Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
…
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
… What is that?
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
Sounds like… a drum beat. But a fast one. Something with that cool tempo that makes you want to move your feet…
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
I wonder if it’s ‘Nica’s Dream’ by Horace Bronze. 201M1956 BC. Certainly got the tempo for it, but seems to be lacking the wonderful bass line and horn work.
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
No… it’s something else… it almost reminds me of Art Drakey’s ‘Moanin’’, an instant classic from him and his Jazz Couriers that came out at the beginning of this year. If it is, it’s bein’ played in double time because this beat is maddeningly fast.
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
It’s… not a drum.
I bring a hand to my chest, feeling the reverberations of the heightened pace of my heart.
Thump, thump…
Thump, thump…
I glance forward. It’s him. Samuel. Standing against the darkness surrounding me.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
… Sammy. His kind smile urges me to step towards him.
I begin to do so, but realize there’s no place for my foot to go.
I look down. A staircase.
Thump, thump.
Thump, THUMP.
The voice I always dread draws close.
THUMP THUMP
THUMP THUMP
I try to spin around, but it’s too late.
THUMP THUMP
THUMP THU-
…
With a gasp, I fling the blanket off of myself as I rapidly sit up. My hands tightly grip my midsection as I double over, sucking in air to try to steady my heartbeat. My tail quivers as it wraps around me, squeezing me in an unconscious hug. I try to draw my legs towards myself, but my right knee is locked up. I let out a sob, unable to work the kink out of it because of my hunched posture and occupied hands.
That goddamn dream again. Why, of all days…
His smile appears past the blackened cloud in my mind.
Sammy.
My breathing slows and my grip loosens, but my heartbeat doesn’t steady itself, now compelled to its accelerated rhythm by a different emotion. It’s the same way I felt yesterday when I was trying to decide whether to give him one of my tickets. It’s the same way I felt when he asked for my number. When I felt his eyes linger on me as I departed the station and headed home.
This feeling in my chest, caused by his kind eyes and his warm smile.
I glance at the clock radio next to me. About forty-five minutes before I would have woken up for my shift. I roll my eyes and slump backwards onto the bed, the muscles around my right knee loosening slightly with my posture shift. There’s no use in trying to go back to bed now. Not with the way I’m feeling.
His smile returns to my imagination again.
… Get a grip on yourself, Aubrey. It’s not a date. You told him as much.
… But did he buy it?
I bury my face in my hands as I try to conceal my own stupid grin, feeling the heat emanating from my reddened cheeks. Raptor Christ, I feel like a fuckin’ school girl. What’s getting into me? He’s… he’s a human, for goodness sake. Forget about his warm smile, or his kind eyes, or his handsome features… he’s a…
No. It’s nothing. He’s just a nice fella that had to go through some shit because of me. If he hadn’t stopped to talk to me, he wouldn’t have gone to that crime scene. He wouldn’t have been arrested and questioned by those assholes at the station. He… wouldn’t be going to this show tonight with me.
… He wouldn’t have been in my dream. The only bright spot amidst the darkness of that hell I keep reliving. Most mornings I wake up with tears staining my cheeks. Today, though… yes, my heart was going a mile a minute, but was it because of the dream, or…?
I shake away the notions and force myself to sit up again, my locked knee straining itself once more. My escapades yesterday didn’t help it any; I fully expected it to be an asshole to me this morning after my drop in the alley. Quietly cursing the bungled heap of cartilage under my knee cap, I slowly massage the sides of the joint to work the kink out. Eventually, I’m able to retract my leg properly, its looming tenderness warning me that I’d better be careful with it today unless I want to taste concrete again.
I cautiously climb out of bed, favoring my other leg more heavily with my tail adding a little extra acrobatic balance to my slow gait across my bedroom. It’s a curious thing that humans don’t have the extra appendage; I’ve often found myself wondering how they manage without one. My mind wanders back to Sammy again, somewhat to my dismay as my tail begins neglecting its balancing duty in favor of happily swaying back and forth.
This is gonna be a hell of a long day. I already know it.
I spend some extra time on my morning shower and preparation, both because of the additional minutes afforded me by my nightmare and because of the butterflies in my stomach. The show’s not until eight o’clock which means I’ll have time to swing home and freshen up. All the same, I find myself filled with a desire to pretty myself up, a desire I haven’t had in a very long time.
It’s not a date, but I still want to look nice. I’m gonna be in public, and I’m gonna be at a Miles Cratis concert.
… And Sammy is gonna be there.
I let out an irritated huff due to my reddening cheeks making the application of my blush makeup more difficult than it should have been. The applicator brush clatters on the bathroom counter as I stomp back to the bedroom to turn on the clock radio. It’s still ten minutes before my alarm would have turned on the tunes naturally, but I need to distract myself.
As the radio crackles to life and begins intercepting the invisible sound waves and translating them for my ears to register, my breath catches in my throat. It’s Horace Bronze’s ‘Nica’s Dream’. One of the songs I thought about during my dream due to the rapid drumming of my own heart. The trumpet and tenor sax playfully weave around one another with the backing of Horace’s beautiful piano riffs. My tail sways in time with the uptempo beat as Sammy’s smiling face lights up my imagination yet again.
Apparently there’s nothing for it. Only thing to do is get myself ready and get my ass into the station so that my daily mountain of paperwork can keep me sufficiently distracted. I finish my morning prep and make my way to the bus stop, doing my best to think about anything but the date I have toni-
…
It’s not a date. It’s not a date.
Onboard the familiar green and white vessel, distraction comes to me in about the most unpleasant way possible. I stare across the aisle of the bus at a vacant seat, one that was occupied just yesterday by the gentleman who died in that alley. The skittish, panicked man whose killer I was unable to identify due to my piece of shit knee… I lower my gaze, feeling as though I failed the stranger. I might not have been able to save his life, but I could have at least ID’d the one responsible for his death. Give him a little justice, let his spirit be at peace…
I just have to leave it to the professionals. I hope they’re taking the case seriously and not just writing it off as a random homicide that’ll go cold and get shoved into a filing cabinet somewhere to be forgotten about. I know this city has a reputation, but a person doesn’t just get gunned down in broad daylight for no reason, especially not a human getting murdered by a dinosaur.
Arriving at the stop nearest to the police station, I climb the staircase leading up to its impressive front doors, lavishly crafted oak slabs beneath the state crest that hangs above the threshold. There are side entrances that staff and officers frequently use, but I enjoy utilizing the main entrance. The building almost feels alive when you see it from this perspective, hosting a long and storied history of serving and protecting a small piece of the largest city in our nation.
Ruth barely notices me as I walk past, focusing instead on the day’s newspaper crossword. Unlike last night when she was nearly finished with it, today’s puzzle is hardly filled in at all. Understandably, she has a job to do so she ticks in a few boxes whenever the opportunity presents itself. I tried offering her an answer once and she injected ice into my veins with the stare she gave me in reply. Guess she likes doing ‘em herself, without any help.
Before I can make my way up the stairs to the second story where my desk is located, a booming voice calls my name from down the hall on the right side of the lobby. “CARTER. MY OFFICE.” I freeze for a moment, knowing to whom the voice belongs but unsure as to how he detected my passing. Though his office has impressive windows, none of them directly face the lobby. I gulp, chalking it up to superior pterodactyl senses as I turn in the direction of the commissioner.
The walk to his office is a physically short but emotionally long journey. I already know why I’m being called upon, but I had hoped it wouldn’t happen the moment I stepped foot in the building. My discussion with him was a brief one yesterday; I only told him that Samuel was guilty of nothing, and I was dismissed after that since the commissioner had to deal with everything else, including the two officers who were unlawfully detaining an innocent bystander. I figured I’d be questioned today, but… it’s a tough way to start my morning.
