"I ate something," I said and gave her a smile. "Thanks anyway, Mom."
I took the hallway past the public washrooms to the bar and small stage on which we would play. Ken, Margaret's son, was the drummer in our band. The oldest of five children, he had his mothers blue eyes and his late father's bald head.
Ken always dreamed of being a rock musician, but in all likelihood would inherit the pub from his mother and become an owner instead of a musician. But we planned on playing as long as venues would book us. Heck, we'd pretty much play for free if that was all we could find.
We were all talented amateurs who never made a go of music but retained a love for it, especially music from the 60s and 70s. Mersey was a British Invasion cover band named after the river in Liverpool where so many great British rock bands originated. We played Irish pubs like O’Riley’s and the occasional wedding. Now and then, we played Psychedelic Rock as well but our specialty was the Brit Invasion, The Rolling Stones, The Animals, The Yardbirds, and The Zombies.
The other two band members were Johnny Mears who played keyboards and Cliff Walters on lead guitar and vocals. I played acoustic guitar, bass guitar and sang. We met in college and had been playing together ever since. Sometimes, I thought it was merely so we could spend time together. None of us needed the paltry sum we earned each week.
We were pretty tight as a band, having played together on and off for ten years. Recently, we added some new tunes to the repertoire and tonight was a chance to practice before our big gig at The Front on Friday.
I passed the dining room, which was almost empty, a few patrons lingering behind at white cloth-covered tables to finish their coffee and desserts, the lights low, candles on every table giving the room a romantic glow. As usual, the lounge styled in dark woods and decorations taken from a pub Ireland was full, the dozen small tables and banquettes filled with regulars. In the old days, before the smoking ban, a thick pall of smoke would hang over the crowd, but in the new Manhattan, the air was clear.
Some canned music played over the sound system and the customers were busy talking and drinking while Colin O'Riley, Ken's younger brother, presided over the bar. The band would play on a small raised platform near the back of the lounge. Ken was there, finalizing the setup of a full drum kit. There were several amps in place, wires and electrical cords snaking through them.
I put down my guitar cases and clapped Ken on the back. We embraced briefly in greeting.
"How's it going?" Ken said as he lifted his top hat cymbal into place. A few years older than me, he was a tall lean man with a long face that seemed perpetually somber. "You had to tell your girl you’d make it another night, I take it?"
"Nope. We had a quickie."
"What?" Ken said and laughed. "You rogue. You know I live vicariously through you. I'm lucky if I get sex on the weekend when the kids are finally asleep."
I grinned, although the quickie was hardly satisfactory for me, but Ken didn't have to know it. He and the other guys had no idea about my preferences for kink. They only knew I had a series of girlfriends who I kept separate from the rest of my life.
Although they often pushed me to bring whomever I was with at the time to meals at their homes, I refused politely. I claimed that my girlfriends were busy with school, which they usually were since most of them were students, and that we spent most of our time together in bed when we had the chance to see each other. Which was also the truth, except of course, that they were usually tied to the bedposts, blindfolded and gagged.
I didn’t tell them that fact either, although I was certain it would make their day. If I did, I knew I’d be the butt of endless jokes about kink, so honesty wasn’t an option. My secret world remained just that – secret – from even my best friends.
“So, when am I finally going to meet this young woman of yours? What’s her name? Alice?”
“Allie,” I said. “Is the keyboard set up yet?” I glanced around the stage, trying to divert Ken from his well-intentioned attempts to meddle in my personal life.
“Quit trying to change the subject,” Ken said, smiling. “You’ve been seeing her for what – a year?”
“Eight months.”
“So? What the hell are you waiting for? Bring her by the bar some night. I know mom would love to meet her.”
“We’re not serious,” I said. “Just fuck buddies.”
“Fuck buddies for eight months?”
“She’s a student and is too busy for a real relationship. I’m not looking for a girlfriend. It’s just sex and it works out fine for us both.”