Vexation Lullaby by Justin Tussing Page A

been branded a fool.
    â€œCross has a big following in the Philippines. A couple years ago he filled the national soccer stadium—fifty thousand seats and twice as many people hanging around outside.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have guessed.”
    â€œEvery Filipino man believes he has four talents: a great lover, a great boxer, an outlaw, and a singer.”
    â€œAnd that’s Jimmy Cross.”
    â€œExactly.”
    The bartender delivered the next round.
    â€œWere you at the concert last night?”
    â€œSheila and I had tickets, but we got stuck at home. I heard he seemed spacey.”
    Two women who seemed to have taken great pains to appear to be in their thirties, tanned, their hair blown out, their assets stuffed into strapless dresses, wedged between the men.
    â€œAre you doctors?” asked the one closer to Peter.
    Martin said he was a mechanic.
    â€œI’ve never met an honest mechanic,” said the second woman.
    â€œHe’s kidding,” Peter said.
    The women fixed their eyes on Martin.
    â€œAt the moment I’m trying to repair this young man’s heart, but I don’t have the right tools.”
    When the women stared at his chest, Peter pulled his shoulders back.
    The woman nearer Peter leaned toward him and asked, “What happened to your heart? Someone break it?”
    â€œCrushed it,” said Martin.
    â€œPoor baby.” Specks of mascara had settled on her cheeks, like cinders.
    He pushed his lip down, pouting. When she turned to repeat herself to her friend, he noticed a pink weal half an inch above the upper edge of her dress.
    Martin ordered a round for the women. The whisperer was a Katie; her friend was Jillian with a J.
    The bartender delivered drinks to the women.
    â€œWhat are these?” asked Jillian.
    â€œIt’s what the doctor ordered,” Peter said. His little joke seemed to sail over the women’s heads. Martin gave him a look that Peter translated as Cut the shit .
    â€œIs it a White Russian?” Katie asked.
    Martin curled a finger to draw them close. “It’s an Anchors Aweigh: bourbon, peach and cherry brandy, triple sec, and cream.”
    The women frowned, but sipped their drinks.
    â€œIt tastes like poisoned candy,” Jillian said.
    Martin reached over and took the woman’s drink away.
    Laughing, Katie added, “Or like something my grandfather drinks in his basement.”
    Martin said, “I doubt either of you has a living grandparent.”
    Peter had warmed to Katie. She had a flirty habit of bumping her bare shoulder against him, and it had gotten so he’d started to anticipate the next collision.
    But Martin’s comment hit its mark.
    â€œWhat!” squawked Katie.
    â€œNasty,” Jillian said.
    The women stood there sizzling like fuses, before storming off.
    Peter said, “We should probably relocate before they enlist someone to teach us a lesson.”
    Martin looked toward the door. “I won’t let anyone mess up your face before you’ve had a chance to take advantage of your station.”
    â€œWhat station is that?”
    â€œYou’re going on tour.” Martin took a long sip of his drink. “Peg will tell you in the morning. Act surprised.”
    Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket. No voice mails. No texts.
    â€œYou guys didn’t even call me.”
    â€œI called as soon as we’d sorted out the details.”
    That’s not what he’d meant. Why hadn’t anyone called him while his future was still being decided? “Thanks.”
    â€œIf someone gave me the choice between watching my kids graduate college or hearing Cross play ‘Sin Perdido’ live, I’m not sure which I’d pick.”
    â€œYou’d pick your kids.”
    Martin tapped his glass against Peter’s. “I’ve never dreamed of watching my kids graduate.”
    Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” played on the TV