With and Without Class by David Fleming Page A

always known how to say what people need to hear.” Larry looked over the man’s shoulder before continuing up the steps.
    â€œLarry? Mr. Hepton?”
    Inside, Larry made his way to the bar with its dusty mirrors and whiskey bottles. The roars of the seated crowd overpowered the jazz piano and bass guitar. The place was packed with extra swivel chairs cramming aisleways while the audience sat entranced, buzzing and bursting with laughter as tears welled in their eyes.
    Their stares fixed to the motionless rubber man on stage. It poised before them with open palms as if preparing to hug the whole audience. Its holographic face seemed to look at him no matter where he was, cycling expression changes and making high-pitched sounds like bats screeching.
    The rubber body was cheap and silly: blue jeans painted-on, a pot belly at the bottom of a painted white t-shirt and a pole projecting from its back was welded to a plate which mounted it like a giant action figure.
    Larry pressed his finger inside his ear against his sonic filter. Close to the stage, a radiant blonde sat hunched at a table. The stage light lit-up her face while her tears glistened.
    Larry leaned over and slapped his hand on the bar.
    â€œLarry?” The bartender dried a beer glass. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
    â€œYou closing up?” Larry asked.
    â€œYah, getting things ready for the next shift. Things have been dull here since we put that thing in. These ear plugs piss me off and tips have gone way down. People only drink between shows.”
    Larry adjusted his crowbar and scanned the crowd. Vic sat to the left of the blonde and the two held hands beneath their table.
    â€œSome kind of lover’s embrace?” Larry asked.
    Vic wore a silk polo and a gold neck chain with the stage light glistening arcs in his thick neck that flickered as he laughed while his sparse gray hair rustled from the ceiling fan’s breeze.
    The bartender leaned on the bar, “Fair is fair.”
    â€œShe always knew what she meant to me.”
    â€œVic’s a good guy, Larry. He’s done a lot with this place.” The bartender walked toward the taps in the back corner.
    â€œI came to give her back the ring. It’s her ring. Even if she doesn’t want me.” He rubbed his face. “I’ll take a Scotch and water. A double.”
    The bartender stopped. “I’ll make it a single, Larry.” He moved slowly, loading a tumbler with ice. “Vic says it’s on the house. Then leave.”
    â€œI’m not drunk. I thought love didn’t exist. Now I know it does and I don’t have it.”
    â€œOf course.”
    A short man with glasses sat next to Larry. He swigged from his green imported beer. “You work for the club?” he asked.
    Larry watched the blonde as he drank.
    â€œExcuse me; do you work for the club?” the short man turned and leaned in, extending his hand, “Name’s Jackson.”
    Larry lowered his glass from his lips. He closed his eyes. “I don’t work here.” He grabbed the hand and shook it.
    â€œI noticed you’re wearing sonic filters, like me. Most people just enjoy the show. These things are hilarious.”
    â€œYou a salesman?”
    Jackson grinned. “Yep. Gave myself away; didn’t I? I’m watching this unit to make sure everything goes smoothly. We don’t usually have problems but sometimes it needs tweaking. We just installed this baby a couple months ago.”
    â€œI know.” Larry took a drink.
    â€œSo, you’re a regular?”
    â€œI was almost part owner.”
    â€œOh, I see. So you might have some interest in our technology.”
    Larry scrutinized several in the crowd then stared at Vic’s glazed eyes and gaping mouth, “I could walk up there through them and they’d never notice. I could do what I wanted. But if I was right in front of their faces? Would they see