And that pretty much gets it started. After another week or so of figuring things out, we start to develop a kind of rhythm. A few people start coming by to check it out, have a good time, and go back and tell their friends. More folks start to trickle in. The Ralph fellow that Todd mentioned comes by. I play for him a little bit and he really digs it. He plays a little guitar, but he’s pretty clunky, so I try him out on the bass and he takes to it pretty good. After a while he comes back with a friend who plays drums, in a manner of speaking. But they’re younger and enthusiastic and pretty soon we’re having regular afternoon rehearsals. We totally suck, but we’re getting better and the few who hear us don’t know enough to tell the difference anyway. Trina and Bethy have learned to make drinks, mostly, and to everyone’s amazement (especially mine) we’re still getting along. I’ve even talked Todd into setting up a still for us. He was unsure at first, but once Christi heard we were going to make rum, he didn’t really have any choice. I still have to be there for the runs, because they haven’t developed the taste yet for making the cuts, but they’re getting there. I think Christi does most of it, she’s really into it. And she’s gotten to be pretty good friends with Trina and Bethy, which is a good thing, I think.

Bethy has developed a surgical skill with the loader, and is moving stuff around turning the big room next door into our warehouse. She’s doing a great job of it, too. She’s already put us together a pretty impressive stash of crates of booze, tobacco, and glassware. She’s even organizing the crates that she sifts through in the other rooms into like piles, which Trina has started inventorying so we know what’s what if anything comes up. I know Bethy’s got something else on her agenda too, though. She’s looking for something FAST. I’ve no doubt it’s here too, just waiting.

Al comes in one morning and seems pretty impressed, “Well, you certainly haven’t been sitting on your laurels. I must say I’m impressed with what you’re… Wow!” he is distracted by Trina coming down the stairs.

The girls came across some crates of clothing and decided to go through them. Most of it was guy stuff, they found several nice suits and a pair of wingtips that fit me quite well, and which they enjoy dressing me up in. I’m not complaining, I look quite dapper. I’m currently in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a grey vest and trousers. They also found loads of olive drab jumpsuits, which Bethy has taken to wearing when she’s out running the loader. But in amongst all of this were a few crates of dresses, which they have taken to wearing around the bar, saying that it suits the atmosphere better. They’ve even given a few to Christi, who often wears one when she comes down.

Currently, Trina is sporting a rather plain, flowery, housewifey number with a low hem and a high neckline. But she is positively poured into it.

“Hi Al,” she smiles, as she sashays past.

“Good Lord!” Al leans towards me over the bar, “How does she breath?”

“I’m not the one to ask about that.”

“That’s not the rumor I heard.”

“Ok. It’s not just a rumor. But I’m not really trying to advertise it, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, no need to worry on that account my friend. If they’re happy, and you’re happy, then I’m happy. And so is everyone else for that matter. Not to mention absolutely astonished! How do you do it?”

“Hey, they started it. But it’s not just that. I mean, they’re both really smart, good hearted girls. I think maybe they were just really bored and frustrated with their lives before. You know? Unhappy. All I did was present them with an opportunity to do something different, and they seem to like it. For my part, I’m grateful. I need help to make this happen and they’re really stepping up. I mean, yeah, I talked ‘em into it, but it didn’t take much.”

“Yeah, all he had to do was show us his angle!” Trina cuts in with a big smile from the other end of the bar, as she walks out the door.

I roll my eyes and Al gives me a questioning look.

“Inside joke,” I say by way of explanation.

“Obviously,” he grins, “But anyway, what I really came to talk to you about is, we’ve had a look at the recording of the class you taught over in the public sector. It’s very impressive, and we’re wondering if you’d be willing to do it again.”

“So you want me to be a school teacher?”

“Not exactly. We want you to teach our teachers.”

“Oh, so professor emeritus then. I think I can handle that. Ok, but I have a few conditions. First, I want to do it in here, it’ll be a lot more comfortable and convenient for me. Second, I don’t really want more than about fifteen people in a class. That’ll give everyone a better chance of really picking up what I’m putting down.”

“Well, doing it in here shouldn’t be a problem, but such a small class size. That could take quite some time.”

“How close are you to understanding my situation?”

“Not very, I’m afraid.”

“Then time is something I would appear to have plenty of.”

“Very well. When would you like to start?”

“How about eleven in the morning, two days from now? That should give me enough time to find the chalkboard that I know is down here somewhere, and you’ll have time to organize the student body.”

“I’m game. Anything else.”

“Yes. You come along for the first class. We’ll see how it goes and then if it works, discuss how many a week we’re going to have and when.”

