I wanted soft lights, soul-stirring music, and a good, strong cocktail or two... or three, so I decided to go to The Social. I had never been there on Valentine's Day before. The occasion had always taken me to other places, so I decided to switch things up and give it a try. I wanted something different than a standard fancy restaurant. I wanted to feel a little bit of magic, and on any given night, The Social was the perfect place for that.
For decades, it had been a haven where some of the best jazz and soul musicians would come. The place wasn't the sexiest, but at anytime during the course of a night, it could come alive in a heartbeat, ushered by low bass that spoke directly to your hips, drums that made you forget what you were doing, and piano or vocals that could very well make you fall in love. On top of that, they served the best drinks in town. The combination often made for a divine marriage.
It was a little after 8 when I walked up the small stairway, and, immediately, I could see that the entire place was packed. Most of the seats were occupied with bodies, and the band for the night was still setting up.
I gazed around for about half a minute before I found one empty chair. It was nestled between the wall and a brown-skinned gentleman in a dark blazer staring at the television screen above the bar. My heels immediately raced over to claim it.
When I settled into it, I glanced up and noticed that Jerry was behind the bar. I couldn't stand him. He was a proficient bartender, but his demeanor always bothered me. He wanted to talk to you all night long, whether you were interested in having a conversation with him or not. Also, he paced -- nonstop. Something in his body would not permit him to stand still while taking your order or forcing you into a dialogue. It disturbed me.
"You made a face," the man next to me said. I glanced over at him and he still had his eyes fixed on the television.
"I'm sorry?"
He turned and looked at me then. A smile was perched on his face.
"When you saw the bartender. You made a face. I take it you're not a fan."
I felt a little embarrassed. Was my reaction so noticeable that even someone watching TV could notice?
"You can say that."
"He is a bit shifty," he said. His hazel eyes and smile were still upon me, and both were surprisingly warm.
As fate would have it, Jerry spotted me then, and made his way toward me.
"Hey, stranger," he said in his thick Southern accent. "Whatcha drinkin' tonight?"
"How about Jack on the rocks?"
Jerry nodded his head as he fidgeted from side to side. He turned to the liquor bottles and proceeded to pour my drink, dancing all the while.
"So," the man next to me began, "I've learned two things about you in the span of a minute."
"Okay..." I said sheepishly. He turned to face me again, and his smile reappeared.
"You're not a fan of fidgety bartenders, for one. And, you're dangerous."
"Really? How do you figure?" I inquired.
"In my experience, girls who drink Jack are always dangerous."
It was my turn to smile then. Jerry returned and set my drink down in front of me along with a few black cocktail napkins.
"So, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"
The man next to me gazed into my eyes. They were light green, and I found myself a little bit lost in them, and I hadn't even started drinking yet.
"Oh, in my experience, it's always a good thing -- until it becomes a bad thing."
I picked up my drink, looked back at him, and downed the whole thing. He had a look of pleasant surprise on his face, but the smile never left.
"You might be right about that," I said coolly, feeling the whiskey on my breath.
"And on that note, I rest my case."
* * *
I was on my third drink before we finally exchanged names. The energy and momentum of our conversation had completely swallowed us up, and formal greetings fell by the wayside in its wake.
"I'm Gabriel," he said after taking a sip from his beer.
"Sarafina."
"Sarafina, huh? You've got a fancy name. I feel like I need to talk to my parents now and complain about the basic name they gave me."
"You've got a good name!" I said while laughing. "It's a biblical name."
"Yeah," he sighed. "That's got to count for something, right?"
Right then, a nice, slow, deep riff on an upright bass began to play from the stage. I could feel it pulse through my body. It was followed by the addition of drums and a sauntering piano. The lights dimmed and Gabriel and I both turned our attention to the music.
The bassist, a young Black man with glasses, looked like he was slow dancing with his instrument. He had a look of concentration on his face as he kept his eyes on the other members of the trio. I found myself swaying to the throb of the rhythm. Jerry brought me another glass of whiskey and said something to me. I waved my hand dismissively at him for the first time ever, and didn't even look at him to see how he took it. I was all into the music. I wanted to immerse myself in this sound, to have it work its way up my spine and take me to nirvana.
