2012-12-28

There was a knock at the door, and then it opened.

            “Donnie, you’re on in three minutes. Al’s on his last bit now,” said the bespectacled man in headphones.

            “Thanks Mitch,” said Donnie as his took a drink from his cocktail. “I’ll be right there.”

            “Just take it easy on the highballs,” said Mitch. “Eddie wasn’t to happy about the other—”

            “Sorry,” Donnie interjected, then drank again. “It was an anniversary . . .”

            “Well . . .” Mitch started, “Look. Here’s how it is. Eddie’s talking about trimming some fat. Now I know you’ve been doin’ this for him for a long time.”

            “Since you were in grade school, kid,” Donnie replied, taking yet another swig.

            “Right. But you and I both know—” Mitch started.

            “Well, save it,” Said Donnie flatly. “Three minutes. Got it.”

            “Two minutes,” said Mitch as he shut the door.

            Donnie finished off his highball and held the glass up, swirling the single large ice cube slowly. He thought it reminded him of himself—just going around in circles and not really getting anywhere.

            He remembered back to when he first started doing this lounge gig. He thought it’d be temporary. He thought someday he’d make it big, perform at the casinos, maybe even record a record or two. He was ‘gonna do something’, he had thought.

            To Donnie, that seemed like a lifetime ago. It was almost like it was someone else’s story he was remembering.

            He looked around the room. There were all sorts of artifacts from the past. Pictures with various celebrities—he was always surprised at who was there after the lights came up. A fake chrysanthemum from that girl he had dated a few years back—her old man had been pissed when he found out about her and Donnie. There was a very old rosary, from that time him and Al had a really bad fight with Eddie and went on a three-day bender to Tijuana—Donnie still couldn’t remember most of it.

            Then he started to laugh.

            Maybe going around and around wasn’t so bad after all. Tires did it. Records did it. Hell, even the water in the toilet did it.

            Donnie chuckled again at his own joke.

            He had never wanted anything like kids. Or a wife. Or even a house. He wasn’t even really sad or upset.

            He sat up straight, then smacked himself hard across each cheek.

            He had come out here to do something, and that, he most certainly had done. Tonight, whether it was two people or a full house, he would show them something else.

            Donnie was laughing again at his own wit as he closed the dressing room door and headed for the stage.