Burt nearly stumbled twice descending the narrow, uneven stone stairway leading to the underground -- literally -- club.
"I'm too old to be here," he grumbled, not for the first time that night.
Giving his name to the unimpressed, mountain of a man guarding the door, he waited while the gatekeeper ran a finger down a clipboard to confirm that, yes, Burt was "on the list." The Hulk motioned to a waitress, and Burt was led to a rectangular table in the back of the dimly lit room. Though in public bars, a prohibition existed against smoking; here, a low tobacco haze hung in the air, languidly drifting around the room like a specter; further obscuring the light.
He seemed to have the only available seats in the house. He sat, and his table still had five empty chairs. The other tables were surrounded by people with affected looks of boredom on their faces, while they waited for the show to begin. Burt ordered a Coke and became one of them. Before his drink arrived, however, three more people were escorted to the table. Introductions were exchanged, and they asked how he knew Jae.
Nearly two years earlier, finding her attractive, Burt had followed the South Korean born singer/songwriter/actress/model after seeing her in a space-based mini-series on cable TV. Surprising him, she followed back, and they began a sporadic correspondence. When she recently suggested they collaborate on a song, he welcomed the opportunity enthusiastically, and accepted her invitation to attend her show in New York City.
The house lights went out, leaving only the makeshift stage illuminated. From the darkness, Jae bounded onto the unsteady wooden platform; the untied combat boots she wore audibly pounding across the surface as she approached the microphone.
Despite the rising heat of the packed room, she wore a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Her blue jeans were ripped to shreds, and Burt wondered how they even remained on her body. Jae's short black hair, cut asymmetrically, fell to the right side of her head, the ends just reaching her eyebrow in front, and the top of her ear on the side.
Burt watched and listened as she swayed and danced gracefully, singing a mix of her own songs, and throaty renditions of Blues and Rock classics. When the set ended, Jae left the stage. Moments later, wiping her face with a towel, she appeared beside the table. After greeting her friends, she welcomed Burt. He stood; his heavy 6'3" build dwarfing her petite 5'7".
"You must be Burt," she said, smiling.
"I am," he confirmed.
"Thank you for coming," she said, sticking out her hand to shake his.
"Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't pass up a chance to see you perform."
He waited for her to sit, then took his seat. For several minutes, he listened as Jae and her friends traded stories.
"I'm so happy you agreed to work with me," she said, turning to Burt.
"Your songs don't need my help," he countered. "You're a terrific writer."
"Thank you," she said. "But, I love your poetry, and your erotica, and I really can't wait to see what we can do together."
"I'll give you my best," he assured her.
"I have no doubt," she said.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"I want something sexy and unforgettable," she revealed. "Like 'Sexual Healing.'"
"Great song," Burt interjected.
"Something people will want to fuck to," Jae continued. "Though, it has to be clean enough to be played on the radio."
"These days, that's not saying much," he said, after emitting a loud laugh.
"And, will win us a Grammy," she finished, not completely kidding.
"Well, of course," he granted, facetiously. "Otherwise, what's the point?"
She gave him a wink. On stage, the band began tuning their instruments.
"I have to get up there for my second set," she told him.
Bending close, she kissed his cheek; then jumped up, and scampered away. He watched her go. Turning his attention to the others at the table, he found them staring at him.
"She really likes you," one of them, Amelie, said.
"I like her, too," he admitted.
"No," Amelie said. "She really likes you."
Comprehension arrived sluggishly, as Amelie regarded him.
"It's not like that," he protested, suddenly. "We're just going to write together."
"Mmmm, hmmm," she teased.
"Besides, I'm way too old for her, and she probably has a boyfriend... a girlfriend... a significant somebody," he said.
"Jae is only about six years younger than you," Amelie told him. "And, she doesn't care about age."
"Oh..." he said, letting this new information bounce around in his brain as the music started. "I thought she was much younger."
"Do you have a... someone?" Amelie asked.
"Sadly, no," he admitted. "I'm a poet; we're not allowed requited love. It's against the rules."
"I've never heard that," she said.
"Yeah," he insisted. "It's in the manual."
"That must be her problem too," Amelie said, tilting her head toward the stage.
Following several up tempo tunes, Jae announced they were going to slow things down a bit.
"I want to dedicate this next one to my new friend, 'B,'" she cooed into the mic. Burt smiled as the first notes of the Marvin Gaye song he and Jae had discussed filled the air. He couldn't help but sing along -- quietly. While performing, Jae cast several long glances in his direction, though he was sure she couldn't actually see him in the darkness.
When the set ended, Burt checked his watch -- nearly 1:30am. Fifteen minutes later, Jae appeared, carrying her jacket and large bottle of water. Even in the dim light, Burt could see the outline of her areolas through the damp fabric of her shirt. After hanging her jacket on one of the empty chairs, she sat on Burt's lap, sliding her right arm around his shoulders as she settled. Their eyes met and corners of her mouth curved up in a naughty smirk.
"Nice work on that song," he complimented.
"Thank you," she replied, after taking a sip of her drink.
"You should record it," he suggested as his hand traveled across her lower back to rest on her hip.
"I might do that," she declared.
Those at the table talked, losing track of time. Jae's bandmates joined for a while, then left. The conversation carried on as the other customers gradually disappeared. Last call came and went. Finally, the manager arrived to gently urge them out the door.
Escaping the stuffy heat of the club, Burt took a deep breath of cool night air, and he realized just how smoky the bar had been. As they reached the sidewalk, he glanced at his watch -- 4:03am.
"Do you want to work at my place?" Jae asked, donning her jacket, and pulling it closed around her.
"It's late... or early," Burt countered. "I figured you'd be ready to go home and crawl into bed."
"I am," she said, smiling. "But, I'm always jazzed after a gig; lots of energy to burn off, and juices flowing... creative and otherwise."
"I see," he said.
"Come on, poet," Jae goaded, taking his arm. "I won't hurt you."