"...Yeah, Mama, it was Riley again... just the usual, making trouble for Mike... no, I haven't told him yet," Morgan sighed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "He's been really busy with all of the special orders, and I dunno if he'd be interested... well, yeah, but- what I mean is..." She sighed, listening to the advice given from the benefactor of the bakery.<br/><br/>The delivery 'boy' was actually nodding to the words, finally looking toward the ceiling as if imploring God to stop the tirade. "Yes, Mama... I understand. I'll tell Mike. Okay. Okay, tell Harry I said hello... yes, ma'am. Love you, Mama... bye." The phone was placed back onto the cradle, as Morgan sighed.<em>'Mama's always a long talker, but at least she and Harry are alright...'</em><br/><br/>With a careful look around, Morgan slipped through the passageway in the storage room, heading down the stairs to the bar. Already there were plenty of gents and ladies, each with their own potion of preference. Hopping onto a bar-stool, Morgan waved down the bartender. "Barkeep, give me a scotch on the rocks, and I mean ice!" The delivery 'boy' grinned.<br/><br/><em>"Yeah, yeah,"</em>the bartender groused, giving a wink and a nod out toward the waiting audience.<em>"Wait'll you get a load of the new song-bird, kid. She's a heck of a looker!"</em><br/><br/>"That's what I heard," Morgan quipped, turning toward the stage. She noticed all the guys in the audiences were crowded around, waiting expectantly, a few wolf-whistles breaking out. "She must be, to have all of those starched collars upright!"