It was a slow Tuesday night, and Carl had taken the night off to celebrate something with his family, so I was the bartender this evening. It was oppressively hot in the bar, so I had been wiping my forehead over and over. The bar patrons had been rowdy tonight despite the heat and how few there were. A few recognized me despite being without my blonde wig and Marilyn Monroe dresses, begging me to sing "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" just for them. I had to say numerous times that I'd smack the shit out of them if I had my trademark black fan and to "get outta here" if they couldn't control their dumb mouths.

I'd seen Frankie popping in and out from time to time. He had sat at a table for a while, staring at my friend Paulie who was performing as Precious Paula up on stage. Paulie was dancing around like a high Judy Garland singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" complete with pigtails and a Toto basket.

Something in me was uncomfortable with the way Frankie laughing with Paulie and I couldn't put my finger on it. So I decided to ignore it and just do my job. But, after a while it really irked me. I began staring at him, ignoring patrons at the bar, staring at the back of his perfectly gelled dark blonde hair. From time to time he'd laugh at one of Paulie's jokes and I found my hand squeezing whatever glass I was holding too hard.

"This gentleman prefers blondes," I heard distantly as I was staring at Frankie once again as he walked across the room, trying to look smooth and like he was in charge. He looked so awkward and like he was just some kid. Strangely, I felt bad for him, and I didn't know why.

"Hey, did you hear what I said, blondie? I prefer blondes."

"Hm?" I snorted, rolling my eyes, having heard that line four billion times.

"Hey you!" the voice ordered, and suddenly I was yanked forward by my wrist, an uncontrollable gasp escaping my throat in an accidental surge of fear. Instinctively I pulled away, but his grip was unyielding and getting tighter.

I found his face, and he was looking at me with a deeply sloshed look, and I recognized him as a patron from the far corner of the bar, but evidently he had moved to the middle as he steadily got more drunk. Apparently now I was looking pretty damn good to him.

Fuck.

"Let go of me, goddammit," I barked, pulling my wrist with force in his grasp, but he wouldn't let up. "Let go of me!" I yelled.

"How much for the night, huh, blondie? How much?" He asked louder. "I know you wanna do it. You fucking queer."

My eyes widened and my heart started to race as my mouth dropped open in shock. I began to use my whole body to try to get away from him, throwing myself at the wall but his grip was iron cold. I had begun shrieking for Security before I realized what was coming from my mouth. "Security!" I cried, "security!"

My eyes darted around the room. My stomach fell to my toes. Oh great. Deserted. Stupidly I had been staring at Frankie for so long that I hadn't noticed how empty the club had gotten. No wonder the guy had the courage to do this now with no one around.

I changed my tactic since no one was around. It was the only shot I had, answering his earlier question. "Please let go of me, Mister," I whimpered in my fake Marilyn Monroe voice, "please, Mister, why would a girl like me do a thing like that? You know me. A girl like me. Please let go of me, Mister. Let go."

"Hahaha, that's more like it!" The man laughed deeply, but instead of letting up he did the opposite, incredibly increasing his strength and pulling me over the bar.

"No!" I yelled now, letting any illusions fall, any inhibitions fall away. "No! Help! Help me, someone! Help!"

"There a problem here?" a familiar heavily Italian-American accent asked calmly.

"What the fuck?" the man asked.

My breathing came in quick breaths as I scanned for the voice. It couldn't be. But it was. From behind the large man stepped that skinny string bean, Frankie. My body erupted in a feeling of warm honey being poured all over it, becoming numb, but warm at the same time. I didn't know how to control myself or what to make of it at the same time.

"Aye, let go a' the guy. What'sa matter with you?" Frankie asked. "Oh, don't I know you? Dr. Luciano, right? My niece sees you, my goddaughter. You her pediatrician, ain't ya?"

The man stared at him silently with glazed over eyes from his drinking. He looked like he was slowly comprehending where he had seen Frankie before. Frankie just waited patiently, staring at him back.

