Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 2.2: 1967, George

Chapter 2.2: 1967, George

 

It was a slow Tuesday night, and Carl had taken the night off to celebrate something with his family so I was the bartender this evening. It was oppressively hot in the bar, so I had been wiping my forehead over and over. The bar patrons had been rowdy tonight despite the heat and how few there were. A few recognized me despite being without my blonde wig and Marilyn Monroe dresses, begging me to sing "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" just for them. I had to say numerous times that I'd smack the shit out of them if I had my trademark black fan and to "get outta here" if they couldn't control their dumb mouthes.

I'd seen Frankie popping in and out from time to time. He had sat at a table for a while, staring at my friend Paulie who was performing as Precious Paula up on stage. Paulie was dancing around like a high Judy Garland singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" complete with pigtails and a Toto basket.

Something in me was uncomfortable with the way Frankie laughing with Paulie and I couldn't put my finger on it. So I decided to ignore it and just do my job. But after a while it really irked me. I began staring at him, ignoring patrons at the bar, staring at the back of his perfectly gel'd dark blonde hair. From time to time he'd laugh at one of Paulie's jokes and I found my hand squeezing whatever glass I was holding too hard.

"This gentleman prefers blondes," I heard distantly as I was staring at Frankie once again as he walked aross the room, trying to look smooth and like he was in charge. He looked so awkward and like he was just some kid. Strangely, I felt bad for him, and I didn't know why.

"Hey, did you hear what I said, blondie? I prefer blondes."

"Hm?" I snorted, rolling my eyes, having heard that line four billion times.

"Hey you!" the voice ordered, and suddenly I was yanked forward by my wrist, an uncontrollable gasp escaping my throat in an accidental surge of fear. Instinctively I pulled away but his grip was unyielding and getting tighter.

I found his face, and he was looking at me with a deeply sloshed look, and I recognized him as a patron from the far corner of the bar, but evidentally he had moved to the middle as he steadily got more drunk. Apparently now I was looking pretty damn good to him.

Fuck. 

"Let go of me, goddammit," I barked, pulling my wrist with force in his grasp but he wouldn't let up. "Let go of me!" I yelled.

"How much for the night, huh, blondie? How much?" He asked louder. "I know you wanna do it. You fucking queer."

My eyes widened and my heart started to race as my mouth dropped open in shock. I began to use my whole body to try to get away from him, throwing myself at the wall but his grip was iron cold. I had begun shrieking for Security before I realized what was coming from my mouth. "Security!" I cried, "security!"

My eyes darted around the room. My stomach fell to my toes. Oh great. Deserted. Stupidly I had been staring at Frankie for so long that I hadn't noticed how empty the club had gotten. No wonder the guy had the courage to do this now with no one around.

I changed my tactic since no one was around. It was the only shot I had, answering his earlier question. "Please let go of me, Mister," I whimpered in my fake Marilyn Monroe voice, "please, Mister, why would a girl like me do a thing like that? You know me. A girl like me. Please let go of me, Mister. Let go."

"Hahaha, that's more like it! Daddy likes!" The man laughed deeply, but instead of letting up he did the opposite, incredibly increasing his strength and pulling me over the bar.

"No!" I yelled now, letting any illusions fall, any inhibitions fall away. "No! Help! Help me, someone! Help!"

"There a problem here?" a familiar heavily Italian-American accent asked calmly.