Free Red Hot Blues by Rachel Dunning Page A

is
wrong.
    I tried to tell him that he’s killin my
song.
     
    But he...wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t say
no.
    I tried to kiss him. He said he must go.
    I stood my ground, looked
him...in-the-eye!
    I said, “No honey, you kiss me now or I’m
waving goodbye!”
     
    (Drums. Jam. Guitar.)
     
    He said, “Oh honey baby, you’re killin my
groove.”
    I said, “Uh-uh, big boy, you think you’re
too smooth!”
    He said, “Please darlin...just one more
dance.”
    He looked me over, tried to touch me—I
said, “Baby, watch what you doin wit doze filthy hands! ”
     
    (Crowd clapping along.)
     
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuues.
    (You can’t afford this!)
    Quick. Shot. Boooooooze.
    (You can’t touch this!)
    Big. Spot. Newwwwwws.
    (Yeah, those filthy hands brother!)
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuuues.
    (Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh—Hot!)
     
    He looked forlorn. Damn right he should.
    Because a...woman scorned, just ain’t NO
good!
    He begged forgiveness, got down on his
knees.
    I said, “Honey, you better start beggin, ‘Oh
lawd god help me PLEASE!’”
     
    (Male vocals join in.)
     
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuues.
    (Please, baby! You better beg!)
    Quick. Shot. Boooooooze.
    (I don’t want yo booze, yo blues, yo ugly
news!)
    Big. Spot. Newwwwwws.
    (Oh you think you big?)
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuuues.
     
    (Crowd cheering. Going nuts.)
     
    I’ll tell you how this story ends: boy got
down on his knees.
    He begged with all his heart, said he wanted
me to be his main squeeze.
    I said, “Honey-bunny, you ain’t learned the
first damn lesson about wooing a woman, now have you?”
    “ And what is that lesson baby? Tell
me!”
    (Pause. Pause. Pause.)
    “ Yo sorry ass ain’t good enough to be down
to my knees!”
     
    (The crowd erupts, laughing, cheering,
clapping.)
    (Male vocals join in.)
     
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuues.
    (Damn straight, brother, get down and kiss
those feet!)
    Quick. Shot. Boooooooze.
    (You had enough booze. Now you need to
schmooze!)
    Big. Spot. Newwwwwws.
    (You old news. I want me a man with a
Cadillac, some style, a three-piece. You old news!)
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuuues.
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuuues.
    Red. Hot. Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuues.
    (Crash. Bam. Slam! Final solo. And it’s
over.)
-28-
    The place implodes. People start yelling for
an encore. I’ve got more material, but it’s rare that you ever hit
that sweet-spot again after a good song, unless you’ve planned for
it.
    Ace and I hit that sweet spot last Tuesday,
in the third song.
    He’s on his feet, cheering, clapping.
Clapping wildly, forcefully, his guitar dangling behind him. His
chest looks so strong. His arms so powerful, like he’s worked in a
field or lifting things all his life.
    Is there a swelling under his eye?
    I let myself imagine that he’s mine, that
he’s my boyfriend. A light imagination. I know it’s not real. But
sometimes all a girl has is her dreams. And her dreams keep her
warm at night.
    He hollers, shouts, cheers. So does everyone
else. A few other people stand. Not all of them. But enough of
them. It doesn’t go to my head. I love the blues. And I can write
the blues. It’s one of the few things—that and my voice—that I’m
completely confident about. And that I don’t need to be modest
about.
    Ace is shaking his head, that shake that
musicians do which looks like “No” but actually means, “Damn, yes !”
    I curtsy, as a joke. People like it. They
shout some more.
    The sexiest thing about me is my voice. I
love my voice. And I love music. And if it weren’t for these
moments in my life, I think I would have never made it this
far.
    Layna’s in the back, behind the bar,
cheering. When I look over at her, she points at Ace, then at the
stage, then at Ace again. Get him up there with you!
    I don’t think. I act. I ask the lead
guitarist if it would be OK. He starts putting his guitar down but
I tell him, no, I’d like both of them up here. It’s just the
right thing to do. He says no. I insist. And he stays.
    I ask Max if it’d be OK if Ace got