His door is ajar, allowing me to squeeze through the opening to the space on the other side. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to meet my eyes, wordlessly conveying that I should close the door behind myself; I do so. Taking a seat across from him, I try to greet him with pleasantry before the reprimand I expect. “Good morning, Commissioner Aaron.”
He lets out a small grunt in acknowledgement. If I was in a lot of trouble, he wouldn’t have even done that. I only got in a lot of trouble once, and that was when I mailed a reminder of unpaid parking tickets to the wrong person. It was an honest mistake, I didn’t realize who it was since Ragnar is such a common last name among dinosaurs. This didn’t appease Commissioner Aaron who chewed me out as fiercely as he got chewed out by Mayor Robert Ragnar for my blunder. As I learned that day, we don’t ticket the mayor. Ever.
The pterodactyl before me folds his hands on his desk and leans forward. He doesn’t look happy, but doesn’t speak as harshly as I would have expected. “Can you please explain to me in more detail what happened yesterday?” I glance down, my tail slowly gliding across the floor, twitching in anticipation as it yearns to be cradled in my hands. “You told me that the human we brought in wasn’t the shooter, and I appreciate that. But what I’m hazy on is why you were there. Why were you battered and bloodied, standing next to a deceased individual with a human bystander?”
I unconsciously rub the palms of my hands. They’re still scraped up from yesterday, not enough to need bandages but the broken scales sting a bit. “... I was at the bus stop when the gunshots went off. I heard five shots, two at first, then three in rapid succession. Sa- … The human who was with me… had stopped to talk with me at the bus stop a couple minutes before the shots.”
Commissioner Aaron flips over a few sheets of paper and uncaps his pen, beginning to jot down notes. As the trails of ink begin drying, he glances up at me again, clearly not content with where my explanation ended thus far. I sigh before continuing, realizing what I have to confess. “... I went towards the gunshots. I-”
He cuts me off. “You were trying to be a cop.”
“... Yes, sir.”
The fingers of his free hand close around the bridge of his beak in irritation. “After the discussion we had yesterday morning… the same discussion we have every week…” My only reply is to lower my head. “You work for the police department, and you’re an employee of the city, but that doesn’t mean you should try to be a hero in situations like this. You should have called us. We could have been there even sooner if we got a call from someone we knew and trusted instead of a random panicked citizen.”
The emphasis he puts on the word “trusted” makes my heart sink. I’m not certain he meant it that way, but it stings like a parent saying they aren’t sure they can trust you anymore after you get caught in a lie. Commissioner Aaron seems to notice my emotional downturn, clearing his throat before speaking again. “What happened next?”
I still don’t meet his eyes, doing everything in my power to keep my tail from climbing into my arms. “When we came across the body, I saw the suspect fleeing across the street. They darted around the corner of the alley across from me before I could get a solid look at them, but it was a dinosaur of some sort. I saw the tip of their tail.”
He scribbles more notes. “Can you tell what kind of dinosaur it was, or the color?”
I shake my head. “It… seemed like a longer tail, so probably not a pterodactyl. Too big to be a compsognathus, too. But… that’s all I could really tell you. It was too dark to make out the color. Might have been a dark blue, or dark green. I’m not certain.”
“Notice any plates, feathers, anything like that?”
I shake my head again. “I’m sorry, no.” His pen continues moving across the paper. “I… tried to pursue. I wanted to get a visual ID on the suspect, but… my knee locked up. I wasn’t able to see them in time. I heard their car peel out before I could crawl around the corner of the alley.”
He sighs as he finishes his notes, setting his pen down and meeting my eyes again. He doesn’t have to say anything at all for me to understand his thoughts. He just told me yesterday that my bad knee would prevent me from entering the academy, and now the harsh truth of my disability stares me in the face just as clearly as Commissioner Aaron’s disappointed gaze. I do my best to fight back the tears that threaten to spill forth, biting my lip and embedding my claws into the bruised palms of my hands.
Graciously, the commissioner rises from his desk and turns away from me, clasping his wrist behind his back as he stares out the window of his office towards the tree that stands roughly fifteen feet away from the building. I use the opportunity to wipe my eyes with my sleeves, doing everything in my power to keep from audibly sniffling. His words fill the silence. “... I’m not going to formally reprimand you. This all technically took place while you were off the clock, and despite your reckless behavior, you didn’t do anything to impede police work. The suspect would have fled either way.” He turns my way once more, wearing a slight but warm smile. “At least we know it was a dinosaur that fled the scene, thanks to you. It might not be much, but it’s better than nothing.”
His small olive branch of praise is a kind gesture, but I know what still needs to be said. “... I’m sorry for being reckless, sir. I should have used my head. If the suspect was still by the victim, I could have put myself at risk, or the human who was with me.” I lower my head again. “I don’t need to have gone to the academy to know that a proper police officer wouldn’t put people in danger needlessly.”
He closes his eyes and nods, approving of my self-reflection. “You’re a bright young woman and you’ve got a lot of guts.” He meets my eyes again, offering an almost fatherly look. “You’d have made a fine police officer, if fate had dealt you a different hand. As it stands, I’m glad to have you here with us.”
“... Thank you, sir.”
As he retakes his seat, he adds the afterthought, “Oh, you might want to steer clear of Duffy and Preston at shift change. I put them both on night duty for the little stunt they pulled with that Samuel Lawson fellow. Neither of them are too happy with you right now, I’m afraid.”
That makes sense. Even if Commissioner Aaron hadn’t told them outright that it was my word that got Sammy cut loose, they’d be smart enough to put two and two together. I’m also momentarily caught off guard that the commissioner knew Sammy’s name, but quickly realize that he would have been processed as he was brought in. Name, address, any previous convictions… I consider for a moment pulling his file myself to see if there’s any dirt on him, but discard the thought as quickly as it arises. If he was a crook, he wouldn’t have been released so quickly, even with me advocating for his innocence.
My sit-down with the commissioner had distracted me from Sammy for a while, but now he’s front and center in my imagination again, smiling his gentle smile at me, filling my stomach with butterflies. Tonight is gonna be great, I just know-
The commissioner glances up at me from his paperwork, raising an eyebrow to wordlessly question why I’m still in his office. Oops, guess I spaced out for a second. He clarifies his position on the matter. “Dismissed, Carter.”
“O-oh! Sorry! Thank you, sir.” I hurriedly shuffle out of the room and upstairs to my own desk, feeling the heat radiating from my flushed cheeks. I hope I wasn’t blushing like a moron in there. The fifteen minutes I spent with him has given the accumulating paperwork on my desk a headstart for the day, and I quickly set to work on processing the forms and fulfilling my responsibilities. I need the distraction to keep my mind from wandering as capriciously as it’s been doing all morning. In a rare show of self-control, I even stop myself from turning on my radio, worrying that the familiar jazz tunes will make my thoughts return to the show tonight, and to…
Paperwork. Focus on paperwork, Aubrey.
I stay a little past my normal clock-out time to ensure that I’m caught up with everything I needed to get done for the day. I occasionally glance around, keeping an eye out for Duffy or Preston, but neither of them make their presence known. I’ll take a little good luck. Though I doubt either of them would do anything too outrageous, I don’t need to get an earful from them on how they think I’m responsible for the shit hours they gotta work. Hell, I’d say it to their faces: they were way out of line with how they treated Sammy. Maybe the cooler evening air will help simmer their hot heads a little bit.
