A Song for Julia

quickly, that the booking agent at Lansdowne had picked the wrong band. The singer was off-key, the guitarist kept fumbling his chords, and the drummer was out of sync. I tolerated it through my first drink and three songs, when even Barrett was wincing.
    “Let’s go next door!” I said over the cacophony.
    He nodded, and I led him to the opening that led into Bill’s Bar & Lounge, which joined The Lansdowne on the inside. Bill’s was a tighter space, with a younger, more alternative crowd, and friendly to punk bands, among others. We slowly made our way through the crowd, scanning for a table, when I saw a familiar face over someone’s shoulder.
    I should have thought first, but I didn’t. I called out his name, because I was happy to see him. “Crank!”
    The guy in front of Crank shifted a little, and Barrett squeezed in next to me.
    Crank was standing there, a stupid smile on his face. A girl, who looked about four feet tall if it wasn’t for her slutty heels, was wrapped around him, a hand jammed into his pocket. She was showing more skin than clothes. Oh, dear God, why did I say anything?
    “Julia,” he said, his eyes widening. Both of the guys standing with them turned their heads so suddenly I’m surprised they didn’t hurt themselves. The darker skinned one, who I recognized immediately as Morbid Obesity’s drummer, said, “Julia?” loud enough that I could just barely hear it.
    Barrett wrapped his arm around my waist in a way that was way too possessive for a first date.
    I stood there awkwardly for a second and then the short redheaded whore said, “Who’s your friend, Crank?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, rushing words into the awkward space. “Barrett, this is Crank Wilson. Crank, this is Barrett … um … Barrett …”
    Oh, God. I’d forgotten his last name? I squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment.
    “Barrett Randall,” he said, and I could hear his teeth were clenched as he spoke.
    “This is Mark and Pathin,” Crank said. “Mark, Pathin, meet Julia.”
    Mark I’d met in Washington, very briefly.
    Pathin held his hand out. “You must be the infamous Julia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Anyone who can get Crank writing songs like that, I like.”
    I took his hand, stunned by his words. What had Crank told them? “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
    The girl said, “Crank, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
    Crank looked mystified. “I hadn’t planned to,” he said.
    Her mouth opened wide. She yanked her hand out of his pocket and shouted, “I was right. You are such a prick!”
    She turned and tottered off. That was a dick move. But at the same time? I was thrilled he’d blown the girl off. Something was seriously wrong with me. Just a moment ago, I’d thought of her with the term whore. What the hell? I never, ever used that word. I’d had it thrown at me too often, too casually, to ever say it or even think it of another woman. But something in me snatched that word right out of the recesses of my mind. I felt ashamed of myself. Where did that come from? It was only a week ago I’d invited him to come back to my parents’ condo in Bethesda. Who was I to judge that girl?
    A nagging voice in the back of my head told me I was already getting too wrapped up in this guy. I needed some breathing room, right now. Starting with the arm Barrett had clamped around my waist. I reached down with my right hand and peeled him off of me.
    “Having a good date?” Crank asked. His jaw worked when he asked the question, and his eyes were intense. Angry. I don’t know what right he thought he had to be angry with me. It’s not like he hadn’t been standing with that girl, who was about to give him a blow job right here in the bar.
    “Yes, and you? I didn’t realize you had a date tonight,” I replied, with more than an edge in my tone. He’d asked me out tonight. To play piano. But he hadn’t wasted any time finding some girl to hang out with instead. I had absolutely no reason to feel this way. He wasn’t mine. We weren’t together. We weren’t anything. I didn’t want to be anything. But I was pissed, anyway.
    Mark helpfully said, “That’s no date. That’s Alicia, the walking disaster. You just saved us from another horrible scene in the morning.”
    Another horrible scene in the morning? I looked at Crank, a little incredulous. Jesus, he was such an ass. I don’t know what I was thinking or feeling, but I knew I was being inexcusably rude to