Saxon grinned like he’d just eaten the last piece of pizza lifted from his best friend’s plate. But he wasn’t looking at Calvino; he was looking at the woman walking into the room behind him.
Turning around, Calvino said, “Looks like I don’t have to wait until the set ends.”
Shaking his head, Saxon put the beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull.
“When shit like this happens,” Saxon said, “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink.”
Colonel Pratt had his fingers on the saxophone keys ready to play Pat Metheny when there was a change of plans. Mya Kyaw Thein stepped over some wires and picked up the mike, inched across the small stage to Yadanar behind the keyboard and whispered something. He nodded and gestured to Pratt, who leaned over the keyboard to hear the message. Pratt smiled at what he heard. Someone at the bar turned down the volume on the TV. Yadanar introduced Pratt as one of the all-time great sax players in Southeast Asia. His introductory bio left out the part about the saxophone player being a Thai cop. It didn’t seem like the kind of detail this particular crowd would want to know. Most weren’t listening to Yadanar anyway and continued talking or running their eyes and fingers over their little screens, looking up only briefly to calculate if they might be missing a chance to see a big league players score.
After the first song, Saxon tapped Calvino on the shoulder.
“You’ve got a couple of admirers over there.”
Calvino turned around and looked at the spiral staircase. Bianca and Anne waved. He waved them over to the table. Each of the women held a glass of wine. A couple of expats hovered near them.
“Bianca and Anne. You helped them out earlier at the hotel,” said Calvino.
“I thought they looked familiar.”
“I invited them here.”
“Looks like they have other ideas.”
One of the men behind them refilled their wine glasses.
“Seems those two have no problem making friends.”
A waiter brought Calvino a Tiger beer and a glass. Calvino drank from the bottle.
“Pratt should have been a professional musician,” said Calvino.
“Cry Me A River” was one of Pratt’s favorite standbys. Women in the audience always loved that song, as most women, sooner or later, cried at least a small stream. Yadanar Khin joined in on piano, and the bass player and drummer followed. The Black Cat held the mike close to her mouth and began singing, “You nearly drove me out of my head…”
She’d brought a rich emotionality to the words, making them wet with tears. Every word a woman ever wanted to say to an unworthy man was in that song. All the heartache, tears, regret and sadness poured out of her, filling the bar with a mood thick with pain. She may not have owned the night, but she owned the room. No one spoke; no one played with their cell phones or iPads. Even the pool players leaned on their pool cues, listening. If anyone in the room had ever wanted proof that a woman is capable of crying a river over a man’s vanished love, the Black Cat was delivering an explosive and powerful demonstration.
The song ended. There was a long moment of silence. Then the bar broke into thunderous applause. The Black Cat nodded at the crowd. She knew her power. “Thank you. I’ll be back,” she said, fixing the mike into its stand. Then she walked from the stage to Calvino’s table and sat at the chair next to him. Crossing her legs, she jiggled a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit, tilting her head upward and watching the smoke float toward the ceiling.
The whole bar stared at Calvino and the Black Cat as if to say, was this the man who made her cry a river? Was this the man who owned the night?
“I heard you were looking for me,” said Mya Kyaw Thein.
“I’m looking for your boyfriend.”
“What about Rob?”
“I want to talk to him.”
She lit a cigarette and stared at him for a moment.
“I’ll ask him.”
“That’s not the deal,” said Calvino.
The Black Cat’s nose twitched as she exhaled smoke. She looked slightly irritated but quickly recovered as applause turned into synchronized clapping and shouts for an encore. Yadanar Khin walked down from the stage and offered his outstretched hand.
She looked at him.
“Maybe later,” she said to Yadanar. “I’ve got some business first.”