The bus ride home feels like it takes an eternity. It doesn’t have any more stops than average, but each minute that passes is agony as my heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest. I fidget with my purse, pushing my keys and lip balm around absent-mindedly to do something besides think about tonight. I desperately wish I had gum, but I keep forgetting to pick up another pack. I chew it rarely, never having had an oral fixation, but it’s still nice to freshen your breath when it’s needed, or chomp on when you desperately seek distraction.
It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine tonight. I’m going to enjoy the music, and I’m sure Sammy will have a nice time, too. That is, unless I make an ass of myself or say something boneheaded. Shit, I don’t even know what to talk about with him. He likes jazz, obviously, but is he as much of a jazz hound as I am? Is he gonna be turned off if I start spewing factoids about when a song was released, or how many pressings the album has had? I’m like a damned encyclopedia with this useless information…
What if he thinks I’m a loon? A dizzy dame who spends more time with her snout in a book about music theory than cooking or cleaning? I mean, I’m no slob and I’m an okay cook, but… what is he gonna think about me as a woman?
… What would any man? After…
My fingers tighten into fists. No, Aubrey. You’re not doing that to yourself. Not now, not so close to tonight. I’m not going to ruin the evening for myself, or for Sammy.
I’m lurched out of my malaise by the bus coming to a stop, realizing just in time that it’s my stop. I dart through the doors before the driver pulls them shut, earning an irritated look from the punctual dinosaur. Taking a quick breath to steady myself, I travel the few blocks it takes me to arrive home at my apartment.
With all the excitement going on in my head, I barely registered the oppressive heat that only grows more oppressive with each passing day. Back in June, the papers said that records were being broken: seventy-year-old highs were outdone by fractions of a degree. It’s not getting to be quite that hot yet, but it’s damn close. The blissful AC of my apartment offers escape from the sweltering air; only when the sun goes down does the temperature become tolerable. And the sun should be going down right around the time the show starts tonight…
I focus on throwing together my supper quickly instead of the goosebumps that crawl across my arms. Leftover hamburger from last night, a fine quick dinner that won’t bog me down too much. Though, I wonder if Sammy is going to eat before the show. My eyes dart over to my purse that rests on the kitchen table. His phone number is in there. I could give him a quick call…
No, no, no. It’s not a date! I shake my head and go back to my own meal preparation. I’m sure he can get something for himself before the show. I glance at the clock as the patty within the stovetop pan sizzles and pops. Almost six o’clock. I’ll eat, get myself freshened up, and be out the door by seven. I don’t want to be late, I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world.
A hamburger in the stomach heavier and a fresh application of makeup later, I give myself one final review in the mirror. I don’t have much in terms of fancy clothes, but this particular dress is special to me. Its vibrant color perfectly matches my eyes, the golden yellow hue offering stark contrast to the blue of my scales and feathers. Though it’s a few years old and maybe not the hot style anymore, it still looks great on me. I only wear it on special occasions when I want to look my best, and I haven’t had a good reason to bring it out of the closet in a lot of months.
I roll my shoulders a bit, ensuring the portrait collar rests in an even spot on my frame. The white lace accents on the collar lend the otherwise simple dress a certain air of beauty that I really love. I twist my hips a little and tug at the pleats of the skirt, finding the correct spot for the dress to rest on my meager curves. When my eyes meet their reflection in the mirror, taking in the full scope of my transformation, a smile tugs at the sides of my mouth.
… I look really nice.
I shake off the momentary pride and glance at the clock. A little after seven. I shouldn’t have a problem catching a bus over to the Birdland jazz club; it’s on 52nd and Broadway, over in Cavemanhattan. I briefly consider calling a taxi, but set the idea aside. With my purse in hand, my ticket secured within, I make my way down to the street.
The evening air has begun predictably cooling, albeit ever so slightly. I’ll have no need for a jacket even after the sun sets, it’ll stay above seventy all night. Arriving at the bus stop, I take a seat upon the familiar bench, glancing down the road to see if my ride is already approaching. Only cars zip by, so I return to my as-of-late favorite pastime: worrying immensely about the night ahead.
… I do hope I haven’t overdone it with my look. I mean, I wanted to dress up anyway because… it’s Birdland. The Birdland. You don’t just waltz into the single hottest jazz club this side of Old Orleans without paying it the proper respect. But… what if I make Sammy uncomfortable? He might not have dressed up himself, and if I drastically outclass him in the fashion department, will that make him unhappy?
I bring an irritated hand to my forehead. Knock it off, you fuckin’ school girl. Everything will be fine! As soon as I step off the bus and see him waiting outside the club, all this worry and panic is just gonna melt away. You’re a strong gal, Aubrey. You got this.
Speaking of the bus, I try to spot an incoming shuttle, but still don’t catch sight of one. It’s been a few minutes, at least-
My heart stops in my chest. Is… is the bus even still running this late? I know some buses keep going, but how many shut down their routes at the end of the work day?! Is this one of them?! I spring to my feet, craning my neck to try to catch sight of the familiar green and white vehicle, but see no form of public transportation.
Shit. How long do I wait? How long has it already been? I can’t risk being late! Not tonight! Stupid, why didn’t you check the bus schedule earlier? What a bone-headed oversight. I weigh my options, cursing the fact that I don’t own a wristwatch to tell the time easily. With a groan, I begin briskly making my way in the direction of downtown. It’s way too far to go on foot, but the closer I get to the center of the city, the quicker I’ll see a taxi I can flag down.
Thankfully, I didn’t wear heels. Given my bad knee, heeled shoes are a terrible idea regardless of the occasion. I was blessed with decent height for a velociraptor so I don’t feel the need to compensate in that particular area. Even with my comfortable footwear, I don’t dare move at anything faster than a quick walk. I can’t risk another fall, not in this dress. Not tonight.
After about ten minutes of travel, I finally spot the familiar black and yellow checkers of a vacant cab. I flag it down and climb into the back seat. The driver, a sallow-eyed gallimimus with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, cranes his neck around to size me up. His eyes roam up and down my dress before meeting my stern look. He sighs before speaking in a grizzled tone. “Where to, lady?”
“52nd and Broadway, and make it fast, please.”
He emits a raspy chuckle. “Yeah, sure thing. Hope ya don’t got plans.”
I raise an eyebrow. “... What do you mean?”
“Traffic’s a nightmare aroun’ there at dis time o’ day. Well, any time o’ day, ‘cept the asscrack o’ three AM, maybe!” He slaps the small ticker box hanging from his dash, causing the numbers indicating the fare to spin down to their initial position of 25 cents. As soon as he takes off, the numbers slowly begin ticking up every few blocks in increments of 5 cents.
I stare out the window, cursing my bad luck and even worse planning. Even if I had gotten to a bus, it couldn’t have gotten through traffic any better than a cab could have. You idiot, Aubrey. Why didn’t you leave earlier? Sure, there’s “fashionably late”, but this is Miles Cratis. You don’t show up late for Miles Cratis! You don’t show up late for your first date wi-
…
All I can do is watch as the buildings soar by, their proximity to one another tightening just as much as their height grows. Block by block, the city becomes more imposing, neon lights bathing the streets in their multichromatic hues. It’s a city I loved dearly, at one time. One I might even still love, save for the bad memories.
We slow to a crawl around 40th and Broadway. Still twelve blocks away from the club. I peer past the cabbie and his fare box that currently reads 80 cents. Nothing but brake lights and the occasional blaring car horn ahead of us for the foreseeable future. I let out a defeated sigh before pulling a dollar out of my purse and handing it to the driver. As he accepts it, I ask, “Do you have the time, by chance?”
