When Jim and Paul arrived at the bar Karen was already there and was several drinks ahead. Jim was honestly surprised. He expected Karen to be at work, not pulling his own routine. He took it all in stride as he came up to the bar.

“Hello Karen,” he said. “Early day?”

“Basically,” she responded.

The bartender came up. “Bushmill’s Jim?” he asked. Jim nodded. The bartender turned to Paul. “What’s your poison?”

“Diet soda,” Paul replied. Jim shuddered.

The bartender brought back the drinks, including another Bushmill’s for Karen. “Thanks, Mike,” she said.

Karen turned to Jim and kissed him. “I feel pretty shitty, lover,” she said. “How are you, and who’s your friend?”

“I’m fine,” Jim responded, “and my friend is my manager. Karen Price, meet Paul Cynic.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Paul said.

“You certainly are,” Karen replied.

Paul raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Karen turned to Jim and asked, “Can we talk?”

Paul coughed and said, “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to go embarrass myself at the dart board. Come see me when you want to play.” With that he walked away.

Karen drank down half her drink and Jim, taking his cue, did the same. “What’s the matter?” he asked, pulling up a barstool.

Karen glanced up at Jim and finished her drink. Jim got the bartender’s attention and ordered more. “I saw my ex-husband last night,” she finally said after the next round arrived.

“I take it the experience wasn’t pleasant?” Jim stated more than asked.

“It shows, huh?”

“A little. Besides, he confronted me a couple of hours ago.”

“He’s resourceful. That’s why I’m not at work. I thought he’d look for me and my kids don’t need to see this kind of thing. Some of their lives are painful enough. The therapist can’t show pain.”

“Is not being there any better?”

“Shut up!” Karen shouted. “Do you think is fucking easy?”

Jim backed away, startled by the anger he was hit with. He waited for Karen to control of her emotive output and let his sympathy for her return before speaking again.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

Karen sipped at her re-filled drink. “After work,” she began, “I decided to head home to Redondo Beach.”

“You live in Redondo?”

“Yeah,” Karen laughed. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

“No. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask.”

“A lot of things don’t occur to you lover.” Karen glanced up and saw Jim’s hurt look. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Our relationship started too intense for details to be realized. We’ll both recover over time.

“Anyway, I got home and found Jeff sitting in the living room as if nothing’s wrong.” She stared at her Bushmill’s in amusement. “He was watching television for Christ’s sake.”

Jim suppressed a chuckle, and motioned for another round. The bartender nodded and brought it, leaving the bottle with Jim when he was done.

“He asks me how my day was,” she went on, “and goes on about what’s for dinner and the like. Makes me so mad I started radiating anger. Of course, he gets angry too.

“He starts to ask me about you, and asks me to abandon my fantasy lover and come back.”

“I’d figure,” Jim said, “that he’s got delusions of some kind. He tried the same approach on me, barely acknowledging your divorce.”

“Not bad for instant pop psychology.” Karen replied. “Killed his ego, I’d say. I finally got fed up and came here.”

“You’ve been here since last night?” Jim asked, surprised.

“Did you know this place is open 24 hours? Booze stops at two a.m. of course but socializing goes on. Only Mike and the day bartender run the show. Funny, I didn’t meet the day bartender.”

Jim looked at his watch, which read 4:30 p.m. “Have you had any sleep?” he asked.

“A few hours. That’s how I missed the day bartender. I was zonked out right on this very stool.”

“You’re holding up?”

“On second wind.” Karen looked at Jim. “I’ll be fine.”

Jim drank down his drink and poured another, and then offered more to Karen, who declined. “I want to be drunk, not sick,” she said.

Jim gulped his drink and poured one more. “I never get sick,” he said. “Trick metabolism. I don’t even get hung over.”

“Piss off.”

“Sorry dear, I refuse,” Jim said, smiling. “But you’ve got a problem here. Want to stay with me for a while?”

Karen looked grave. “No, I’d prefer to be on my own for now. I will, however, be changing my locks.”

“Good idea.”

