Fiction

A Place Like This

Amazing music evokes vivid imagery...

I see it in film noire. The band in period attire, Ben on an oversized xylophone, Duff on stand up bass, Barrett, suit and fedora, Jeff singing into one of those old timey mics. Mr. Carter in a white suit, white shoes, shiny trumpet tucked under his elbow standing just out of light. Aged and smoky, the club smartly decorated in dark velvets and mahagoney. Patrons discretely reflected in the ornate mirror covering the wall above the booths, where strangers make friends over highballs, laughter and music.

At the door (a different) Jeff enters, dapper and assured making friendly eye contact with acquaintances as he approaches the bar. He orders his usual with a nod hello to the bartender (a different Barrett) wiping a cocktail glass with a white towel. Sitting, Jeff pulls cigarettes and fancy lighter from his breast pocket as his drink is placed before him. He lights the cigarette and his gaze is drawn in by her simple and stunning beauty. Sitting alone at a table, milky white skin contrasted by swooping brown curls in a timeless red dress. She looks through his gaze and smiles.

Without hesitation, almost hurriedly, he shuffles out money for the drink, pockets his things and sets off to meet her. The bartender scoops up the bills and looks after him with a cocky, trepidatious smile.

He sits confidently across the table. She leans back to subtley thwart his advances. He waves to the bartender for another round. She points to her almost empty glass and motions toward the door. She puts her hand on the table ready to leave. He puts his hand on her wrist hoping she'll stay.

They speak with their movements and through eachothers eyes. His gaze broke only to escort her to the floor. The room fades to shadow and they dance.

Passionate, formal and familiar, they melt seamlessly between classic ballroom and just holding eachother close, swaying on the breeze of the rhythm. Making use of every inch of the floor, they swerve and float, together.

Leaning back with poise to spin her grace once more, he catches a glimpse of himself in that oversized ornate mirror.  Himself was all.

Confused he stopped midmotion as the room grew slightly brighter. The applause was for the band, the dance floor began to clear. Relieved the patrons seemed not to have noticed he swam thru his thoughts and retreated toward their table.

He reached for his drink and found only dust. Dim light from an unknown source revealed the broken chairs, dingy hangings and a vacant stage. The trumpet still played distant in his ears.

Emotions spun as he pulled cigarettes and matches from his pocket. With the first drag, he set off for the door, embarrassed for no one, still stunned. Past the jazz trumpet just out of light.

His exit lead to an alley. Steam from the grates played with the darkness. Walking past two vagabonds warming their half-gloved hands over a drum, he snapped up the collar on his still dapper coat and disappeared through the steam into the darkness.