He brings his left wrist into view, scanning the device upon it before replying. “... ‘Bout 7:52.” I climb out of the taxi, earning a half-hearted “Thanks” on my way towards the sidewalk. Twelve blocks in eight minutes… with a shit knee. Even if I jogged, that’d be cutting it close, and I can’t risk jogging. I just have to do my best and get there as quickly as my legs can carry me.
The sidewalks are bustling with life and energy. Even on a weekday night, thousands of people come and go, making their way into and out of the numerous shops, restaurants and places of entertainment. Despite its name, Cavemanhattan is host to more than just humans; dinosaurs of all shapes, sizes and colors explore everything the city has to offer alongside the cavemen and cro magnons that, less than a hundred years ago, involuntarily served dinokind in many parts of the country. Even today, even in this metropolis I call home, if you look closely enough you can see signs of prejudice and lingering malice towards the humans. But… at least we’re making progress. I wish it was more, but… it’s something.
Several minutes go by before I see the silhouette of the sidewalk-overhanging canopy with bold letters emblazoned on each of its three visible sides: “Birdland”. Above it hangs another banner with even larger lettering that reads: “This Week Only: Miles Cratis”. My heart skips a beat as I grow closer, knowing that in just a few short minutes I’ll be able to see, in person, one of the greatest living jazz musicians on the planet.
It’s still a couple blocks away, but I begin to make out the shapes of people standing around the entrance. Several dozen, maybe even a hundred. Whether they’re in line with tickets in hand, or part of the sorry collection that didn’t get a ticket and now mill about in hopes that a seat may randomly open up, I can’t be sure. But I am almost positive that Sammy is among the crowd. He didn’t strike me as the type to be late, even fashionably so.
My knee sings a song of its own as I get within a block of the club. Though I didn’t run, my quickened pace has irritated the already annoyed tendons, and while I don’t sense a lock-up approaching, it’s warning me that it isn’t afraid to employ that tactic again if I push it. I pray that the tenuous peace I’ve achieved with it holds out for the night.
Finally arriving at the edge of the small crowd, I begin my search for Sammy. Almost everyone gathered around is human; I only spot one other dinosaur, a well-dressed dimetrodon who mills about with the others that await admittance. Another jazz enthusiast who appreciates the music despite the stereotypes is my hope. I move my gaze further around, craning my neck to see if he might be-
“Hey, there you are!” The voice makes me jump slightly and I spin around to face its owner. He holds up his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Whoah, sorry about that, Aubrey! Didn’t mean to startle ya.” He offers me an embarrassed grin as he nervously scratches the back of his neck. The moment I lay eyes on his smile, I feel my heart try to beat its way out of my chest.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I can’t tell if I’m blushing like an idiot, but I have to try to keep cool. I clear my throat as I tilt my head up a little and employ what little gravitas I can fake. “It’s not polite to sneak up on a woman, you know!” Try as I might, I can’t keep the sides of my own lips from moving upwards, betraying my incensed tone.
Sammy leans into the bit with me, doffing his cap as he offers an overly corny bow and an even more corny and foppish accent. “Well, I am so immensely sorry, milady! It shan't happen again!”
I can’t help but let out a laugh, one that he joins me in as he retakes his upright stance and puts his hat back on. I wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to dress for the night, but I am impressed by what I see. The light gray button-up shirt is the only non-black article of clothing he wears, with his suit jacket, slacks and mirror-polished shoes all lending themselves to a cool yet mysterious look. He wears a bowler hat in place of the flat cap he had on when I met him yesterday, as black as the rest of his outerwear and offering a wonderfully “formal-yet-informal” feel to his wardrobe.
It seems that he’s been eyeing up my outfit at the same time I was examining him. He lets out a short whistle. “Wow, Aubrey. You look… well, you look great!”
Now I know I’m blushing. I flick my eyes to the side. “Th-thank you, Sammy. You look nice, too.”
A wide grin overtakes him that causes my heart to skip a beat again. He scratches the back of his neck. “Heh, thanks. I never been to a place like this before, so I wasn’t sure how nice I should dress up. Hope I didn’t overdo it… or under-do it.” He glances around at the crowd, nervously sliding a hand across the front of his shirt where a tie would be hanging if he were wearing one.
I smile at his display, but it fades quickly as I realize I still owe him an apology. “Um… I’m really sorry about keeping you waiting. I don’t like being late for things, especially something like this, but traffic was a nightmare.”
Sammy peeks over his shoulder towards the road. Sure enough, many of the cars that had been stationed there at the beginning of our conversation are still there, the occasional horn offering its contribution to the soundscape of the city. “Yeah, it wasn’t much better for me. I had to bail outta my cab about ten blocks away and hustle my ass over here. I was worried I was gonna be late!” His eyes meet mine again. “S’no problem, anyways! See, they ain’t even started lettin’ folks in ye-”
As he gestures towards the front door, the burly cro magnon man who stands security unhooks the red velvet rope that hangs in front of the entrance and begins ushering people in as another human, less burly and more feminine, accepts tickets being presented to her. Sammy grins. “Whoops. Guess they made a liar outta me.”
I giggle as I reach for my purse and withdraw my token of admittance. “Shall we?”
Sammy reaches into his jacket pocket and reveals the ticket I gave him yesterday. “After you!”
We step into the line as folks are slowly ushered into the building. The club doesn’t always have advanced ticket entry, but they have to implement the policy every now and again. For a big act like Miles Cratis, you bet your bottom dollar it’ll be a pre-booked show. Hell, if these tickets hadn’t showed up at the station like they did, I wouldn’t be here right now.
It turns out, not everyone in line is as lucky as I was. A few disgruntled people are turned away at the door, with one particular man beginning to shout vulgarities at the bouncer. His tirade includes shaking fists and embarrassing posturing, none of which phases the cro magnon security in the slightest. All the same, the “gentleman” feels the need to make a show of his machismo that honestly appears like nothing more than a tantrum.
Sammy steps a little ahead of me, positioning himself in between the belligerent fella and myself. He doesn’t say anything, instead keeping an eye on the man as we get closer to the front of the line. However, before we step past the rescinded velvet rope, a final string of curse words sees the irate buffoon away from the entrance and down the sidewalk, stuffing his hands into his pockets and drooping his shoulders dejectedly. Sammy replies to the scene by turning back to me and flicking his eyebrows. “Good thing we got our tickets in advance, huh?”
I smile and nod, feeling myself blush again as he looks ahead towards the ticket collector. He… put himself between me and that potential danger. Well, as dangerous as that inconsolable toddler was, at least, but… he still looked out for my safety. And he didn’t do it consciously, either. I might have been insulted if he did; I’m a capable woman, I can take care of myself. But he just… sorta did it. Almost… instinctively. The butterflies in my stomach nearly lift me off the ground.
I glance around, frantically trying to find something to take my mind off of the rapid beating of my heart. Noticing the name of the club suspended over the front door we have nearly arrived at, I stammer out the first thing that pops into my head. “S-so, Sammy! Do you know why they call it Birdland?”
He faces me again with his intensely handsome smile before pondering the question for a moment. “Hmm. Does it got somethin’ to do with Charlie Larker?”
I can’t stop myself from smiling along with him. “That’s right! He went by ‘Bird’ which was a shortening of his nickname ‘Yardbird’, and he helped open the club up in December of 201M1949 BC! Though, to be truthful, it was him lending his name to the club more so than doing any real business! Besides, he’s a musician, not a jazz club operator. He’s performed here a few times, but a lot less than you’d expect considering it’s… it’s his name above the door and all…” I start to trail off. “... Aw, geez, I’m sorry. I’m rambling on about nothin’.”
Sammy’s grin only widens. “Are you kidding? You’re a regular Farmer’s Almanac, but for, like, jazz factoids. It’s pretty cute, actually!”