It took a moment, but the man's grip on my wrist loosened slowly as he finally recognized Frankie. His eyes flashed in sudden sobriety. "Oh, oh, Mr. Caselotti. Of course I know your niece. Yeah, lovely little girl."

"You have a problem with my bartender?" Frankie asked, his tone changing to one of a threatening manner.

I focused on the man as his eyes turned to an expression of fear. "Oh no, Mr. Caselotti. We were just talking. Right? Right, we were just talking? Haha, yeah."

"The bar is closed now, you best be gettin' home to yer wife. What was her name... Maria?" Frankie asked, taking a step towards him.

The man backed into the bar as Frankie stepped forward, his fear palpable. "Yeah. Um, yeah. I'll be going now. Nice night, uh, have a good night to you both. Uh, good night." He jumped up and walked away as quickly as he could, looking over his shoulder and nearly crashing into the closed door to outside.

As the door slammed, I jumped at the sound. My breathing was still coming quick and I couldn't control it.

"You alright, George?" Frankie asked, his usual friendly manner returning. "Aw no, look at that. Let me get some ice for your wrist. What a shame."

What? I looked down at my wrist and was startled. Angry bruises in the shapes of the man's fingers were darkening on it. It would hurt like hell in the morning. Damn, damn.

"How you gonna play the piano like that? You need tomorrow off?" Frankie asked, entering the bar and looking around for ice.

"The ice is in here," I said, opening up a metal plate to an icebox under the bar, but winced as a string of pain buzzed from my wrist as I squeezed the handle. Goddammit. This was bad.

"You okay? Lord," Frankie said behind me. Suddenly his hand was on top of mine and my heart about jumped into my throat. He took the handle of the icebox and lifted it while my hand was still on it. He found the scoop inside and began scooping it into a metal cup that was used for mixing drinks.

I watched him without a word as he did this, quietly humbled. My thoughts began to drift back to last week, when I had first met him at this bar. How I had acted when I was drunk. I thought of that man tonight, acting like that. How rude that man had been to me. How rude I had been to Frankie when I had first met him because I had been drinking. What a jerk I had been to this nice guy here wrapping ice in a towel for me. Then a blush began to rise in my cheeks as I remembered what he had said to me later on when we had met. Aren't you a woman? Why would a woman be named George?

My breath started to come quickly again and I couldn't control it.

I turned around to him. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him staring at me in the mirror behind the bar and his eyes flicked down to his work with the ice and towel. He was blushing like a tomato.

"Say, um," I began, "about the other night, when we met? I'm sorry I called you a kid. I didn't mean it, I was..."

He smiled in the mirror, then looked down at the towel he was tying in a bow. "You was drunk," he smiled. "Yeah, I get it. Its okay. I'm used to it."

"Yeah?" I said, blushing redder and turning around for fear he could see it in the mirror. "Well I'm sorry anyway. It was wrong of me, I-"

He took my hand from behind and I jumped. The towel with ice was draped against the inside of my wrist and the deliciously cool feeling filled the hurt and relief flooded my body. His other hand appeared and took my other hand. It just laid there on top of it, lingering for no reason.

I felt so confused. My body was becoming hot. I wanted to fan myself, but both of my hands were occupied by him. His lean body pressed against my back and my heart melted into sweet chocolate ganache.

"Fr- Frankie...?" I whispered.

"It's okay," he whispered back in my ear. "We're alone. I know the way you look at me. You were staring at me all night. I was looking at you, too, when you was helpin' people. It's okay, Georgina."

"Geo...Georgina..." I weighed in my mouth, my brain stopping in the moment and no longer caring about anything.

"Yeah, Georgina. It's okay," he breathed.

Then he was nibbling my ear, and I forgot to breathe. My heart tied into a bow of gentle, warm feelings which I had never felt before in my whole life.