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“That sounds quiet agreeable. I look forward to it. Oh, and, I just wanted to say, Todd seems to be having a lot more fun since he and Christi have started coming down here. It seems you all have had a bit of a liberating influence on him, and I wanted to thank you for that. Life here is quite pleasant, but many people tend to get a bit, stiff from it. This whole place needs to loosen up a bit, and I believe you’re going to help us do just that.”

“Well thanks, Doc. We aim to please.”

The chalkboard turns out to be a piece of cake. Trina has started hanging inventory sheets on clipboards next to the storage room doors so we know what’s in there, and although the description of ‘large scratch panels on rollers’ is a bit long winded, I easily find what I need. On the way out I amend the inventory to ‘chalkboards’. The chalk itself takes a bit more doing though. I eventually locate a large cache within a crate marked ‘school supplies’. There are also erasers, notebooks, pencils, sharpeners, pencil erasers, pens, different colored ink cartridges, all kinds of good stuff. I wheel the chalkboard and accoutrements in and stash them in the card room. Nobody’s using it yet because I haven’t taught them to play cards or found anyone likely to volunteer as dealers. That’s ok, it’ll happen when it’s time.

Around six o’clock the place is starting to pick up. It’s a tiny crowd for the size of the room, but there’s maybe twenty people here, which is pretty good, and at least half of them are new faces, which is really good. A lot of them are taking tables with their friends who brought them here, and Christi is taking on impromptu waitress duties, helping Trina sling drinks and food to the tables, because Bethy is still out on the loader.

Then someone new walks in. She is tall, slim, and sharp featured. She is also, there’s no other way to put it, old. Like, hair so white it’s almost transparent, see the blood flowing through her veins, old. But she’s still standing up straight and walking around by herself, so I’d say she’s probably doing better than I will be if I live that long. She’s also not wearing the typical outfit. Instead she has on sensible shoes, dark pants, and a white shirt, under an old leather bomber jacket that’s probably big enough to hold three of her. When she seats herself in front of me at the bar she seems a little bit tired from the walk, but not the least bit shaky or winded. And there’s a sharp glint in her eye.

“Got another one of those?” she asks a touch gruffly, gesturing at my cigarette.

I think about saying something smart, like ‘Are you sure you’re old enough?’, but I get the feeling that’s not going to fly with this one. She’s a no nonsense kinda gal. So I just toss the pack of Chesterfields I’m smoking up onto the bar with a box of matches and drag an ashtray over. I bet when she was young she was a gravitational force.

“My, my,” she says, pulling one out of the pack and tapping it on the bar, “I haven’t seen one of these in seventy years,” she lights a match and takes a deep drag, “My daddy used to smoke these. Used to sneak ‘em from him when I was a kid, and he’d pretend not to notice… Ninety three. I know you’re dyin’ to ask. Now Chief, watcha’ got back there that’ll knock my socks off?”

“It’d be easier to tell you what I’ve got back here that won’t,” I say with an easy smile, “But you strike me as a scotch, neat, kinda gal. Probably something bright, like a Highland malt, or maybe Speyside.”

“Ooo, you’re good,” she says with a crafty ‘takes one to know one’ smile, “Make it a Speyside. And I’d take you for an Islay malt man, smokier the better. Right?”

“Guilty as charged,” I pour her drink, and one for myself, making sure she sees the labels as I do.

“You know,” she takes a deep sip from her glass, “When I heard this place was open again, I didn’t believe it. I had to come see for myself. What gave you the idea?”

“Well, as you may or may not have heard, I’m not from around here. And as soon as I got through that door, this just felt like home. Or maybe, I don’t know, maybe more like, what I wish home felt like, if that makes any sense. The more time I spend here the more it feels like I’ve always known this place, I just don’t remember any of it. Am I making any sense at all?”

“To anybody else, probably not. To me, more than you know,” she takes another long drink, “You see, my daddy used to bring me down here when I was a little girl, he was good friends with the man who ran this place. He used to bounce me on his knee and call me ’Sweet Thing’, and it seemed like everybody was always happy in here. You know how it is when you’re little. I loved it,” she smiles wistfully at the memory, “Anyway, the guy who ran the place, I think his name started with an A, I don’t really remember, everybody just called him Chief. Except for some of the ladies who…”

Trina interrupts by giving me a playful slap on the butt and leaning over to kiss me on the cheek, “Pretty boy, are you harassing this young lady? You better behave yourself!” and then to Sweet Thing, “Ma’am, if he gives you any trouble you just let me know. I will straighten him right out!” then she’s off slingin’ drinks again.

