June 1975 and the late-afternoon sun poured into the room. The record player was up at full volume. Extended play of Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony doing ‘The Hustle’ whilst Ulysses and Peg fucked – for old times’ sake – against the wall in her room. The slap slap of sweaty flesh complemented the disco beats whilst the soaring trumpet lifted the melody to epic and euphoric proportions. Peg came loudly, Ulysses close on her tail. He carried her over to the bed and they fell down onto the mattress.
Christ you’re good, Temps, said Peg, breathing hard.
The alarm clock went off. And on time, too, she said. Thanks for that. （Still as romantic as she ever got.） A cab took her and Pete over to the Hotel Excelsior bar. Always a decent crowd, they enjoyed their evenings there. Gucci kaftans and orange lipstick and sports jackets and men’s sandals and the money chink chinked into the till. The staples for the night would be: ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ ‘But Not For Me’ ‘Stormy Weather’/ ‘I’ve Never Been in Love Before’ ‘You Don’t Know What Love Is’ ‘Time After Time’ ‘That’s All’ ‘Everything Must Change’ ‘Always on My Mind’ ‘Being Alive’。
The musical bread and butter, as Pete called it. They could perform it with their eyes closed and he often did. Peg set a rule that any drinks sent their way would only appear during the second half. The second half was often show tunes; that’s when Pete went up a notch and his theatrical history shone through and song after song brought a standing ovation.
So, that night they were halfway in and Peg had never been better. One of those evenings people remember. She’d noticed a fella at the bar watching her, but that wasn’t unusual in itself. And yet this one wasn’t doe-eyed or hiding his wedding band, and he wasn’t hanging the fantasy of his youth on her as they so often did. He looked interested in her talent, genuinely so, and there was an intensity to the man that could have been unnerving.
He didn’t send over a drink and Peg was surprised by that. In between numbers Peg said, See that bloke at the bar, Pete? Melancholic aura? said Pete. Yeah, that’s him, said Peg. You know him? said Pete. Never seen him before, said Peg. Well, he seems to know you.
（Last song.）
Thank you so much everybody, and goodnight.
Peg and Pete took a bow together and the man only got up and went out. Strange, thought Peg.
After they’d packed away, her and Pete were having a quiet drink together with the city illuminated behind them. Sometimes they commented on the set and what they could’ve done better, and sometimes they looked out across the river and commented on how far they’d come.
Peg?
Peggy turned. It was the man from the bar.
Pete downed his drink and got up. I’ll go, he said.
No, stay, said Peg.
Pete sat down and wished he hadn’t finished his drink so quickly.
Peggy Temper? The man obviously American. Yeah, that’s me. Peg saw an uncanny resemblance to Eddie in the man. Of course he had grey hair, but Christ so did she under the blonde, but there was something about him …
Have we met before? she said.
Thirty years ago.
（Just like that he said it.）
Peg was a teenager then, said Pete.
Shut up, Pete. Peg laughing.
I’m Glen. Glen Mollan.
Peg stretched out her hand. Nice to meet you, Glen.
And then the man paused as if he didn’t know how to proceed. He said, Eddie was my best friend.
The air was sucked right out of the room as a vortex spun them back to August 1944. The night Peg and Eddie had met in the Soho dance club, Glen Mollan had been there too. He’d had a charm of his own; he certainly didn’t go home alone that night. Him and Eddie were often mistaken for brothers. It was Glen who’d noticed Peg first. Nudged Eddie and said, Look at her, and both men whistled quietly. But Glen had already bought a drink for a young woman at the bar, so what could he do? All yours, Eddie. Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth and smelt his breath.
Eddie and Peg locked eyes. Stars colliding forever and forever and forever.
Peg went to the bathroom. Pete knocking on the cubicle door.
Peggy? You all right in there?
I’m OK, Pete. It’s my stomach, that’s all.
I’ll wait for you. I won’t let you out of my sight.
The shits, Pete. Bit of privacy, love.
Oh yeah. Sorry, Peg.
The sound of a toilet flushing.
Peg opened the door and Pete rushed at her and put his arms around her.
Glen was waiting for them at the table and he stood up as they entered. Pete was relieved to see three drinks on the table. He sat furthest away from Glen.