And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 23: A Fight In A Back Alley In Germany

    Cal talked a little about wanting to become a writer, about his love for books and poetry. I listened to him speak about writing, and going to University, and talked about my story when prompted, trying to be as vague yet specific as possible. I wasn't really paying attention to the surroundings, only noticing that the streets were getting darker, the crowds were getting thicker, and the amount of clothing people were wearing was growing less, when Cal said we're here, and I looked up and said, "Oh, shit."

    ***

    The situation was like deja vu from a couple of days ago.

    We stood in front of the familiar black and white sign, in that familiar wide, paved street, in front of that familiar sign that said The Kaiserkeller.

    Are you fucking kidding me, I thought, my lips pressed together tightly, subconsciously suddenly holding Cal's hand tightly, feeling very feminine in my dress and heels and very loud in that shade of red.

    A gentle squeeze of my hand brought me back to earth. I looked up at Cal's tall, skinny frame. "Are you all right?"

    "I'm fine." This seemed just like walking into a tiger's mouth. To walk into the same venue in which I had lived with John and we had kissed and loved in this exact space. It seemed to taunt me as I gazed up at it. I knew every crevice would make me think of my time here.

    "This is it, right? Let's go in," I said, feeling the resistance of every word come out of my mouth. Let's not go in, how about it?

    My feet disobeyed my brain. I found myself walking in first, leading the way. The crowd grew thicker and thicker as we made our way in; I jostled up against heels, bags, coats. Cal paid our welcome fee, and I thanked him, and I saw through the mostly black and gray colors with the occasional splash of color the familiar form of Bettina the barmaid.

    "Cora! Hallo!" She said with a huge, red smile and gave me a hug from across the counter. "But it's not the Beatles tonight... It's Rory Storm and the Hurricanes! Are you coming back to play for us tonight with the boys?"

    "Not tonight," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Cal as giving me an interested look. He had already taken off his forest green jacket; it was hot. Bettina was already pouring me a drink, my usual whenever I sang. "Why don't you sing anymore? I miss hearing you. Your voice, it's different. It's nice, it's sweet, like drinking a red wine." She brought her thumbs and forefingers together in a satisfied ok sign. I laughed. "I suppose I'm just here to enjoy myself this time," I told her. Cal and I took a seat at the bar and she placed my drink on a coaster and pushed it across the counter to me. "And what will your friend have?"

    "This is Cal," I told her. "He'll—erm–"

    "The same thing you're having," he said and smiled; his smile lit up his face and brought a friendly glint to his eyes. He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forwards, his lanky frame forming a slightly curved line. "It looks delicious," he said and nudged me gently.

    "Cora knows her drinks," Bettina winked from the other side of the counter. I blushed; it was actually John who had introduced me to this drink with the promise that I would like it. And I had.

    We sat and drank for a while. I sipped my drink and thanked heaven that the Beatles were not playing that night.

    "So, I heard the barmaid ask if you were singing," Cal said, dragging the 'so' out until it seemed to last several seconds.

    "So I do sing a little," I said. "It's a long story, but I used to live here with... George. George Harrison."

    "Holy shit!" Cal choked on his drink. "George Harrison? You mean the one who knows Paul McCartney?"