Free The Diamond Club by Patricia Harkins-Bradley Page B

My. God. I’m sooo sorry. I didn’t know I was acting weird and crazy. Honest, I really enjoyed your songs!”
    “Really? Which one was your favorite?”
    She had me there.
    “Uhhh… the one about the unicorn and the… dolphin and the…”
    A look of skepticism was coming over her face. I was losing her. It was time to come clean.
    “OK, here’s the truth. I was really distracted by this totally gorgeous woman who got on stage. I didn’t pay too much attention to the songs.”
    When she smiled at this last statement, I think I might have melted. This was more than a sexual attraction, it was like something had touched the core my being. In the terminology of this morning’s interview, it was like my system software was being rewritten as I looked into her eyes.
    “My looks have been as much a blessing as a curse. If you want to talk about boy problems, I could tell you a few tales.”
    And so we did, for what seemed like hours. Sasha (as I learned her name was) had a backstory full of mysterious men from all over the globe. Tours with her band had taken her all over, and she had collected lovers from every corner of the Earth. As we got deeper into conversation, we got physically closer, snuggling up shoulder to shoulder as the Diamond Club started to fill up.
    Putting her hand gently on my knee, she asked, “Look I’m meeting some friends for dinner. Would you care to join me?”
I accepted (of course) and we headed down Mission Street, towards downtown.
    When I decided to have dinner with a rockstar, this was most definitely not what I was expecting. Instead of a glamorous, exclusive restaurant, I was sitting in a downtown alley that reeked of cat urine. My dinner companions? The better part of San Francisco’s homeless population. Sasha, however, seemed to be in her element. Even in this dump, she still looked stunning.
    “Brianna, I want you to meet a friend of mine!” she said, as she went to go embrace a bearded man in one of the alley’s adjacent buildings.
    “This is Lewis. He’s the guy who put all this together!”
    “Lewis is a bit too formal. You can call me Lew,” he said as he shook my hand.
    Lew was a scruffy looking guy for sure, but he had kind eyes and some nice muscles under his dirty blue workshirt. Maybe if he cleaned up a little and shaved, he might have been able to get into the Diamond Club.
    “I’ve actually got the first bowls here, for you two. You’re our honored guests for the night,” he said as he handed each of us a bowl of some brown stew.
    I ate a spoonful. Not bad. Maybe these homeless people have it easy.
    “It’s made with 100% urban foraged ingredients. We didn’t have to pay a single cent to feed all these people here tonight.”
    Urban foraged?
    “Wait, you mean you got all this dumpster diving?” I asked, spitting the contents of my mouth back into my bowl.
    “Absolutely. We run a completely freegan operation here, taking what the high-end groceries and restaurants around here toss away,” he said proudly.
As if my night couldn’t have gotten any worse, the first drops of rain then started falling on our heads. It was gentle at first, then turned into a steady deluge. Sasha had a plan, though.
    “Hey, you guys! My hotel is just down the street from here! Do you want to go?!”
Lew and I nodded enthusiastically, and the three of us ran down the street towards Union Square. Sasha’s hotel was a magnificent old hotel that dated back to the turn of the last century. After the alley, it looked like paradise.
    We decided to dry out in the elegant hotel bar, where I learned that Lew not only served homeless folks from his makeshift kitchen, but was homeless himself. A cheating wife had driven him to alcoholic madness, but he had managed to pull himself up with the help of San Francisco’s freegan community.
    Convinced he wasn’t trying to kill me with his rotten food, I started to kind of admire the guy. Though I must admit Sasha already being smitten with