The Dame Did It by Joel Jenkins

looked out among the audience, made up
entirely of men, who did appear to respond to her performance.
Perhaps, however, they cared less for her singing and more for her
young, shapely looks, but she tried not to focus on that.
    Time has passed and still I know
My heart it cannot let you go
You still live on inside
And I have nowhere to hide
It’s all tragic like a torch song
    Hazel noted someone at the front of the club
watching her every move, an older man she’d never seen before. On
the surface, he appeared to have only a friendly passing interest.
She couldn’t help to keep paying attention to him , though. He seemed to be the only one solely
interested in her, as unlike the others his drink stayed ignored on
the table as the others drank throughout the set.
    At the end of the set, Hazel thanked
everyone as she always did. As she began to walk off, she heard a
sound to which she wasn’t accustomed.
    “Encore! Encore!” a male voice called out.
From the sound, Hazel suspected it to be the man who watched her
intently the whole night. Hazel started to head back out to oblige,
but her manager Franklin Gorton grabbed her arm.
    “You know we don’t do additional songs,” he
reminded her. “We don’t get paid extra for doing anything like
that, so why do more for the same amount of dough? Besides, I got
to get my percent.”
    “You always got to get your piece,
Franklin,” she huffed at him.
    The proprietor came by and gave them their
night’s earnings in cash.
    “You taking your part out of more than the
dough?” joked the proprietor who handed the night’s cash take to
the manager. The manager counted it out and then gave Hazel her
part and pocketed his.
    “Oh I wish,” said Franklin. “The wife would
have a fit if I got a little extra on the side. Not to mention the
little broad’s Aunt would have my hide for it. Using that voice of
hers to make a little extra now that her dear old Dad’s kicked the
bucket and Mama died in childbirth. And the last thing I would need
is to risk getting a little bastard of my own.”
    “Well the two of you sure bicker like lovers
sometimes. You got your money, now hit the road and I’ll see you
tomorrow.”
    Hazel and Franklin shared a cab to get back
home, as Martin lived within walking distance of the club and the
piano belonged to the Swan Song.
    “Lovers, hah! The way he treated us sounded
more like a love and hate relationship with us performing there,”
noted Hazel.
    “Maybe he was on to something though,”
Franklin told her. “Cora and I, we’re not getting along as well
these days. I know she’s seeing someone, and frankly I’ve wondered
if maybe I should try and do the same thing too.”
    “I am most definitely not interested,” Hazel
said, crossing her arms.
    “I didn’t mean you, kid. But I sure would
like to know more about this person she’s seeing.”
    “Maybe I could help. I mean, my Dad used to
be a private investigator and all.”
    Hazel could see that Franklin tried not to
laugh.
    “Come on, kid. What can you do?”
    “Well, Cora knows me. And she wouldn’t
expect me spying since you work with me all the time anyway. I
could try getting closer to hear and see what I could learn.”
    Hazel noted Franklin’s amused look. “And
what would be in it for you?”
    “While I’m on this gig, you let me keep the
percent you normally pocket for me at the club.”
    Franklin hesitated and thought it over.
    “You don’t trust me?” Hazel asked.
    “No,” he told her. “It’s just so crazy it
might work.”
    He dug into his pocket and pulled out that
night’s bit of cash, which he handed to Hazel, as the cab pulled up
to his brownstone home.
    “Have to get creative telling the wife what
happened to the dollars, but hopefully this won’t last long. I
can’t give you more than two weeks.”
    Hazel took the money from Franklin. “I’ll do
my best,” she told him. “Good night.”
    Franklin got out and the driver took her
home.
    At home,