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-
The ticket collector clearing her throat distracts Sammy away from my meltdown. “Oh, we’re up! Got your ticket, Aubrey?”
I extend a shaking hand towards the usher. She lifts an eyebrow at me as she accepts my ticket and rips it in half. I’m unsure if her reaction is because I’m a velociraptor or because of the beet red glow of my otherwise blue cheeks. I only barely catch her informing Sammy and I that our table number is 14. My own voice echoing in my head nearly drowns out all other sound:
He said I’m cute. Oh my God he said I’m cute! AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE-
My internal breakdown is interrupted as we pass through the doors to the club. The exterior of the building is deceptively plain compared to the lavish interior; outside, though the canopy and small neon sign inform you of the venue, the average passerby wouldn’t even imagine this level of splendor. The main hall is spacious and elegant, with intricately detailed half-pillars lining the walls. The ceiling, a few feet higher up than an average enclosure but not quite of grand concert hall scale, is coated with purple velvet to reduce echo and maximize the auditory experience for the audience in addition to adding an almost regal feel to the space.
Dozens of tables surround a beautifully intimate stage, one where you could literally reach out and touch the musicians upon it. Of course, such an action would cost you your admittance as the nearby security staff would rapidly bounce you into the alley. A luxurious bar offers all sorts of drinks; several members of the waitstaff already mingle amidst the occupied tables, delivering any sort of imbibement one could imagine to the gathering, thirsty patrons.
My mouth hangs open as I drink in the sight before me, hearing Sammy echo my amazement with another whistle. “Okay, maybe I did underdress. This place is incredible!”
I giggle and step closer to him. “Quit your fretting! Come on, let’s go find our table.”
We work our way through the smattering of tables encircling the stage, briefly passing through a small open section directly in front of the stage. Our assigned seating is adorned with a white card with the number 14 scrawled upon it, resting next to a vase containing a few roses. Sammy rapidly moves behind the chair I was about to sit in, politely pulling it out for me. I give him a smile and a nod as I take my seat, allowing him to nudge it under my posterior before he moves over to his own spot.
He’s a gentleman, too…
I’m given no time to heed the squealing of my inner voice as a waitress approaches our table. An older human woman in a modest purple and black dress, she speaks in a tone I recognize as she nervously sizes me up. “G-good evening! Can I get you… two something to drink?” Her emphasis on the word “two” is joined by her glancing between Sammy and myself.
I try my best to apologetically smile at her. She’s someone who has dealt with dinosaurs treating her badly, and worries that I’ll do the same. I want to assuage her fears, but before I can say anything Sammy throws an arm over the back of his chair, craning his neck to stare at the collection of bottles behind the bar. “Hmm… you got a good spiced rum?”
The waitress offers him a polite nod before turning back to me. “A-and for you, ma’am?”
I hesitate, not having given the question any thought prior to now. Not wishing to make the poor woman more uncomfortable than she already is, I merely echo Sammy’s order. “I’ll take the same, thank you.”
With a smile and a slight bow of her head, the waitress scurries away as quickly as she can without being rude. I watch her go, feeling regretful that I’m causing her such discomfort. Sammy doesn’t let me wallow in my emotions for very long. “You a rum gal? I woulda expected you to go for the wine, or somethin’... I dunno, more lady-like?”
I turn his direction as I raise an eyebrow. “More lady-like, you say?”
He stumbles over his reply as his cheeks redden. “Um… well, I mean… not sayin’ that in a bad way… I just figured-”
My giggling clues him in on my intentions. “You’re an easy one to tease, you know that?” His nose scrunches in reply, but he still smiles before I continue. “Honestly, I’m not much of a drinker. Never got a taste for the stuff.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Same, actually. I mean, I won’t say no to the occasional drink on a special night like tonight, but I don’t keep anythin’ stocked in my apartment.”
Before I can speak up again, the waitress returns with two glasses of bronze-colored liquid, gently placing a cocktail napkin in front of each of us before setting the glasses upon them. She steps back before asking neither Sammy or I in particular, “... Sixty cents, please.”
Phew. That’s pricey for two glasses of rum. I mean, it’s a higher-class establishment, but still. I reach for my purse, but Sammy holds up his outstretched palm to stop me as he withdraws his wallet. A dollar bill passes from his hand to hers; before she can rummage for the change, Sammy coolly adds, “Keep it.”
Her eyes light up at his generosity and she fervently thanks him before heading off to take another table’s order. His only reply is to hold a small, gentle smile as he takes a sip of his drink, glancing around the establishment as the other patrons who are still filing in. The tables are all nearly full now, with the sounds of small talk and placed orders encircling us on every side.
A thought emerges. It begins gnawing at me, tiny and pestering at first, but rapidly growing in size. I take in the crowd around me. As I do so, sideways glances and nervous halts in conversation occur as my eyes pass over the human patrons. I spot the dimetrodon from earlier, seated at a table by himself in the corner, seeming to pay no mind to the humans around him to steal wary looks in his direction.
We are the anomalies here. We are the odd ones out. Two dinosaurs amidst a sea of humans who tiptoe around us, offering timid smiles and wide berths.
I suddenly feel like I don’t belong here.
“Everything okay, Aubrey? You ain’t touched your drink yet.” Sammy’s gentle voice momentarily breaks me out of the intrusive thoughts. I turn my attention to him, meeting his blue eyes with mine. I want so desperately to wave the sentiment off, act like nothing's bothering me at all and have a pleasant evening of jazz and Sammy’s company. I want to compliment his generosity with the waitress, offering him praise for being such a gentleman so far, despite this not being a date. I want to say so many things, something, anything but what comes tumbling out of my lips:
“... Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Sammy’s only reply is to blink in confusion. I continue in a hushed tone, having to release eye contact with him to keep forming the words properly without breaking down into a sobbing mess. “Everyone is staring at me. Everyone is afraid of me. The waitress could barely look me in the eyes, she was terrified. I… I don’t belong here. This is a human club, with human music. So… why? Why are you treating me like nothing’s wrong?”
I finally manage to lift my head towards Sammy again. I expect the worst: a scowl, an annoyed eye roll, or worse… the fear that so many other humans show me. But… he offers none of those things. Instead, he only smiles at me before he speaks. “Should I be?”
His question catches me off guard. “... What?”
“Should I be afraid of you?”
My eyes widen. “No! Of course not!”
He offers a shrug to accompany his kind smile. “Well, then, there’s no problem, right?” I’m flabbergasted, unable to find a reply to his words.
He doesn’t let the air hang dead between us for long before he lowers his own gaze, his smile faltering slightly as he lets out a half-hearted chuckle. “Heh. To be totally honest, I’m not sure where I got the stones to approach you yesterday about the tune you were hummin’. That… really isn’t like me. I’m usually a pretty nervous guy, especially around…” He swirls his hands in an all-encompassing gesture. “... well, around dinosaurs like yourself. I’ve had my fair share of bad run-ins. But…” He meets my eyes again. “... you seemed different. On that bus stop bench. You seemed… lonely. Like you needed someone to just say ‘hello’. Someone to share a small laugh with, or just get a quick compliment from.” His eyes take in the room surrounding us. “I certainly didn’t expect it’d end up with me being here. That said…” He smiles at me once more. “... I’m glad I did stop to say ‘hello’ to you. And not just cuz of this show you invited me to!”
