Ellen Long

This is the second story from Cousin Billy. Hope you like it.
Ellen Long was beautiful. Ellen Long was hip. And Ellen Long could sure get herself into big trouble for such a little girl.
Ellen long was a lover of mine. I took my cues from Ellen Long. I don’t remember how I first met her. It had to be at one of the bars she tended. I know it wasn’t long after our first meeting that we were in bed devouring each other’s bodies. For a few brief wonderful months, we ran together and made love together. I was smitten. Once I got to know her better, it was obvious it wasn’t going to be a long-term relationship. I decided to enjoy her while I could.
Ellen Long was very progressive. After one weekend where we had locked ourselves in my boat and did nothing but drink and make love, she called me. She was sore and had trouble walking from the intensity of the weekend’s sex. She said that she had told her sister everything. Seeing as how she was going to be out of commission for a few days, she wondered if it would it be alright if her sister came over that night. It seemed sis’ wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. That was the first of five women Ellen Long sent my way.
Small wonder the relationship lasted only two months. But we still remained close. I drank at whatever bar she was working. I knew I was at least assured of getting a decent drink.
Every time Ellen Long had a new lover, I heard about it in great detail.  There was the time some guy was flying her to England. My only comment was “Make sure you get a round trip ticket.” Wouldn’t you know it, she calls me a week later and says, “I’m stuck in London. Can you send me an airline ticket?” I made sure there was one at the airline counter within the hour. I didn’t hear from her after that. No phone call to say I’m back. No word of thanks. Nothing.
I finally ran into her at a bar we both frequented. The first thing out of her mouth was that she had a new love. She went on and on, telling of his great beauty, his gorgeous skin, etc. After a few minutes of that, I start calling him “Pretty Boy” to myself. At this point, I’d had enough of her crazy loves. I feigned business elsewhere and excused myself.  I shouldn’t have been so hasty. If I’d waited around and met Pretty Boy, I might have averted the defining moment in Ellen Long’s and my relationship.
Fast-forward two weeks:
The loud, insistent ringing of the telephone brought me out of a sound sleep. I looked at the bedside clock. It was 4:07 am. Putting the receiver to my ear, I heard, “He’s going to kill me! He just tried to throw me off a roof!” The person on the other end of the line was Ellen Long. In a whispered voice, she told me she’d been riding in Pretty Boy’s car after a long night of drinking when she decided she didn’t want to see him any more. So she told him. He became enraged. He drove into the parking area of an apartment complex, pulled her from the car and dragged her to the roof of one the buildings.
Being a bartender, Ellen Long had had plenty of experience dealing with drunks. She thought she could handle this one. It wasn’t until he tried to throw her off the roof that the seriousness of the situation struck her and her survival training kicked in. She somehow convinced him that if he would allow her to first find a bathroom, she would then go with him wherever he wished.
On the way down from the roof together the first door she knocked on was answered by a nice little old lady who had no problem letting two strangers into her apartment at 4:00 o’clock in the morning.
Once inside, my Ellen could not relay her predicament without putting the nice little old lady in danger. She stuck to her original plan. By now Pretty Boy was mollified enough to allow her to leave his sight. He stood guard at the door as she went to the back of the apartment where the bathroom was.
She slipped into the nice old lady’s bedroom, picked up the phone and called me. She didn’t have the exact address, but gave me the intersection of two streets and asked me to come to her rescue. I was half-way out of the door by the time she got around to asking for help. The telephone cord the only thing keeping me from being all the way out.
I’d never had a psychic experience in my life. Until then. As I got behind the wheel of my car, a voice in my head said, “She gave you the wrong location. The place she gave is miles from where she is. She’s on the opposite side of Miami Beach.” I then had a mental vision of her location.
I started the car and decided to follow my instinct. Rather than head to where Ellen Long told me she was, I went in the opposite direction. When I got to the place I believed her to be, I saw Ellen Long and Pretty Boy standing alone in the parking lot of the complex. She expected me. He did not.
She calmly walked up to the car and said hello, like we were meeting accidentally in the middle of the day and not the early hours of the morning. She then introduced her “friend”. While his attention was diverted in my direction, she ran around to the other side of the car, dove through the open passenger seat window and yelled “Get out of here!”
It took Pretty Boy half a second longer then me to realize what was happening. That half of a second was all that we needed to affect our get-a-way. The only thing he could do was grab onto the side-view mirror and scream incoherent fulminations. Though slight of stature, he was so enraged that he was able to tear the mirror from the car and throw it at us as we sped away.
As I drove her home that she told me I’d arrived in the nick of time. She had stalled him as long as she could. He was about to drag her back into his car when I drove up. After that morning I never saw Ellen Long again. Except once, about a year later, in a real dive of a bar. She was with a group of people. I hesitated approaching her when she saw me. I could tell she was genuinely glad to see me. After saying hello, she turned to her friends and said the following: “This is Billy. He saved my life.” That I did not expect. 
I guess I’d finally made an impression on Ellen Long.