A Dream, Part 2

I helped her with the luggage into the hotel.

I had a couple of friends with me.

While she was in the shower, I unpacked her clothes.  Expensive dresses and coats.  Then I sat with my friends and talked a little bit.

She came out of the shower and put on a white bathrobe.

Striking up a conversation with me she asked, "Do you still sing live?"

"No, but I was doing poetry readings on occasion," I replied.

"You should give it a rest," she said, brushing her hair.

"Which one?" I inquired.

"Whichever," she said.

She put the brush down and started checking messages on the phone.

"Do you still drink in lounges?" she asked, making a drinking gesture by pointing at her mouth with her thumb.

"You mean bars?" I asked.

"A matter of semantics," she said.

"Yes," I confessed, "but not every single day; just most days."

"Writers are a bunch of drunks," she retorted, while continuing to check her messages.

"That's a stereotype," I said, "the same as musicians all being drug addicts."

"Then I suppose we are both stereotypical," she said with a smile.

Her smile always took my breath away.

"Which club are you performing at tonight?" I asked, adjusting myself on the bed.

"Cherry's," she answered.

"Is that in East Hollywood?" I asked, "near that other place you used to work?"

"A few blocks from there," she responded.

Her name still draws a crowd, I thought.  Music was always her first love.

She answered a phone call and began a long conversation with someone while curled up with me on the bed.  I asked one of my friends how he was doing.  He just smiled.

Part 1 is here:  http://forbiddenpoetry.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-dream_829.html