotch on the rocks.  “If I could do anything to help you, I would, but some things you’ve got to learn for yourself.”  The barmaid sighed deeply and leaned her substantial breasts on the bar.  “How old are you darling?”

Michelle stared at the glass in her hand.  “Twenty-three.”

Mina nodded with a frown and said, “Twenty-three,” then shook her head again through a dry breathy laugh and walked away to serve another customer.   

Michelle turned and began staring at a small blonde girl who sat alone with an impossibly well-behaved dog at the corner of the bar.  The girl was watching Annie May dance, the dog sitting and panting in steady rhythm.  Michelle walked over.

“Hey, can I pet your dog?” she asked over the noise of the club.

The girl had moppish sandy hair, a razor sharp face, and small wire glasses.  She said, “Sure, his name’s Leon,” to which Michelle replied, “I didn’t think dogs were allowed in the club,” patting the animal’s wide head.

“He’s a service dog,” she said.  “He’s allowed anywhere.  I’m epileptic.”

His tongue didn’t hang down from his jaw, but rather curled out and up, his eyes narrowing as Michelle rubbed his neck.  “Oh, okay.  I wasn’t gonna give you any trouble or anything.  I don’t care.”

“That’s good,” the girl said.  “You’d be surprised how much shit people give me.  I have to carry his papers all around with me just to prove he’s a service dog.  If I were blind, that would never happen.  No one would give me a second glance.”

“Oh,” Michelle said, still rubbing the meaty head.  “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”  The girl drank from something that might have been water.  “I’ve actually had people come up to me in stores and say ‘You’re not blind.’  I always just say, ‘Neither are you!’”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.  The fact is he’s saved my life.  When I was seventeen, I had a seizure alone in my house.”  The girl broke her gaze from the stage and looked at Michelle.  “I was choking on my own vomit, and I would have died, but Leon pulled me to my side and licked the vomit out of my mouth, and when I was breathing again, he called 911 and barked into the phone.  When the paramedics showed up, he led them right to me.”

“He called 911?”

“Yeah.  We had a special phone installed for him.  It has a wide button for him to push in emergencies.  But he really did save my life.  He even got a medal of honor for it.”  She reached down and scratched the dog under his chin.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a pit bull.”  The girl’s eyes watched the stage again.  “They’re used for epileptics a lot because they’re so strong.  Not many dogs can drag you around and flip you over as easily as a pit.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be mean?”

“That’s a total fallacy,” she said, eyes shooting back to Michelle.  “Pit bulls are actually one of the least likely breeds to bite humans in the world.  Unfortunately, they wind up getting owned by a lot of tough guys who abuse them or use them to fight.  Plus, like I said, they’re extremely strong, so when one does attack, they can do more damage than a beagle or a cocker spaniel, which are both way less reliable breeds, by the way.”  She threw one arm forward and started gesturing dramatically.  “But of course, the media gets the idea that pit bulls are vicious, so whenever anyone gets bitten by a dog, they report it as being a pit.  It’s really ridiculous, but it’s like that with so many things in our country.  That’s part of the reason why I’m leaving as soon as I can.”

Sunseray was stepping down off the main stage, and Crystal was beginning her first song on the secondary stage.

“I’m Beth, by the way,” the girl said extending her hand.  “And that’s my girl up there.”  She gestured with her eyes and her glass just as Vivian, no, Estella was stepping up to the main stage.  “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is.  Vivian told me about you in the dressing room.  It’s nice to meet you.  I’m Michelle.”

Beth didn’t seem to hear her.  Michelle stood up, patting Leon on the head one more time before leaving to search for her regular.

He was wearing a long khaki jacket unnecessary in the warming spring weather.  She waited, watching him move for a moment before approaching him.  Before that could happen, however, she was tapped roughly on the shoulder.

“Hey, you got any drugs?”  It was Angel, her eyes half-opened, half-focused, her mouth slack and shiny with spit.

“No, I don’t.”

“Come on,” Angel said.  “I can hook you up if you hook me up.  I got connections.  I just need some shit now, you know?”

“Look, I don’t have any drugs!” Michelle half-shouted.  She turned to walk away, but Angel grabbed her by her hair.

“You just gotta help me out this once,” she was saying.  “I’ll make it worth your while, man.  I can get you shit, man.  You just gotta help me.”

By the time Michelle turned around again, Julie was in between them.  She shook Angel’s hand open, and pulled her face near to her own. 

“Look, bitch, she said she didn’t have any drugs.  She isn’t like you, so go back to your burn-outs and leave her alone.”

Angel flung an arm at Julie, but Julie caught it by her wrist.  “Do you know why there are no famous female serial killers?” she asked in a low growl.

Angel shook her head no.

Julie drew her even closer.  “Because we don’t get caught,” she whispered.  “Now go the fuck away.”

Angel glared before tossing her head back and stumbling away.  “Fucking psycho bitch,” she said.  Julie turned around and faced Michelle.

“Can you tell me what the fuck this means?” she said, digging a folded piece of paper out of her bra.

“Um, thanks for getting that bitch away from me,” Michelle said.  Her mind was trying to revisit the molestation in the private room of several weeks earlier, and she was doing everything she could to keep it away.

Julie unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Michelle.  The ballerina looked at it and read,

You bich.  You stele my voice.

“That’s Princess’s handwriting,” she offered, handing the note back.

“Yeah, you think?” Julie snapped.  Then she shook her head.  “Sorry.  I mean, I know.  Yesterday was her first day back and today, I found this shoved in my locker.  But what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  She was looking at Michelle with exasperated eyes, her palms outstretched and raised.  Michelle could see the bite mark on her forearm, still scabbed over, unsuccessfully concealed with makeup. 

“I uh… I really don’t know.”   

“Come on!  You’ve talked to her.  I mean, I stole her voice?  What?  What does that even mean?  She’s fucking insane!”

“I… I have no idea.”

Julie groaned and rolled her eyes.  “Fine.  Never mind.”  She stormed away with her hands in two fists. 

Michelle sighed, drawing her eyes around The Caribou.  Her regular was right where she left him, right where he should have been, the one constant in the surrounding mad flux of her universe.  She ran her fingers through her hair and walked to his table.

Filed under: Julie Han, Michelle, Princess, The Caribou, Vivian, alcohol by Jade