I paused for a second to look around, and everyone seemed to be moving to the song, whether they were aware of it or not. I snuck a peek at Gabriel, and he, too, was rocking subtly in his seat. The low light almost made his eyes glow, and I took the opportunity to really take him in. He was a really handsome man. His clothes were dapper, and the smell of his cologne was perfect. It always bothered me when a man's scent was overwhelming. His was just strong enough to tease my nose. I wanted to move in closer to bring more of it into me.
It was almost as if he could read my thoughts. He turned towards me and leaned in close to my ear. I, in turn, inched a little bit closer, too.
"Before you leave, I'd like to dance with you," he said. His voice was deep, and there was something about his tone coupled with the sound coming from the stage and washing over us that caused me to start getting wet.
"Before you leave," I began, "I might let you."
Gabriel let out a loud laugh and picked his beer back up.
"See?" he said, lifting the bottle to his lips. "Dangerous."
* * *
"I'll be right back," Gabriel said as he scooted back in his stool. I watched him carefully weave his way through the assortment of bodies in the venue until he eventually disappeared. It had just turned 10, and, sensing an opening, Jerry shuffled his way over.
"Can I get you another drink, babydoll?"
"No, I think I'm fine. Thanks."
"Hey," he said, squinting his eyes at me and leaning in closer on the bar. "I think that guy sitting next to you likes you."
"I kind of get that vibe, too," I replied. There was no emotion in my voice, and I felt proud of myself for keeping my tone cool. If Jerry was trying to be protective, I wanted him to feel unsure of how I felt about Gabriel and his potential intentions.
"Let me know if he's bothering you. I'll have him yanked for you."
He winked at me, and a sly smile crept onto my face. The idea of Jerry being jealous was a surefire highlight for the night. I could only imagine how much pacing he'd do if Gabriel kissed me. He'd be able to fuel a small city with his nervous energy alone.
"Ladies and gentleman," a voice began. I looked up to see the pianist of the band holding a microphone. They'd taken a small break about fifteen minutes earlier and were now back on the stage and manning their instruments. "This next song was just requested, and we thought it would be some perfect soundtrack music for your Valentine's Day. So, if you're with someone, now would be a good time to get on the floor and dance."
As soon as they went into the song, I not only knew it, but was instantly enamored. It was "Crusin'" by Smokey Robinson, and I'd loved it my entire life. My mother played it around the house all the time when I was growing up -- whether she was cooking, cleaning the house, or just plain wanted to hear some Smokey. I could feel myself beaming in my seat.
By this time, Gabriel had worked his way back to the bar. He looked me squarely in my eyes, extended his hand, and said, "Come on!" Without a second's hesitation, I gladly jumped up and did as I was told.
We made our way onto the dance floor, and he drew me close to him. He draped his arms around the small of my back, and our bodies rocked to the sound of the music together. I closed my eyes and buried my face into his collarbone.
"You're welcome, by the way," he said.
It suddenly dawned on me then: his disappearance; the special request for the band. He had mapped this whole thing out -- and it worked beautifully.
"When did you think of this?" I asked, temporarily pulling my face away from his body.
"It just came to me. I had a feeling that you'd appreciate this."
"You were right," I said, nestling my face back into his clavicle.
"Wait, can you say that again? I don't think I heard you correctly."
I shook my head no against him like a child would, and we both laughed as we swayed. He tightened his hold on me a little more like he didn't want me to escape his embrace. My right hand started caressing his neck, letting him know that I had no interest within me to do so.
It's going to sound clichéd, I know, but it felt like time didn't exist. I had no idea how many minutes Gabriel and I spent together on the dance floor. Maybe twenty. Perhaps more than that. It could've been less. All I know is that, eventually, he pulled away slightly and proclaimed, "I've gotta go to the bathroom."
As soon as the words left his mouth, my body informed me that I also needed to go. I grabbed his hand and began leading us toward the restrooms.
When we made our way to the white bathroom doors, I heard him say, "Hey" behind me. When I turned, Gabriel wrapped his arms around me, lifted me off the ground, pinned me against the wall, and kissed me deeply. It was the kind of kiss that said so many things in a short span of time -- everything from I'm absolutely intoxicated by you, to I would love to fuck you right here until they hauled me off to jail for doing so. Surprise and happiness sprinted through me, but before I could really savor what was happening, he'd lowered me back onto the earth with his ever-present smile bearing down on me.