My mind spins. His words flow around, drowning out the gnawing self-consciousness. But another half-cocked thought escapes my mouth. “I-if you hadn’t stopped yesterday… you wouldn’t have had to… that body… and the way those officers treated you…”
He waves a hand dismissively. “More excitement than I normally experience on a Monday night, that’s for sure. But I don’t regret a thing. Sure, it was a pain getting man-handled by those cops, and I def- …” He trails off, his eyes glazing over for a moment as though he just recalled something. I cock my head inquisitively, but he quickly shakes away whatever distracted him. “... It’s certainly a hell of a way to meet someone. But… I’m glad I met you, Aubrey. I mean that. Don’t let the way these other folks are looking at ya make you uncomfortable. I’m happy to be here with you. I’m happy you invited me along.”
I bite my lip as I do my best to keep the tears from escaping my eyes. “Th… thank you, Sammy. I’m glad I was able to invite you along, too. Thank you for being such a gentleman.” I reach across the table and place a hand on top of his. He glances down at it before his eyes shoot back up to mine, his cheeks brightening rapidly.
He stammers out a reply. “U-uh! Thanks! You too! W-wait, I mean… uhh…”
My laughter shatters the malaise-filled cloud that I had cast over the table, with Sammy’s laughter soon joining mine. I feel like a total idiot for being such a sourpuss on what’s supposed to be a nice night of jazz and pleasant company, but the weight lifted from my shoulders by his measured and meaningful words means more to me than he can possibly understand right now.
He is a real catch.
We spend the next several minutes making small talk, sharing with one another details about ourselves and our lives. My eyes widen as he shares that he currently works for Sal’s Butcher and Grocery, the very same one I frequent on my way home from work. I question why I’d never seen him there before until he informs me that he works in the dock, loading and unloading trucks every day. If he was a checkout person or bagboy I’d have recognized him, but that single concrete wall at the back of the store kept us from ever meeting before yesterday.
He mentions living in an apartment not far from the grocery store, and his dog named Saxon who he describes as “a big lovable lunk”. Though he doesn’t outright say that he’s single, he doesn’t make mention of a roommate, girlfriend or wife, causing me to silently cheer in my head. He does mention a handful of friends, some work acquaintances and other buddies with whom he plays a weekly poker game. He’s modest about himself, but I get the feeling that he’s not a bad player based on what I’ve gleaned about him so far.
Though he shares plenty with me about himself, he offers me even more opportunity to talk about my life and career. I first fill him in on my profession, apologizing again for having lied about being a full-fledged police officer when I’m in fact just a clerical worker. He waves it off, commending me for being gutsy enough to charge headfirst towards a crime scene in pursuit of justice.
I similarly bring up my living situation, emphasizing that I don’t have any pets but leaving the specifics of my love life up to speculation. As the topic crosses my mind, I feel a twinge of that specter of my past poke at my subconscious, but quickly push it aside. Instead, I smile as I watch the gears turn in Sammy’s head, wondering if he’s trying to solve the same riddle that he presented to me. I round out my brief small talk introduction by mentioning my own social circle. Though I don’t have many women I can call close friends, I cherish the few that I do have and keep us in contact via a book club. They’re a little annoyed that I keep recommending jazz memoirs when it’s my month to suggest a book, but they can deal with it. My turn, my pick.
Throughout all of our talk, Sammy is attentive and positive. He engages in our conversation, asking questions and making corny little jokes when he gets the chance. I don’t get the impression that he’s trying to be charming, but he’s doing a damn good job of it so far. I just hope that I’m not putting him off. I already have to make up for that stupid outburst…
Before we can continue, a figure makes his way onto the stage, earning a brief round of applause from the rapidly shushing crowd. Sammy offers me a smile as he turns toward the stage, but his expression is outdone by the wide grin that overtakes me. I know who this man on stage is. Sammy cocks a questioning eyebrow at me; I respond by nodding my head toward the fellow in the spotlight.
Though he is undoubtedly a human, the positively diminutive figure seems to share more in common with a compsognathus than a cro magnon. He has no tail or elongated snout, but I’d be surprised if he broke four feet even, and that’s including the tall captain’s hat he wears. He quickly rotates the microphone stand’s height adjuster, an audible clang echoing out as it falls to its lowest setting, one that still requires the lilliputian fellow to stand on tip-toes to reach with his mouth. His voice is understandably higher pitched, but he speaks with authority and bravado:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the one and only Birdland Nightclub!” He nods as cheers and applause ring out from the crowd. “I am your host, Pee Wee Minkette, and I gotta tell ya, folks. We have an absolutely astounding show for you tonight! Of course, I know you’re all here to see the legendary Miles Cratis Quintet…!” Another round of applause expectedly interrupts him. “... But first! We’ve got a bunch of cool cats who want to serenade you with their locally brewed jams. Give it up for the Brett Boner Four!”
Pee Wee Minkette strides down the small staircase to a mix of applause and confused looks as four gentlemen take to the stage. Their expressions are equal parts nervousness and annoyance as the frontman cradles his trombone in one arm while pulling the mic stand back up to an average person’s height. He clears his throat before addressing the crowd. “Uh, hi. We’re actually the Brett Horner Four. Anyway, I hope you’re all having a good night tonight! This first one is called-”
I don’t catch the name of the song. My fit of snickering overwhelms me to the point where I can hardly breathe. I do my best to stifle the laughter, but like a joke that gets stuck in your head in the middle of a church sermon, the attempts to bottle it up only make it worse. Thankfully, the band either doesn’t notice or they decide to not challenge the velociraptor woman having a conniption at table 14 as they begin their first tune.
I catch sight of Sammy grinning at me, both delighted and perplexed at my uncontrollable laughter. I wave a hand in front of my face, trying desperately to cool myself down. Sucking in several deep breaths to return to a somewhat composed state, I manage to eke out an answer to Sammy’s unasked question, speaking in a hushed tone between occasional giggles so as to not interrupt the local band any worse than I already have.
“H-he… aha… Pee Wee Minkette… he’s such a little bastard! Heehee!”
Sammy’s grin widens but he still doesn’t get the whole picture. “What do you mean? What did he do? I mean… it sounded like he didn’t say that band’s name right-”
“That’s just it! He does that shit on purpose! I heard rumors that he purposely mispronounces bands that don’t tip him, and I betcha that’s exactly what happened here!”
Now it’s Sammy’s turn to chuckle quietly to himself. “... What a little prick!”
The two of us quietly continue laughing through the band’s first song, one or the other of us kicking the fit back into gear with a sideways glance or an utterance of the word “boner”. We’re acting like teenagers, totally immature and certainly inappropriate for a venue like this, but I don’t care. I haven’t laughed like this in ages, and I get to share this moment with Sammy.
By the end of the Brett Boner Four’s first tune we’ve managed to compose ourselves. I earn myself a few leers from the patrons seated around us, but my eyes are only for the man positioned next to me right now. He’s handsome, he’s charming, he’s a gentleman and I laugh with him more than I even laugh with my closest friends. At this moment… I’m entirely smitten.
As the frontman introduces the next song and they begin playing, the actual quality of their music begins registering with me. It’s upbeat and exciting. Not exactly expert level music, nowhere near the talent that we should expect to see later, but it’s certainly good for a local band, and getting to play here is probably a big break for them. I even find myself tapping my foot along with their song, enjoying the composition almost as much as the company.
A handful of people from nearby tables begin filing out of their seats and into the empty space in front of the stage, swept up by the energizing tempo of the song as they start dancing with one another. Their gyrations are subtle but fun, with rotating hips and bobbing knees punctuating the smiles and laughter of each dancer and their partner. The band takes note, suddenly putting a bit more gusto into their own performance to encourage the spontaneous movement that’s broken out. It fills me with a twinge of regret that I can’t-
I suddenly see Sammy rise from his seat and extend a hand towards me, a wide smile on his face as he beckons me toward him.
Oh no.