Karen looked at her glass and noticed it was empty. She took the bottle of Bushmill’s from Jim and poured herself another drink. “Changed my mind,” she said. She took another sip. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” Jim said.

“Don’t be in love with me.”

“Is lust all right?”

“Perfectly. So is heavy petting and public attachment. Just no love.”

“Not easy.”

“Just promise me.”

Jim finished his drink. “As long as petting is allowed, I promise.”

“Good.” Karen raised her glass in a salute, and then drained her glass. As she was putting it on the bar, the bartender reached over and took the glass. He looked at Jim.

“You’re a bad influence Jim,” he said. “She broke four glasses last night, including a plastic cup.”

“Hint taken, Mike,” Jim replied.

The bartender smiled, and headed to another customer with a wink.

“Shit!”

Both Karen and Jim turned towards the direction of the shout. It was Paul, and he had just missed the point area with his throw. Jim chuckled.

“Work on your release,” he said.

“Shut up will you?” Paul shouted back. “I’m trying to concentrate.” He threw another dart and hit at triple eighteen. “That’s better,” he announced.

Karen looked at Jim. “He knows about you, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jim replied. “He’s one of the few. We go back a long way, Paul and I. A good ten years at least.”

“You sound close.”

“Sometimes. Business makes it hard.”

“Does he know about me?” Karen looked apprehensive.

“No. The only two people I have no secrets from are A.J. and my other brother Larry. Paul doesn’t even know about A.J.”

Karen’s look changed to one of puzzlement. “You have another brother?”

“Yeah. He’s not like us though. No talents to speak of. He runs a bookstore in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. And no, Larry doesn’t know about you either, although I expect him to at some point. I don’t speak to him much.”

Karen looked at Jim with an analytical look on her face. “Normally with a statement like that I’d say there’s some anger involved. I’m not getting that from you.”

“Long fucking story,” Jim said. “I love Larry just fine. We just don’t talk much is all.”

“You don’t believe in the telephone?”

“I believe, but don’t use. Not for over a few minutes at a time anyway. Society seems too connected sometimes. Besides, every time the band hits the bay, I go see him.”

“What about A.J.?”

“I don’t know. I’m not one to keep tabs on my brothers. They are both old enough to fuck up their lives completely on their own, thank you.”

“Do I sense some hostility?” Karen asked, knowing full well that she did not.

“No, but I’m not my brother’s keeper.”

Karen smiled a bit. “Oh no? I’ll bet you were with A.J. last night, working on your album.”

“Close. The album’s almost done. We were doing experiments instead.”

“Brother’s keeper my ass.”

“I’m not A.J.’s keeper.” Jim smiled, attempting to further lighten Karen’s mood. “He’s mine.”

Karen finally laughed.

“That’s better,” Jim said. “Smiling doesn’t hurt so much, does it?”

“No,” Karen replied. “Thank you. You know, I’d love to see you and A.J. experiment.”

“Next time we do I’ll arrange it.”

“Hey!” Karen said with a start. “I wasn’t serious.”

“I am. Why not be? Let me just talk to A.J. about it. It’ll take your mind off of that asshole of an ex you’ve got.”

“You’re on.”

Jim poured himself another drink and gestured over to Paul. “Shall we check on him?” he asked.

“Let’s shall,” Karen replied.

“Tell you what,” Jim said. “You go play Paul a game, and I’ll call A.J. and see what I can arrange.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Karen walked over to Paul, carrying the bottle of Bushmill’s. Jim, after watching Karen walk (it was a pleasurable experience even when she didn’t intentionally wiggle), went to the pay phone and dialed A.J.’s place.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri-Click. “You have reached the answering machine of Helmut Kohl, Hirohito Takeshita, François Mitterand, A.J. Christopher, and a cat named Corwin. Leave your message in the appropriate language, and one of us will return you call. Auf Wiedersein, Sayanora, Au Revoir, So Long, and Meow.” Beep.

“Hey A.J., it’s Jim. Want to do some non-music work tonight? If so I’d like to bring Karen along. Trust my reasons, okay? Give me a call at the bar. You know the number.” Jim hung up the phone.

