Thirty years of separation, but I was back. I grinned at the enthusiastic greeting from soldiers whose names I never learned. Hips swaying under a blue-black skirt that swayed around my ankles, and a red mesh halter-top with matching bra (wouldn’t want to be tacky), I made slow progress to the bar. I winked at Louie as he offered me a steadying hand, and stepped carefully onto the bar, one leather-clad foot at a time. Balanced on the three-inch heels, I sang, voice low, rich, husky. The effect was immediate: every one of the soldiers present let out a whoop, then fell silent, listening. It was not a song they had heard before, but one of my stories of Usher. Things I had done that I remembered, places I’d seen, regret at not being with friends, mistakes I’d made. The song had taken me a few weeks to write and memorize, and another few days trying to find the right tempo for the words.

Heartbreaks, heartaches,

How much longer must I endure?

Heart and soul know what I’m in for.

Head pounds with mortal life, human suffering, mortal strife.

Heartbreaks, heartaches,

How much longer must I endure

Where’s the hero I need?

Where’s the hope he brings?

How do I endure?

What happened to the music I know?

Heartbreaks, heartaches,

How much longer must I endure?

Relationships come and go.

Friends, lovers, here then gone again in a blink of an eye.

Heartbreaks, heartaches,

How much longer must I endure?

Phantom memories haunt my lone years.

Phantom voices in my mind.

Am I going insane, or just becoming aware?

What happened to the culture I know?

I suddenly grinned and switched paces faster than most of the crowd could follow. I slid off the longer skirt, revealing something that reached closer to mini-skirt proportions, showing the knee-high black leather boots, and gleaming silver buckles. The skirt reached mid-thigh, if I held still, which wasn’t going to happen. Grinning mischievously at Louie, I started singing a song I had picked up on Usher: “Something to Talk About” by Bonnie Rait.

People are talking, talking about people are

I hear them whisper, you won’t believe it

They think we’re lovers kept under cover

I just ignore it, but they keep saying

We laugh just a little too loud

We stand just a little too close

We stare just a little too long

Maybe they're seeing something we don't, darlin'

The effect was almost instantaneous: Louie glared, probably what was his best death-glare, the crowd erupted in cat-calls, and choruses of “we knew it” and other harassing statements, directed more toward Louie than myself. Apparently I was either missed that much, or it was too déclassé to annoy the entertainment. Why that meant the attention turned to Louie, the one who not only was helping to serve the drinks, but could also boot them out was beyond me, but I’m sure it made sense to those participating.

Let's give them something to talk about

Let's give them something to talk about

Let's give them something to talk about

How about lo-o-ove

I bit back a laugh at the look of horror mixed with annoyance, humor and resignation plastered on the poor angel’s face. Fairly certain I was about to get either kicked out, or beaten up by the former general, I had two ways to play this: continue, or call it quits. Suffice it to say, I didn’t think I could have stopped if I’d tried; I was having far too much fun, even if it was at his expense, and mine.

I feel so foolish, I never noticed

You'd act so nervous, could you be falling for me

It took a rumor to make me wonder

Now I'm convinced I'm going under

Thinking 'bout you every day

Dreaming 'bout you every night

I'm hoping that you feel the same way

Now that we know it, let's really show it, darlin'

I couldn’t help it, I played up to the song, hips swaying, strutting along the bar. I shot him a wink, and, turned my back to everyone to give him a more serious look that I hoped was more apology than humor, but I wasn’t sure I succeeded. I spun around and faced everyone again. I was starting to get dizzy from the combination of alcohol and dancing on the bar.

Let's give them something to talk about

A little mystery to figure out

Let's give them something to talk about

How about love, love, love, love

I fell off the bar at the end, having misjudged the distance before I hit the edge of the platform, and while it went with the song, I was more than a little unnerved to have ended up caught by the same person I had just publicly teased. I carefully squirmed out of his grip and stalked off to the back of the bar, where I had asked for a change of clothes to be stashed and, with no small amount of relief, slid into leather pants, shedding the Mini-Skirt From Hell…literally.

“Well, that was interesting,” a voice said from the doorway.

I jumped and yipped in surprise, turning a little too quickly and overbalanced into the wall. “Damnit!” I hissed. “Don’t do that, Stald.” It took an embarrassing amount of time to get my heart to slow and return to its normal place in my chest.

He grinned, knowing full well that I hated being snuck up upon, and that he was the best at scaring the crap out of me. “Sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” I replied instantly, falling into the familiar pattern.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, dropping an arm around my shoulders.

Now, I had just finished teasing, flirting, and singing to his lover, in front of an entire bar, why was he being so calm about it? So what if I had told him what was going to happen! Ma’Stald was one of the more bi-polar, psychotic people I have ever known, possibly second only to my father, which, was actually quite an accomplishment. After that display, I was not expecting him to be friendly toward me for another month, at least.