The Great Bravura by Jill Dearman

Author:Jill Dearman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2015-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

I had already walked many blocks, past bars, greasy spoons, and five-and-dimes, and finally stepped into a most unusual dry-cleaning store. The place looked like a sweatshop. It was little more than an abandoned warehouse. A few children sewed madly behind a steam-covered burlap curtain. Despite the shabbiness of the place, it was filled with red-hot jazz. As the racks of clothes swayed, a Creole man blew soprano sax and filled the room with a reckless soundtrack.

I waited a moment, then hit the call bell. Nothing, so I beat out a few dings. When no one appeared, I dinged it again and again, until finally:

“All right, all right! I heard ya the first time!”

“Hey, chief, treat her gentle. She’s been through a lot,” the saxophonist said.

I guess he worked here, too.

And it was then that Susie entered, wiping her nose furiously. She looked like she’d been on a bit of a bender. She did a double take upon seeing me, then went about her business—arranging cleaning tickets.

“Susie, are you working here?”

“Yeah. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No . . . no, of course not.”

“Yeah, right,” Susie muttered.

“So, uh, how are you?”

“Fine, fine. Just paying my bills and getting my act together. . . . I’m thinking about doing an act of my own. . . . I’m getting a backer. A chick came in here this morning to get a love stain off of a two-hundred-dollar cocktail dress, and I said to myself, Now, she could be my ticket outta here. She . . .”

Reflexively, I pretended to throw my cape at Susie. Susie tried to catch it, but I psyched her out at the last second, pulling the garment back. It was the old game we’d always played, but somehow there was no more fun left in the familiar trick.

I could see what the bartender meant about her habit. Disturbed by Susie’s possibly drugged-up digression, I shook my head and began to walk out. Could the rummy gene in her blood finally be emerging? She never got high from cocaine, and if she was doing it now, how could she afford it? There was only one way, and it repulsed me.

Susie looked at the cape and stuck a safety pin in the stain. Even in this ridiculous setting, she was ever the efficient professional.

“So, how’s Lena?”

“She’s fine. Look, Susie . . . I’m really sorry about what happened. I never wanted to choose between my friend and my lover.” I instinctively placed my hand on her neck.

“I was more than just a friend to you, Bravura. And ya know, the difference between I and Lena is this,” she said with affected diction. “I’m committed to your act, Bravura, and I’m willing to work my cute little can off for it, and for you. You and I think alike: we dream the same dreams, but we work to make our dreams come true. Lena, she’s different. She’s just lookin’ for a free ride.”

Suddenly the thought of fighting with Susie, arguing about the wife, seemed like a dull and dreary task.

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