Free Swan Song by Tracey Ward Page A

bottles in every case.”
    Hal waits patiently while Tommy thinks it over. I know he’s doing the math, figuring out what Ralph would have insisted on in discounts and what we can make off the free gin.
    “How does it taste?” he finally asks. “Is it rotgut?”
    “It’s legitimate gin, bottled at a distillery in Canada. No bathtub shit. I tasted it when they offered it.” Hal shrugs again. “It was fine. Decent.”
    “I’ve drank it,” I pipe up. “It’s swell. Better than the whiskey.”
    “It’s gin, though,” Tommy mutters to himself. “Not a lot of people drink gin.”
    “We could put gin and tonics on special for the holidays,” Hal suggests.
    “Yeah, maybe. It’ll make it go farther.” Tommy glances at me. “Is that how you’re drinking it or are you taking it straight up?”
    “With tonic water,” I tell him.
    “Alright. Tonic water is cheaper than gin. We’ll still come out on top with this deal. Good work, Hal.”
    Hal smiles proudly. “Thanks, Tommy.”
    “Now get the hell out. Check the bar. Make sure they’re ready for the night.”
    “You got it.”
    Hal disappears from the room, the door closing behind him with a decided click. I stand up and start to pace, feeling caged all of the sudden. I want to talk to Tommy about Elisha, but I don’t know how to say it or what it is I really want to say. All I know is that I’m worried about her being here. I’m worried about Eddie and his injured arm. I’m worried about my girls in the line and my guys in the band and the holidays coming up, and more than anything I’m worried about these headaches that will not let me go.
    “You’re scowling,” Tommy scolds quietly.
    “Am I?”
    “This thing with Elisha, this is what you asked me for,” he says, nailing my anxiety on the head. “Be happy.”
    “Oh, I’m thrilled.” I mutter, collapsing down on the side of his desk. I’m facing the wall behind him, looking at an ugly painting of an ugly woman and wishing for the fiftieth time tonight that I could go home and nurse the headache growing behind my eyes.
    “What’s with you lately?” he asks, pouring himself a drink. It looks like bourbon. “You’ve been evil the last few days.”
    I shake my head. The movement makes me feel a little dizzy. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
    “You gettin’ sick?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “You better not be,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his drink. “You want one? Might set you straight.”
    I frown, fighting the rise of my stomach at the thought. “No. It’ll only make it worse.”
    “Hmm.”
    My eyes are drawn to the massive painting behind him again. The woman captured in it has a frown frozen on her face and it strikes me that this is how she’ll be seen for all of eternity. People who have never met her will look at her here in Tommy’s office and think to themselves that she looks like one mean, ugly witch of a woman. But is she? What if this was just a bad rendering and she’s actually sweet as pie, making cookies with her grandkids, attending church every Sunday where she tithes double to help out the single mother sitting beside her who lost her husband in the war?
    Suddenly I feel the compulsion to know.
    “Who is this?”
    “Who is who? What are you askin’?” Tommy asks. He doesn’t look behind him, though. Instead he’s watching me. Examining me where I sit on his desk.
    “The woman in this painting. Who is she?”
    “How should I know?”
    “It’s on your wall. How can you not know?”
    He shrugs. “I didn’t pick it. It was there when I took over the office.”
    “Who was the last guy? Who’d you take over for?”
    “None of your business.”
    I groan, sick of his games and too tired to play. “Forget it,” I snap, moving to go.
    Tommy stands quickly, grabbing my wrist. He pulls me back to the desk until I’m sitting in the center, directly in front of him. He looks down at me with his dark eyes and I know immediately what he’s