The music flowed into the bar from the black worn out piano set on the small, elevated stage in the middle of the establishment. The smoke seemed to compete with the music as it flooded the small room. I sat alone on an orange upholstered chair, somewhat resembling a 1970’s chair I had seen on television. In fact, the entire bar reminded me of something out of a 70’s show, complete with the cheap orange carpet decorated with blue paisley. I placed my hand over my nose for a moment before sipping my martini.
Squinting, I managed to see the man at the piano. He had his hair slicked back and the spotlight gave him a luminescent face, which only made him look surreal with his big brown eyes that glanced out at the audience. His voice carried on similar to the piano music already invading the bar.
Hypnotized by his soft and seducing voice, I was startled when I heard the voice I was expecting.
“Hey, chica.”
I looked behind me and saw my dear friend. She was always someone I looked up to when I was growing up. She was daring and adventurous. She was different and lovely. After years of friendship, she wasn’t any different. Her hair feathered around her thin face that was covered with blue eye shadow, scarlet lip stain, and she wore bright blue fingernails that had nothing to do with her black corset and violet plaid skirt. Her chartreuse boots didn’t help much either, but that was who Karyn was. I stood and reached out to hug her.
“Chica, what is it with this old married look? And your hair! It’s simply so…blasé. You ought to spend a day with me. I will dress you up and make you look good!”
I smiled dearly at my friend while I took a glimpse at my clothes: a long black skirt that reached my ankles and a burgundy lace tank top. My hair was loose, settling along my shoulders and out of place after having it neatly set earlier at work. I was a secretary at a health clinic. She was a personal assistant for a local government official. She had once told me that she “always had to look good.” Today was no exception.
She ordered her usual. “Cranberry Vodka. Top shelf. And add a twist of lime in it, baby,” she purred at the waiter, who grinned and winked at her. “So, how have you been?”
“Busy. A lot of sick people. It’s the season, you know.” I sipped my martini as she leaned back against the orange chair.
“I don’t get sick. I can’t afford it. Mr. Debair wouldn’t allow it.”
“I’m sure,” I murmured into my drink.
“Chica, we had three dinners this past week alone. Lot’s of dignitaries, you know. I’m so exhausted.”
“Must be hard.” Meanwhile, all I could think about were the children throwing up around the sign-in desk. “I had a long day today too.”
She smiled slyly at the waiter who placed the drink on the table. “Oh, I’m sure you’re absolutely busy sitting behind that window and answering phone calls. Poor baby.” She winked at me and began to take in her drink while I simply looked away, rolling my eyes. Aside from being amazing and beautiful, she was also cocky and at times annoying. “So how’s married life?”
“Good. Couldn’t be better. You’re still with that guy? What’s his name?”
She sighed dramatically, “What’s-his-name is gone. Besides, I don’t have time to be with someone who wishes to restrain my creative juices.” For a moment, she opened her legs and quickly closed them, laughing so loudly that she drowned out the singer for a moment. “I have too many parties and I need to hang out with my people.”
“Your people?”
“Biz talk, baby. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course.” She had turned into this pretentious creature over the years. I had seen it, but she was my dear friend, so I couldn’t tell her anything because I was proud of her…Or…was I?
“So I’m going to Reno with the boss and I decided to take Penny with me.”
“Penny? I thought she was working.”
“She has a lame-o job. She can come with me.” She took another sip from her drink and smiled. “I would have asked you, but you’re just a housewife now. Penny still has some spunk in her.”
I looked up at the piano player, who was now playing a softer tune. He looked at me with his giant brown eyes. They seemed be a twinkle amongst the fog of smoke.
Karyn was still talking, apparently, as I heard her laugh. “…and then I told Penny, ‘Fuck them to hell! We don’t need them! I love Penny. I mean, she is my best friend, after all. I’m the only one that has stood beside her and she loves only me because…” My attention shifted back to the singer who moved onto the chorus of the song. He slowly turned to see me again, his brown eyes startling me as he smiled widely, almost wickedly. His words penetrated into my heart while his eyes continued to rest upon me.
“…Words sound false, when your coat’s too thin…”
His lips formed each word perfectly, but it was his eyes that distracted me from Karyn’s blabbering. “…we were so drunk the last time we hung out! But you wouldn’t know anything about that, right? I mean, you’re just a homebody. You never liked spending time with Penny and me.” He blinked and looked away at his piano when those words were directed at me. I shifted my green eyes toward my dear friend.
It was then that my lips parted at the same time the singer began the next part of his song, “I don’t care very much.” Karyn stopped talking. Her wide scarlet smile loosened down.
“What?”
I glanced at the singer who was busy on his piano and turned back to my friend. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you and Penny are souls-sisters. I don’t care if you have three or twenty dinners a week.” The music began to crescendo along with my mood. “I like being married and I like my job, which is not simply sitting behind a window doing nothing.”
Karyn smiled and laughed as she began to clap. “You’re finally growing some balls, there, Dayanna.”
The singer’s voice projected over us “…I don’t care much, go or stay. I don’t care very much….”
That was my cue. I grabbed my coat and placed a tip on the table. I turned to look at my once beautiful, once adventurous friend. I tilted my head and smiled. She was older, single, and drinking simply to pass the time, whereas I was happily married and finding other ways to pass the time than waste money at a bar or wink pathetically at the waiter for a free drink. I didn’t have to dress so awkwardly or scantily to get attention. My eyes glanced at the singer who was looking at me with his brightly lit face and enormous brown eyes that fluttered at me with the piano’s melody. I smiled at him and turned to Karyn, who smugly sat in her chair, holding her cranberry vodka in her hand.
“I don’t care very much.”
“Bye, Chica!” Her laughter once more overthrew the piano and singer for a brief moment, but as I exited the bar, the piano took control once more and I heard the soft, chilling whisper of the singer’s voice through the speakers by the doorway.
“…Well done, Dayanna.”
(inspired by "Don't Care Much" from Cabaret)
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