Trouble in Paradise

Lodi wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up working in this border moon dive. One minute, she’d been headed for the big time, the man said, Core-bound with her name in big shiny lights. The next, she was broke and alone with no way out. But she supposed it could be worse.

The Flying Dutchman was named after a mythical ship said to have sailed the seas of Earth-that-was. It was appropriately named since it mostly catered to spacer crews on leave after months in the black. They were grubby and half space crazy and stank of recycled air. Lodi was glad she didn’t have to actually talk to any of them like the rest of the girls. She was paid to look pretty while she sang and played her beat up old guitar Friday through Sunday nights. It wasn’t really her type of place, dirty with who knew what staining the floor, just a way to make cash until she had enough money saved up to buy passage on a boat. Didn’t matter if it wasn’t a fancy Greyhound like she’d come in on. All she wanted was to get home.

One night, she took her break and walked over to the bar for something to wet her throat. A glass filled with some fruity green thing that was her drink of the night slid down the counter towards her. Lodi caught it with an expectant hand and took a cautious sip.

“Trouble in Paradise, huh?” asked a gruff voice. She looked up and saw the somewhat scruffy man that came in every few weeks on the stool next to her. She only remembered him because he was always polite, didn’t smell and the other girls said he tipped well. He pointed at her glass.

“Drink’s called Trouble in Paradise.”

“Is it? Jessie’s always giving me new drinks to try but doesn’t always tell me what it is first.” She took another sip, rolling it across her tongue like it was fine wine. It was sweet at first and then the alcohol burned its way down her throat leaving a sour aftertaste to pucker her mouth. “This one’s not so bad.”

“My girl liked ‘em.” he said, sadly. “Cute little thing, long brown hair, big brown eyes,