Then she snubbed me and talked to a vamp that looked exactly like James Dean to her left. For a split second, I wondered if it was really them, Marilyn Monroe and James Dean. If it was them, they could have staged their deaths before anyone noticed they weren't aging. Well, stranger things have happened. Behind the bar was a female bartender with short black hair, cropped into a bob curling just below her ears, reminiscent of the silent movie era. She had a painted on black mole on her left cheek and heavy black, Cleopatra eyeliner to match.
"What can I get for you, Bill?" Cleo asked in a squeaky voice reminding me of Betty Boop, frantically chewing gum, as she placed an empty glass onto the bar in front of me. "The usual?"
"No, I'm working," I replied, pushing the glass aside.
Cleo