Sweet Thing just laughs. A real, deep, genuine, heart felt laugh that brings a tear to the corner of her eye, “Pretty boy! And aren’t you just! You are the spitting image,” she just smiles and shakes her head. “That’s what they called him… Anyway, one day Chief just left. No one knows where to, just that it was real important. And this place just wasn’t the same without him. I mean, folks tried to keep it goin’, but little by little, people just quit coming. Then we all moved into the new digs out there and this place became a dusty memory that nobody wanted.”

“Wow, that’s, a lot to take in,” I say, mildly stunned.

“That ain’t the half of it. My daddy loved Chief, they were like brothers. But he was always a big fan of Miss Chief, too. Always said that as long as she was here, she’d eventually bring you back to us. And it looks like he was right. Here,” she reaches into the pocket of the bomber jacket, “He gave me these to hang onto for ya,” and she tosses a key fob onto the bar. On the ring are car keys and what looks like a big door key, the leather tab is embossed Miss Chief in an ornate, flowing script.

I pick up the keys and examine them, “Thanks, I…”

“You put those in your pocket and don’t lose ‘em, they’re the only ones,” she says before I can get another word out, “She’s way down at the end of the hall, past the motor pool. I don’t remember exactly where that is though, so you’ll have to find it. I don’t think it was that far from here though. She’ll be in good shape when you find her, the door’s locked, and you got the only key left that I know of. There were a few more, for the rest of the guys, but they’re lost to the sands of time or turned to moon dust by now, so far as I know.”

At this point Bethy strides in in her jumpsuit, she smiles and waves at me, “Hey babe, I’ll be right down after I change, and help you guys out,” and then bounces off up the stairs to the apartment.

“That one too?” says Sweet Thing with a smiling face that says she’s impressed, “You really are Chief! But let me tell you something. That little girl there, she likes to go fast doesn’t she? I know the type,” she smiles, remembering, “Old Chief had one like that, too.”

“Yes, and yes.”

“You be real careful with her around Miss Chief. She might get jealous.”

“Which one?”

“Well, probably both,” she smiles, then stone serious, “But Miss Chief’ll kill ‘er. And that’s no joke.”

“Thanks for the warning, and everything else, I appreciate it. My name’s Aaron,” I hold out my hand across the bar and she shakes it firmly.

“Betty, but you just call me Sweet Thing. And you’re Chief, Chief, so just fucking deal with it. Thanks for the drink. When I hear you wake up Miss Chief, I’ll be back with my flags and stopwatch.”

“You think you’ll hear her all the way out there?”

“Pretty boy, they’re gonna hear Miss Chief on Earth!” and as she turns to leave I see the back of her jacket is painted. Across the shoulders in the same script as the key fob is ‘Space Racers’. Below that is a really cool mural of a pinup girl, with long black hair, a little red dress, green skin, and little antennae coming out of her forehead. She’s flag starting a hot rod race on the moon. Under that is the name ‘Crank’.

“See ya later, Sweet Thing!”

“Count on it, Chief!” on her way out the door.

“Who was that lady?” asks Bethy, back from changing, “She really looked like she belonged here, she had the clothes and everything. But I’ve never seen her before.”

“That was Sweet Thing. You’re gonna like her.”

“I think you’re right!” she gives me a smiley hug, “Hey, Christi told me earlier that people are having a hard time finding us down here. You know, which hall to take? She thinks we should put a sign or something out by the tramway, something that people can see that’ll let ‘em know where to stop.”

“That’s a good idea. I tell ya what, you take over here and I’ll go out and take a look, see what I can come up with.”

“Ok!”

So I ride my bike out to the mouth of the hall and look around. It’s all panels here so there’s no easy way to hang a sign that I can see (like it’s easy back on the concrete, but at least that can be painted). Plus, if someone’s rocketing past on the tram at warp eight, they won’t be able to see it anyway. Then I have an idea. I run my hand along a panel next to the entrance and really focus. And it works! All of the panels that touch the entrance, and the first set of panels inside the entrance are now red. Then I just go back down the hall. Orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, and then I’m back to the concrete. It’s a rainbow tunnel. It was easy enough, and it will definitely get people’s attention, and I think it’s pretty cool, but I wonder if maybe it’s too garish. I need a second opinion. I ride back to the bar and ask Trina to go take a look. She comes back in with wide eyes and a smile and tells Bethy to go check it out. Then comes over to me.

“THAT is going to draw attention,” she says, “I think you did good.”

“WOW!” filters in from down the hall.

“Bethy likes it too,” says Trina.

And it turns out Christi was right. Crowds easily double over the next few days. I teach my first class for Al and it goes better than I expected. Everybody agrees it’s a good thing, so we talk it over and decide on eleven to three, Monday through Wednesday. Three shows a week (ending before band practice) with enough days off in a row that hopefully I won’t get burnt out.