The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 15

They walked to the club and were not surprised to be the only patrons. The bartender recognized them and asked "Gin and 7Up?" Art nodded, David shook her head. The bartender poured gin on the rocks for David and gin and 7Up for Art. "There's a DJ coming tonight at eight," he said, "if you were going to stick around."

Art felt the headache in advance. "Maybe we can ease into it," he said, noticing the digital jukebox on the wall behind him. "Any requests?" he asked David.

She waved her hand at him. "Whatever," she answered.

The club had not worked its magic on her yet. Art searched the titles on the jukebox and worked his mind trying to pick the perfect prescription for David's melancholy. Of course he searched the David Bowie titles, but which would lift her spirits? He wanted to surprise her, and surprise her with an intelligent choice, something that would make her appreciate his understanding of her. In his research, what had he learned was her favorite song? Nothing from the eighties heyday, that was certain. Life on Mars? Too predictable. Fantastic Voyage? Too obscure. Something newer. Days. That was it. "All the days I owe you," he said out loud, looking over at the back of David's head. Exactly the words and feelings he wanted to convey to David. He fed his credit card into the machine and pushed some buttons. He chose some arbitrary songs first, wanting to watch her light up when she recognized the opening notes of this song.

He sat down next to her. She had her elbows on the bar, holding her drink up to her lips with both hands. She had her mouth on the edge, but was not actually drinking. Merely feeling the smooth glass on her gums. Her mess of teeth magnified through the clear ice and liquid.

"She was a WAC," she said.

"What?" asked Art.

"Doris. She was a WAC," David said, looking blankly ahead at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. "Served overseas during Vietnam. Traveled all over the world. Said she met Elvis when he was stationed in Germany with the Army and was treated to an overnight with him at the Grunewald Hotel. She hinted a lot about what happened in Germany and I believe her."

"Wow," said Art. Mrs. Pritchard?

"She's flown aeroplanes, ridden camels, sailed in regattas....what a magnificent life." She was so far away. Art wanted to reach out and make sure she hadn't disappeared, but he feared that his hand would swipe right through her ghostly figure. He could almost see through her. He reached out and touched the bottom of her glass, to make sure it didn't shatter when she vanished. She let him take the glass from her hands and set it on the bar. She looked at him. her eyes glistening. Her nose blushed pink. She swallowed hard. He watched it bob in her throat before sliding down to her chambers below. "Oh, Art," she whispered. "She led a beautiful life, and nobody knows it. Nobody appreciates it."

Art reached out and took her hand in his and squeezed. He heard the opening notes of Days break through the speakers. He watched David's face. Nothing. Guitar, drums, vocals. Nothing. Chorus. Nothing. Her eyes registered nothing. She looked at Art and shook her head, her eyes reflected camels and sailboats.

Art sang softly with the chorus. "All the days I owe you, all the days of my life."

She didn't even flinch. He was singing her words right to her. Even if she didn't smile and find it wonderfully endearing, he thought she'd have some reaction. Even if it was the old slam – Who sings this song? David Bowie. Then let him sing it. – would have struck him better than this no reaction at all. He wasn't sure how far to push her. He couldn't predict her at all. He took a chance, and asked her casually, "What album is this from?"