Abby's Song: Riffing It for Our Girl

I took Abby to dinner at Mama Nasty’s on Highway 99, well into King County. It was a kick. I had warned Abby to be ready for anything, because Mama didn’t get her name by accident; but I didn’t tell her Mama and I had worked duel pianos together before she got her own place. Mama was sitting there at her signature white Baldwin, all three hundred pounds of her. We had no more than bopped through the door, “Say, Boy,” she called out to me, “what you doin’ with that little slip of a thing, when you knows,” she hit some keys, “when you knows your mama waits for you. Whoa, Dear Nathaniel; don’t you try to skip on by; you get your little white cheeks up here and give me one of those long and liquidy kisses like you used to.” More silly keys, and then a bit of Beethoven’s Fifth--ah, shit I had to go.

I turned pulling Abby with me and approached the stage, but Mama was off that stool, and before I could step on stage she had my head pressed between the two of the world’s biggest tits. The audience was cheering wildly. I couldn’t see what Abby was doing, but I felt her drop my hand. I had a vision of her running out the door. But, Mama took things in hand and grabbed Abby’s arm pulling her to the stage. “And now my cats and kittens, I want you to meet the greatest piano player I ever laid down with, no, not laid down with, sat down with, that’s wha’ I’m saying, sat down with that’s all I’m saying--he beats Powell, beats Petersen, beats Monk--hey, wait, nobody beats Monk. Well, anyway this hip hunk of a love-monkey is the greatest. And just look what he’s with, isn’t she delicious. Hell, yes, I could take her home for an hors d’oeuvre.” The audience went crazy.

And so begins.... Abby's Song