My mouth hangs open for a moment before I shake my head. I try to speak up, but he beckons me again. “Come on, Aubrey! It’ll be fun!”
I feel my cheeks begin to burn. I avert my eyes. “I… I can’t, Sammy.”
“There’s no reason to be shy! Come on!”
“Sammy, no. I can’t.”
He doesn’t relent, stepping closer to me. “Oh, don’t be like that! You’ll be great at-”
I sharply cut him off, my eyes flaring at him. “No!”
His smile instantly falls away and he withdraws his hand. I cover my face in embarrassment as he shifts back to his seat next to me. He speaks in a dejected tone. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure ya.”
I lower my hands before replying. “No… no, I’m sorry. I… didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just… I literally can’t dance. My… I have a bad knee…”
His eyes go out of focus for a second as he seems to scan his memories before they shoot open and he brings his hands to his mouth. “Oh my God! I… oh shit, the cops said that, didn’t they?! I’m so sorry, I forgot!”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sammy.”
He turns away from me, scowling at himself. “Gah. I’m so fuckin’ stupid, why didn’t I remember that?” He remains rigid for a few moments, not speaking aloud but almost certainly beating himself up internally.
I slowly reach my hand across the table and place it on his arm. Thankfully, he doesn’t recoil away from me, instead looking up at me with remorseful eyes. “Well… you had just been tackled to the ground by those cops. I’m surprised you remembered your name after that!” I offer him a smile which he only reciprocates with a slight puff of air from his nostrils. “... Plus, those same cops called me a lesbian, remember? And that was bullshit. They just… happened to be right about my knee.”
His frustration finally cracks as he returns my smile, though it’s sullied with regret. “... Still. I’m sorry for pressuring ya like that. I got… swept up. Thought it’d be fun to dance. I just-”
“You didn’t know. It’s okay.”
With a sigh, he nods to me. We both turn our attention back to the band, their upbeat song offering an awkward backdrop to the sudden shift in mood. I sip at my drink as I silently curse myself for making such a fucking mess of this night. I was late, I had an emotional outburst of self-consciousness, and now I snapped at Sammy when he was just trying to have a fun dance with me.
I’m blowing it. He’s not gonna want to see me again after this. I… know it’s not a date… but I was hoping…
The band finishes their song, earning another round of applause from both the audience and the tuckered out dancers. After reminding us of their actual name and excusing themselves from the stage, Pee Wee Minkette finds his way in front of the audience again, dropping the mic to his height in similar fashion to before.
“Hey, those kids were great! Lookin’ forward to hearing more from them in the future! But now, the moment I know all of you have been waiting for! One of the biggest names in jazz today, hot off the release of their newest, hottest record, ‘Kind of Blue’, let’s give it up for the Miles Cratis Quintet!”
There’s no mispronunciation of the headliner’s name, and Pee Wee even takes the time to adjust the microphone back up to its original height. As he shuffles off the stage, the air in the room instantly shifts. Uproarious applause and cheers ring out as the legend himself steps onto the stage, followed closely by his bandmates. In his hands he holds a trumpet, the instrument that skyrocketed him to fame and fortune, one with which he is intimately familiar. He pauses for a moment to glance around the audience, but says nothing. Instead, he turns to his bandmates, mutters something, then faces us once more with a calculating look.
From the first notes tapped out on the piano by Bill Ephans in unison with the first double bass strings plucked by Paul Chainers, I know the song. A chill fires up my tail and through my spine as everything else melts away. The first track on Side One of their record, the same tune I woke up to yesterday… the same one I was humming when Sammy approached me:
‘So What’.
The entire crowd is deathly silent, holding their breath and straining to hear every note. No one is here because they don’t want to be. We’ve all gathered to listen to one of the greatest jazz bands on the planet, and they’re playing one of their best songs for us right now. A few moments later, Jimmy Dobb’s gentle drumming joins the fray, offering a smooth as silk backdrop to the instrumental fusion. Shortly thereafter, John Coalmane’s tenor sax speaks up, breathing fresh soul into the already sweltering symphony.
And at long last, Miles Cratis brings the trumpet to his lips, inhaling deeply before he adds his first notes to the mix. It is perfect. Absolutely beautiful. Mesmerizing. Everything I had ever heard through my record player or my radio could not have prepared me for hearing the real deal. My ears strain as they yearn to take in every sound, every playful weave of these five musicians and the culmination of all of their skills in a single, masterful song.
For nine and a half minutes, the world melts away. Every single thing that has ever troubled me fades into oblivion as I’m left only with the music of a jazz genius. My eyes close, shutting out all sensations but the sounds in the air around me. For a moment, I even forget where I am, so wholly absorbed by the melodious marriage of strings and brass that I could have been floating through space and been none the wiser.
One of the most unfortunate truisms of the world is that “all good things must come to an end”, and as it was, eventually the song comes to a close. For a moment’s breath upon its conclusion, pure, unbroken silence fills the space. It is rapidly shattered by the thunderous applause and awe-filled cheers of the crowd, my own joining them as I smile uncontrollably. Miles Cratis replies in the way I expected: a simple, small bow, immediately followed by turning to his bandmates and muttering something else. A moment later, their next song begins, ‘Freddy Freeloader’, the very next track on the same album. It’s their newest record and a huge hit, so it’s no surprise they’d be playing the familiar tracks right off the bat. Though I hope we get to hear some of his earlier tunes tonight, too.
As they spin their magic on stage for a second time, I smile as a factoid pops into my brain. Though Bill Ephans is playing the piano with them tonight, it was technically Wynton Kawly who performed the piano part of the recorded version of Freddy Freeloader. I turn to Sammy, anxious to share this with him before I stop myself.
He doesn’t look at me, instead focusing on the stage. He doesn’t look upset… far from it, in fact, as his finger taps on the table in time with the percussion. But… he’s listening to the music. He’s not interested in my useless trivia right now.
… He’s not interested in me.
I turn back to the stage, still listening to the beautiful tapestry being woven by Miles Cratis and his companions, but a cold, empty gap opens up in my heart. I keep replaying the foolish mistakes I’d made throughout the night, uttering internal blasphemies that I dare not repeat out loud. I’m… not gonna let this ruin my night. I wanted to hear Miles Cratis play, and I’m hearing him play right now.
… So why does it hurt so badly?
My head sinks. I hope and pray that it looks like I’m absorbed by the music, but right now I feel lower than low. I fucked up the one glimmer of light I had seen in so many months, casting away the kind and gentle human with my self-loathing and bitterness. After tonight, I’ll go back to being alone again. Yes, I’ll always have my records and my book club friends, but… I’ll still be alone.
As the song comes to a close, another round of applause and cheers fills the room, but this time I don’t join in. I’m too wrapped up in my own resentment to even move. I expect to hear another lull followed by another song that I’m not going to be able to enjoy as much as I want to, but instead I hear a voice that I’d not heard as of yet resonate through the stage’s microphone. He speaks calm, reserved words, mumbling slightly past the hint of scratchiness you start to hear from someone who smokes a bit more than they ought to.
“Thank’y all for comin’ out tonight. This next one, feel free t’dance if y’want. ‘Blue on Green’.”
Another moment later, the piano and double bass kick off the hauntingly beautiful and melodic opening to the third track on their same album. I absolutely adore this song, but feel the swelling anger and sadness as that word lurches around in my head again. “Dance”. If only I could, Miles. I want so badly to be able to. I want to hold Sammy in my arms, I want to feel his hands on my hips as… as…
I glance up. Several people have taken up Miles’s offer and have moved into the center of the room, but their dancing is not frenetic or energized. Instead, it is slow and intimate, with partners gently swaying with one another in time with the soulful song.
