The Song of David

I laughed again, wondering where she was going with this, but happy to let her talk. I wondered briefly if she knew I was black. It was kind of an amazing feeling knowing that for once, it truly didn’t matter.

“I’ve dated guys who can see too—you know, the visually unimpaired.” She smiled at the label. “Not many of them. But a few. My cousin Robin usually sets me up. And I’m pretty sure every one of them has been extremely unattractive. Ugly, strange, warty, and generally rejected by other women. Which is okay. I can pretend they all look like a million bucks, and I’ll never know any different. The image in my head is the only one that counts, right? But once Robin tried to set me up on a date with a deaf guy, and I put my foot down. It wasn’t that he was deaf, exactly, but how did she think we were going to communicate? Robin sometimes thinks that because I’m disabled, I can only date guys with disabilities. Because, of course, no one else would want me, right?” Millie’s voice caught, and she smiled immediately, laughing at herself. “Uh oh. Struck a nerve there.”

“That isn’t true,” I challenged.

“It’s true sometimes,” she whispered, and I could tell she was wondering if the truth had gotten to be too much for Tag.

“I found myself hoping David wasn’t a good looking guy. I hoped he wasn’t good looking because it didn’t matter to me, and it would make him less desirable to everyone else. I thought if he were homely, it would make him more open to someone like me.” She let her breath out slowly, almost sadly.

“But I knew he was beautiful. It was in the way he carried himself, his confidence, his kindness. I thought about asking the girls at work about him. But I chickened out. I didn’t want them to laugh at me or to feel sorry for me. I told myself maybe we could be friends. He seemed open to that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was fascinated. But I didn’t know what to say. Millie just sat, gripping the tape recorder between her forearms. Then, without further comment, she pushed play once more.





THE STAGE BECAME an octagon on Tuesday for fight night, and on Wednesday Amelie wasn’t on the schedule to dance, which Morgan informed me as soon as I walked in, smirking like he’d really pulled one over on me.

“What’s with you, Morgan?” I asked, dumbfounded and just a little pissed. “You act like it’s a big damn joke. What? You hire the blind girl as a prank? That’s an asshole thing to do.”

Morgan threw up his hands and protested, all the while laughing like that was exactly what he’d done. “She came in here with her stick, looking more like Helen Keller than Heidi Klum. No makeup, hair in a messy ponytail wearing a big coat and snow boots. Kinda frumpy, you know? She said she wanted to apply for the job. Vince was tending the bar that day, and he and I thought maybe you had put her up to it. Like you were punking us or something. So we said, sure. You know me. I’m always up for a good laugh. She waited for her audition with all the other girls, and amazingly enough, everyone was really nice to her. The girls kind of took her aside. Next thing we know, she’s in the cage, wearing a little tiny pair of shorts and a skin-tight top, hair loose, working that pole like a pro.”

Hearing Morgan describe Amelie’s audition make me feel slightly sick to my stomach. It shouldn’t have. If he’d been talking about Justine or Lori, or any of the other girls, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But I didn’t like thinking about Vince and Morg looking at Amelie, laughing and leering when she couldn’t even see them doing it. Morgan continued, completely unaware of my discomfort.

“She was good enough that we knew you weren’t messing with us. And she seemed pretty damn determined. Excited even. And, I admit, I thought it was funny.”

“Hilarious.”

“You gonna fire her, Boss?”

“Now, why would I do that?” Morgan was really getting on my nerves.

“She’s not as popular as some of the girls. Couple of the guys complain that she doesn’t look at them when she’s dancing.”

“Isn’t it enough that they get to look at her?” I shot back, irritated.

“Hey!” Morg raised his hands in surrender again. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Boss. She can’t carry a round card on fight nights, so we’re a little short there.”

“We’re not short there, Morg. We have four other girls totally capable of working fight nights,” I replied. The girls who danced at Tag’s also got to prance around the octagon, announcing the rounds.

“Okay. If you want to keep her, that’s cool. She’ll be back in on Thursday, just in case you wanted to have a talk with her about sexing it up a little. You know, maybe dancing with her eyes open.” Morgan was laughing again.

“Morg?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Go home.”

“Wh-what?” Morgan’s chuckle skittered to a halt.

“I’ll help Vince finish out the night. Go home.”

Morgan pulled on the hand towel he always kept over one shoulder and rubbed his hands nervously.