Free The Jewel Box by C Michelle McCarty

be with him.” Beau stared into my eyes.
    Murray tried to cop a feel. The old lech had likely fondled more ass than a proctologist, but in my outrage for Wesley, I slapped Murray’s hand and pointed my finger at his forehead, daring him to touch me. Keeping my eyes focused on Murray’s bulbous nose and red rimmed eyes, I blurted Beau’s message into the phone, handed it back to him and hurried back to the table.
    Gabriel stood up and pulled out my chair. “Hey Blondie, I agree with Al, your hair looks really nice.”
    “
Ohhhhh Mention my Name in Topeka
. . .” Murray started singing full volume again.
    Gabriel took a Marlboro from the pack. “It’s getting long and shiny.”
    “What?” I glanced around the room.
    “Your hair looks beautiful. And you’re a million miles away.” He inhaled smoke smoothly into his lungs. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
    I gave him a brief rundown on the Wesley situation. Gabriel listened intently, shook his head crossly a couple of times, and then took my hand, concern covering his face. “I’ll call to check on you the next few days. So, if you need anything, just let me know. Okay?”
    “Oh pleeeeease.” My voice quivered. “I’m fine.”
    “Yeah. . . You sure?”
    “I’m certain,” I said. “You sure convey a lot of meanings with the word yeah.”
    “Yeaaah?” Gabriel drawled. “Kinda like you do with please?”
    “Kinda.”
    He and Al stayed later than usual and Gabriel squeezed my hand before heading to the exit where he looked back, caught my eye, and offered a goodwill nod. Even though Katie-Laura and I stayed extremely busy the remainder of the night, I constantly thought about our kiss. “I saw that mouth-to-mouth between you and Gabe,” Kat said on the drive home. “Looked like you two were in some sort of trance.” I didn’t know about him, but I certainly was, and it was different than my myriad of self induced trances. When I got in bed around three-thirty, the kiss and its magical feeling played over and over in my head.
    The following night, I found myself constantly watching the club’s door, hoping my guys would make one of their infrequent Saturday night short visits, which Al had even dragged his wife along on a few times. Around nine o’clock as I rushed around taking orders, I glanced toward the entrance, and there stood Gabriel, smoking, observing. I delivered the drinks on my tray before walking toward him, but almost tripped in transit. “Where’s your partner?” I tried to regain balance as I looked behind him for Al.
    “I’m flying solo tonight,” Gabriel said softly.
    “Oh,” I responded, almost wetting my sequined panties. The partners
always
came in the club together. I led him to a table, noticing he was looking somewhat ill-at-ease in his crisp dress shirt and slacks.
    Unaware of Gabriel’s “arrogant asshole” reputation, a new dancer with protruding front teeth plunked her fanny in the chair at his table, and instantly leaned in to ask for a cocktail.
    Distractedly and without hesitation, Gabriel dryly said, “I’d rather give you money to see an orthodontist.”
    His brutal honesty often left those around him speechless, but not this time.
    “Keep your money and buy yourself some manners,” she said, flipping him the bird as she walked away.
    “I see you never got around to taking that Dale Carnegie course either,” I teased.
    “Even if I had, I wouldn’t waste diplomacy trying to influence the likes of her. And tell Beau he needs to make sure this one’s been wormed and has all her shots.”
    We gabbed about the personal habits of dancers flitting around before shifting topics to current events like sit-ins, teach-ins, love-ins, John and Yoko’s wedding, and the Supremes breakup. Our banter bounced from the dim witted
Hee Haw
, to the sharp witted
Dick Cavett Show
, as we grabbed every possible moment to chat. He laughed aloud several times and when he softly snorted mid-laugh, I asked if he needed