I turn to Sammy again. Though his focus is still on the stage, he notices my look this time and meets my gaze. He subtly raises an eyebrow as though to wordlessly ask me if everything is okay, but quickly shifts to a look of confusion as I rise from my seat. Stepping around the table, I extend a hand to him, averting my eyes slightly as the rattling of my nerves causes my voice to crack.
“I’d- … like to dance… if you’ll have me.”
Sammy quickly rises to his feet, but doesn’t accept my hand. “A-are you sure? Your- I mean, can you-”
I smile at him. “This is slow enough that I can handle it.”
The shock on his face is replaced by his warm smile, causing my stomach to turn over on itself. My hand quivers as he accepts it, and he slowly leads me to the dance floor. We find a small spot for ourselves before he turns to face me again. His eyes nervously dart down before meeting mine again. I know he’s trying to be polite, but right now I just want to be in his arms. I want to know that I haven’t squandered my chance. I want to know if he feels the same way about me that I do about him.
I step closer to him, waiting for him to make the first touch.
He does so, bringing his hands to rest just above my hips on either side of my frame. I reciprocate by draping my arms over his shoulders, bringing our bodies nearly into contact with one another as we begin gently swaying with the song. My tail slowly wraps itself behind him, startling him slightly as the unfamiliar feathered appendage comes into contact with his back. The thing has a mind of its own most of the time, but this is a conscious effort, both to keep it out of the way of other dancers and to share in this moment every part of me that possibly can.
He glances from the end of my tail back up to me. My snout is inches away from his reddened face, both of us rocking in time with the song. He does not smile and he does not speak, instead wearing an intense expression as though he’s lost in thought. However, his eyes do not wander, focusing only on mine. Wholly absorbed in my gaze, just as much as I am absorbed in his.
For the second time tonight, the world around me melts away. The beauty of Miles Cratis’s music fills my ears, but this time I do not drift alone in the soundscape. I am joined by a man who holds me in his arms. A man who approached me randomly at a bus stop to compliment my humming, only to run with me toward a crime scene and get arrested for his troubles. A man who, despite my unacceptable behavior tonight, has still accepted my dance.
Sammy.
Too soon, the song comes to a close. It’s such a beautiful track on the record and a perfect way to close out Side One. As the crowd applauds the band, Sammy and I remain in one another’s arms for a moment before he smiles at me. “... Th-thank you for the dance, Aubrey.”
I return his smile and take a small step back, removing my hands from his shoulders. “Thank you, Samuel. You’re… a very good dancer.”
He blushes again, scratching the back of his neck. “Aw, I don’t think I’m anythin’ special.”
I disagree.
As we make our way back to our seats, Miles Cratis approaches the microphone again. “Thank’y. We’re gonn’ take a short break, then we got some more songs for ya.” He offers another quick nod to the applause of the crowd before setting his trumpet down and heading over toward the bar. I notice him approach a blonde woman and begin chatting with her; perhaps a lucky gal that caught his eye, who knows?
I turn my attention back to Sammy who gulps down the last little bit of rum that had melded with the remaining ice in his glass. He sets it back on the table, tapping his finger on its rim as he seems to contemplate something. After a moment he finds some words, though they’re not particularly eloquent ones. “Aubrey… would- uhh… I mean… is there- … um… shit.”
I extend him a patient smile. “Take your time, Sammy.”
He sighs. “Ah, geez. I’m not great with words is all. Doesn’t help when my nerves are all rattled. I’m… tryin’ to find the right way to ask this.”
My heart nearly flutters out of my throat, but I somehow keep my composure as I coolly respond. “What do you want to ask?”
He looks up at me again, his eyes suddenly filled with resolve. He takes several deep breaths before speaking. “I… know you said this isn’t a date. But… could it be?”
I have no earthly clue how I keep myself from fainting, let alone how I manage to eke out my smarmy reply. “... Could it be what, Sammy?”
“Oh, come on! Could it… could it be a date?”
The sides of my mouth lift in an uncontrollable, giddy smile. “I’d like that very much, Sammy.”
He lets out an immense sigh of relief. “Raptor Christ, why was that so damn hard? Sheesh! I feel like I’m a fuckin’ teenager again or somethin’.” I can’t help but giggle, knowing the sentiment all too well after how I was feeling earlier today. However, his change in expression makes my laughter die down as he seems to dread what he prepares to say next. “... Aubrey, I’ve really enjoyed tonight. A lot. And… I’d love to go on another date with you, if… if you want to. But…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Miles Cratis leading that blonde woman out of the club. I refocus on Sammy as I lean forward. “But what?”
He turns his head away, wrestling with himself internally before steeling his resolve and meeting my eyes again. “... Okay. Cards on the table. I don’t like keeping shit like this inside, so I just gotta be forward with it. I’m… a divorcee.” I blink at him which he seems to interpret as judgment. “I’m sorry, that’s just the truth. It was a couple years ago, she’s outta the picture and, well, outta the state too. We was hitched over in Old Jersey, where I grew up. I moved out here after… well, after it all went down.”
“... I thought I heard an Old Jersey accent in there.”
He smirks but presses on. “If… that’s not somethin’ you wanna deal with, I just needed to get it out there right away, be upfront about it. I didn’t want it to come jumping out of the closet like a boogeyman if… if things… I dunno, progressed with us…”
I once again reach across the table and put my hands on top of his. I’m really getting used to the feeling of his hands in mine. “... Sammy. That’s not a problem. I…” My eyes involuntarily cast themselves downward. “... I’m divorced, too.”
Sammy balks at my statement. “... Wait, seriously? But… you’re so young!”
I shoot his balk right back to him. “I’m twenty-four, whaddya mean ‘I’m so young’?”
“I… well, I mean, you are a year younger than me…”
I click my tongue at him. “You dope.” This gets a chuckle out of him. As it dies down, I speak more seriously. “... My… situation wasn’t so long ago. Less than a year. But he’s… out of the picture, too…” Though I’m also not interested in keeping secrets, I’m nowhere near prepared to tell him everything regarding that situation. Another time.
Sammy nods sympathetically. “A couple o’ divorcees, lookin’ to reenter the dating pool again.” His kind eyes linger on mine before he speaks again. “So, how about it?”
I cock my head, actually unsure as to his question this time as opposed to the teasing I had done a few moments ago. “How about what?”
“Could I ask you on another date? Ya know, a proper date. Dinner, maybe a movie or somethin’ if you like that sorta thing?”
My cheeks glow even brighter red than his. “... I’d love that, Sammy.”
His smile widens immensely, but before he can speak up again a commotion outside the club distracts us both. A gaggle of people seem to be crowding around the entrance, trying to peer over the top of one another to see what’s going on outside. From the muffled sounds beyond the door, I can only make out shouting.
Sammy rises to his feet, again taking a step forward to posture himself between myself and the crowd. However, before any sort of threat makes itself known, the sound of the microphone stand clattering to its lowered position startles us. Pee Wee Minkette stands before us again, the two members of the Miles Cratis Quintet who are still on stage staring at him in confusion. His voice lacks the performative quality from before, now only carrying with it panic.
“L-ladies and g-gentlemen… there’s… been an incident. I’m sorry… but we have to cancel the rest of the show.”
Now I’m on my feet, wide eyed and bewildered at what he just said. I hear Sammy mutter, “What the hell?” as dozens of other patrons around us echo the confused and angered sentiments. Pee Wee tries to raise his hands to quell the crowd, but realizes his efforts will be in vain unless he elaborates. As he wipes the sweat away from his brow with his handkerchief, he stammers out words that make my heart drop in my chest like a stone:
“... Miles Cratis has been arrested.”