Whenever You Call by Anna King Page A

to wear an Austrian dirndl skirt, with matching puffy embroidered blouse. I think I was trying to recapture my lost innocence, but why did I think innocence was appropriate to a bar tending class? I’d even braided my hair and twisted it into a knot at the back of my neck. Thankfully, I hadn’t gone the two pigtails wrapped into packages over each ear route. I’d been convinced, when I checked in the mirror before leaving my house, that I was attractive.
    And I was attractive compared to the other four. A very, very, very fat man with no hair and a bright red nose was clearly an alcoholic. The only other man appeared to be midstream into a sex change transformation. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell which direction he, or she, was going. He wore exceptionally tight black jeans, a black muscle shirt, and his/her bleached blonde, shoulder-length hair swirled with frizz, like a ball of cotton candy. Someone needed to teach him/her about straightening devices, and I had the feeling I was elected. I knew I couldn’t stand looking at that hair for long. It made me itch.
    The two other women were both in their twenties and they were obscenely thin, like a cartoonist’s pencil sketches, all fast line and bone. Their skin was dead white except for the slash of blush across each cheek. Both had dyed black hair. They were obviously buddies. Despite the similarities between them, they looked nothing alike. One, with a round face, was the follower and the other, whose face was as long as a hammer, the leader. I felt sure that hammer-face would somehow end up in prison and I just hoped round-face would wake up and cut the cord before she followed her friend. To that end, I picked up my notebook and moved to join them at their table. I gave round-face a big smile.
    They glared.
    Didn’t trouble me. One thing about being an older woman with plenty of experience was that I wasn’t easily spooked.
    The teacher walked in. At first, actually, I thought he might be another student. He was probably about forty years old and beautiful. I glanced at the two other women and wasn’t surprised to see that they, too, were gaping at him.
    He strode to the bar and in a long lovely fluid motion lifted himself backwards so that he was perched above us.
    “Hey, everyone, I’m Al.”
    Not a peep from his little chicks.
    He grinned. I had the feeling he knew what kind of an effect he had on people. But, really, of course he knew. The man was a gift. First of all, his body was hunky and languid at the same time. Thin and elegant, but with wide endless shoulders and thick thighs that pressed against his jeans. His face looked like it had been carved from a tree, shaped into planes and angles that caught the light and framed a gigantic mouth, large well-shaped nose, and deep blue eyes. Tousled blond hair hung about with a determined carelessness. I kept thinking he’d been made, shaped, created. He was an actor, clearly, but good grief, couldn’t he get a better part than being a teacher for a bar tending course?
    I said, “Hello.”
    His eyes found me. I regretted having worn the Austrian dirndl skirt, but maybe we wouldn’t be standing up and moving around during the first class.
    “Your name?”
    “Rose Marley.”
    He snapped his fingers and pointed. “You’re the novelist, right?”
    Everyone’s head did a total swivel.
    “Yes.”
    “Welcome to the class.” Al looked around. “Let’s take a minute to introduce ourselves and maybe say a little something about why you’ve signed up for Bar Tending 101. Rose, how about you go first?”
    The man made me shy. If I’d had pigtails, I’d be sucking the ends into little points.
    “So, I’m Rose Marley. I’m taking a break from writing because, well, because I just think.” I stopped. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember why I was doing this. I dared to look at Al, who was broadcasting his magnificent smile of encouragement.
    “I need to get out more,” I said.
    The man/woman