Jim turned to the dartboard, and saw Paul throwing his third dart. Triple fifteen. Total score 84. Respectable for a novice like Paul.

“Not too shabby,” Paul said. “Not as good as Jim, but then few people are.”

“True,” Karen replied. “I tried playing him when we met.”

“Mistake.”

“That’s true.” Karen threw her first dart. Double twenty. “Although,” triple twenty, “I’m not too shabby myself.” Twenty. 120 points.

Paul turned to Karen, with his angry-yet-smiling look on his face. “Oh, come on! Not you too!”

Karen simply laughed. Jim, after watching this exchange, thought it best to intervene.

“Look you two,” Jim said, walking to the dartboard, “there are two tricks to throwing darts.”

“Uh oh,” Paul responded. He looked to Karen. “We’re going to get a lesson.”

Jim pulled the darts from the board, then walked to the throwing line. “The first thing to do is adopt a style and mind-set of throwing you can live with, and practice a lot.”

“What’s your style?”

“I’m so glad you asked that.” Jim stood up straight, looking his full six-foot two. “Because, for only $19.95 I can show you how to reap the benefits of The Drunken Style.”

“Oh,” Paul said, “Like in those old Kung-Fu flicks?”

“Exactly, my friend. Exactly.”

“I don’t get it,” Karen put in.

“There were a series of Japanese - or was it Chinese? - films made at about the time that Bruce Lee died,” Paul began. “A select few of these films showed disciples of The Drunken Style. It was a fully radical style that included doing such things as throwing a jug of wine at your opponent. And of course, the more you drank, the better your skill in a fight.”

“Now take me on darts,” Jim said. “The more I drink, the better I throw. It’s what I’ve acclimated myself to. Karen, hand me that bottle of Bushmill’s, would you?”

She did, and Jim took a sip. “Now then, when you first start, you can be good,” bullseye, “or you can be just a little bit off.” Eighteen.

Jim drank the remainder of the bottle, about 20% of a full one. He let the drink settle and then pulled out four darts, which the bartender had slipped to him while he was on the phone. He held up his hand as Karen wondered what was going to happen next.

Jim threw all four darts. All four missed. Karen’s jaw dropped, and Paul simply smiled. “Does it work with diet soda as well?” he asked.

Jim couldn’t contain his laughter any further. Neither could Paul. After a moment, neither could Karen. “You set me up for that, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Jim responded between gulps of air.

“Oh, the look on your face when he missed,” Paul put in.

“Great, just fucking great,” Karen said. Her smile was staying on. “What’s the other part?”

“What?” Jim asked.

“You said there are two tricks to throwing darts. What’s the other?”

“The other trick is to never allow...”

“Hey Jim!”

All three turned to see the bartender holding out a telephone.

“Allow yourself to be distracted?” Paul ventured.

“Exactly!” Jim turned and walked to the phone, leaving his laughing companions behind. He took the phone and said, “Jim here.”

“Hey big bro’!”

“Hey day A.J. You get my call?”

“Why do you think I’m calling, dummy? I can be ready any time you are. You want to show off to your flame?”

“Sort of. Don’t bring it up with her.”

There was a pause. “Damn,” A.J. said. “There are times I wish I could see equations over the phone.”

“This is not one of them,” Jim responded.

“Understood. When can I expect you?”

“About half an hour, give or take.”

“Roger dodger. See ya.” A.J. hung up the phone.

Jim returned the receiver to the bartender, and turned to Karen.

“Hey lovergirl,” he said, “want to go to A.J.’s?”

“Love to,” she responded.

“You’re going to leave me here?” Paul asked.

“That’s right,” Jim returned. “Besides, you need the practice.”

Paul resigned himself, being used to this. “Very well. Your album needs to be finished. Go.”

“Later.”

“Nice to meet you Paul,” Karen said.

As they left the bar, Jim asked, “Was Paul really glad to meet you?”

Karen laughed. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I told you I don’t share, and I don’t expect you too either. Until one of us says otherwise, we’re both stuck.”

“Fair enough. Am I safe to drive?”

“I’m not, so you’d better be.”

“Okay. Off to A.J.’s then.”