Heaven's Promise by Paolo Hewitt Page B

pure contentment on his face before moving off, which was when Dillon tapped me on the shoulder and motioned that he needed a drink. The sweat now pouring off my face, I realised, was major but I had no care for at this precise moment in my life I had never felt happier with myself or the world. It was as if we were in heaven.
    Suddenly, Sandra was a distant problemo not even worth thinking about so tiny was its concern to me. My belief in myself as a DJ was unshakeable and the only thought that bugged me out was, why can’t life be like this all the time? What stopped us from feeling this brilliant about ourselves and others every waking minute of our lives? It was a question that I wanted to ask everyone as we happily pushed our way back down the corridor and into the bar where I told Dillon to grab some seats and I’d get the juices in. One of the bar staff, a middle aged woman, came to serve me and I ordered two lemonades.
    â€˜God almighty,’ she cried, ‘what is it with you lot? Don’t none of you drink or something? All I’ve done all night is hand out bleedin’ lemonades and lucozades.’
    â€˜Lucozade,’ I said on the spur of the moment, ‘make it two lucozades.’
    â€˜Alright dear, don’t have a heart attack. Do you want some jelly to go with it?’
    She went off for the drink and I fished for some coins in my pocket.
    â€˜That’s two quid,’ she said on her quick return, putting the bottles down in front of me. I handed over the cashola and was about to move on when I heard her shout, ‘Oi! I said two pounds not two pence, and, sure enough, that was the exact amount I had placed in her hand.
    â€˜Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I said and pulled out all my change with the express and honourable intention of paying her correctly. Yet, to my great bemusement, I found myself with another problemo; I couldn’t, for the life of me, distinguish one coin from the other. Everything in my hand was just a blur. As I stared down at the coinage, furiously debating what to do next, a hand appeared, picked out two, one pound coins and handed them over to the bar woman.
    I turned to face a gal, young looking, short, curly blond hair, wearing dungarees and a smiley t shirt.
    â€˜They get kind of mixed up, don’t they?’
    â€˜Tell me about it,’ I said. And then, ‘Who may I ask are you?’ She smiled ever so sweetly and it lit up her face. ‘I’m Aretha.’
    â€˜Franklin!’
    We both shouted it at the same time but she did so with a predictable, haven’t heard that one before tone.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I said, ‘you must get that all the time.’
    â€˜Tell me about it,’ she said trying to mimic my accent.
    â€˜Well, seeing as how you have just rescued me I think it only fair that you join myself and my good companion sitting over there for a drink. I promise that there will be no more obvious jokes.’
    â€˜Promise,’ she said playfully, looking up at me and I couldn’t but help notice her form which, covered up as it was, truly demanded another form of promise.
    I felt the familiar sensation of John Thomas pass through me, heightened like never before, and suddenly all I could concentrate on was this gal. Nothing else seemed to matter. I had to get with her. I took her gently by the arm and led her over to Dillon who sat vacantly staring at the table, as if he had made a trip to Mars and was still not earthbound.
    â€˜Dillon,’ I announced, the words of which shook him back to life, ‘this lovely young lady who stands before us is named Aretha. No,’ I quickly put in before he could say anything, ‘not Miss Aretha Franklin for unfortunately the Queen Of Soul has, unwisely I would say, decided not to join us tonight, but, in her place, we are very fortunate to be graced by her namesake. So, as my good friend Papa Supino always says, salute!’
    â€˜Hi,’ Aretha