The way she said it annoyed me. Did she think I was an infant? I certainly wasn’t! She was older—I guessed early thirties—but I didn’t feel like a baby.
“Oh, don’t scowl, not that it isalsonot adorable,” Mary said. “I didn’t mean to infantilize you. Just… you’re young.”
“Nah. I’m just not much of a beer person,” I protested.
“Well, I am.”
“You’re a beer snob and I’m notthatyoung.”
“What are you?”
“Twenty-four, thanks,” I snickered.
“You’re stillfartoo young for me, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes, then realized her words implied she considered it. Or, rather, she thought I was flirting. Did Iwantto be flirting? Maybe?
“Or maybe you date older? Hell if I know.”
“Typically, yes.”
Older men.
“Well, I’m Mary. And you are?”
“Betty,” I said.
“It’s got a we-were-roommates-in-the-fifties vibe, but I’ll take it.”
I didn’t get the joke. She shifted awkwardly.
“The band is great,” I said. “How long have you all been doing this?”
“Oh, I am filling in,” Mary answered. “Their guitarist fell ill. I’m friends of the band. I’ve worked with Barry a lot—the drummer—and Bea and I used to date, but we’re best mates, and Alicia is her partner. I got roped in last minute.”
“You’re fucking amazing! How did you learn the song so fast?”
She sipped, then with major bravado, answered, “Well, I wrote it.”
My jaw dropped.
“I don’t usually perform much anymore. I do a lot of studio work. I produce, write, and play in-studio.”
“Oh, cool,” I said. “But you’re dynamite on stage. Why not?”
“Uh… years on the road. Stuff came up with family. I just have different obligations.”
My face dropped. What I thought was flirting seemed like maybe a clue she wasn’t single.
“I’m single,” she laughed, reading my mind. “It’s unrelated to that. I’m unattached.”
“Oh,” I said.
“So, what are you doing in London?”
“What?”
“Uh… you’re adorable little accent. What is this? Where in America are you from?”
