Jolly Ollie was just finishing up his work behind the old bar for the night and was looking forward to a few hours' rest in his apartment rooms upstairs from the Jake Blue's Jazz Club. Some folks called him Jolly, some called him Ollie, but his real name was Dave. In the club, he figured it added something fun-loving and unique to the atmosphere. Everyone knew the place as Jake's and that's all they really needed to know.
It was an after-hours kind of place that officially closed at 1:00 A.M. during the weeknights, but Ollie was a soft touch. He loved his place, and he loved the people who came in. The house Blues band had packed up and left only a little while ago. The audience kept yelling for one more number. The band was all toked-out for numbers, if you catch the drift. It was all they could do to pack out their gear. The only noise in the place was the creaking floorboards as Ollie walked around cleaning up. This was Thursday night, and that silence might change, or it might not.
Tim and Debbie were at a table in the back. The only table that still had a lit candle in the center of it. There were two half-filled glasses with small cubes of melted ice floating on top of mostly water at their table, but clearing those would be a job Ollie could start tomorrow when he reopened. They'd had a little too much to drink but were still dancing in the dark with stars in their eyes. Holding each other close and barely moving as they swayed to the music only they could hear in their heads.
Debbie worked as a dancer at the Burly-Que around the corner. We'd call them strippers today, but she didn't take off her clothes. She was a tease - promise them anything with a wink and a smile, but show them very little of what their glazed-over eyeballs wanted to see. Then let their imaginations do the rest. That was the name of that game.. and it was a game she had fun with. Debbie wasn't a headliner... Not yet, but she had a nice, tight and shapely body, a good dance routine and all she needed was a fan club who would come just to watch her dance. Sooner or later, the word would get out and that would be that, as they say.
Tim sold insurance or something. He never mentioned it because people would shy away from him when they'd meet like he was going to pressure them into buying a policy before the night was over if they even said hello to him. He was a sociable guy and liked to have fun like everyone else. Work was work and pleasure was pleasure. He kept them separated. He loved jazz music, he loved life (sometimes) and he thought he was stone cold in love with Debbie. He also loved this cozy dive-bar called Jake's. The place had personality. He said he was drawn to it because he'd seen the place in a past-life experience that played and replayed in his head. Someday, he said he would come to understand why, but for now, there was Debbie, the music and the bar.
Ollie made sure the beer was restocked in the coolers, liquor bottles all wiped down, the bar area was cleared, and the glassware and dishes were in the humming dishwasher in the back room. All he had left to do was mop behind the bar, pull off the white tablecloths, put them in the washing machine, put the chairs upside down on the tables and sweep out the floors. It was busy work and he didn't need to think about anything. That wouldn't take very long.
It was a small club, after all. He could make more money on a good night if the place were larger with more room at the bar, but his customers loved the place the way it was. Ollie's customers were regular and loyal. If it weren't for the ceiling-strung Christmas Tree lights that stayed up all year long and the smells of scuffed, old hardwood floors and stale beer scent from in between the cracks of the boards, it would be a nice place. He just never got around to clearing the cobwebs off those tree light wires until December.
Tim never took off his fedora. He wasn't balding or anything. He had a full head of hair, but he said he hated the hat-hair ring around his head when he took it off. All the guys had one of those, but Tim was sentimental about his hat. It was a little too small, but it was his father's hat, and dad wore his hair in a buzz-up look more appropriate to his day and age. Otherwise, they wore the same hat size. It was a quality hat made from beaver fur and his father's pride and joy, so Tim took very good care of it. If the truth were known, his hat originally cost more than any three of his business suits in their day. Tim chose his work suits to coordinate with that hat. First impressions are everything in business.
Debbie wore her black dress tonight after her stage show at the Burly-Que. This was their one-month anniversary and Tim took her out for a special dinner at Maxine's. Her single strand of pearls and matching pearl drop earrings carefully accented her deep plunging V-neckline. Her long, freshly painted fingernails and toenails protruding from the Peep Toe black high heeled shoes carefully matched the vibrant red of her lips. Her dress was tailor-fitted and formed an hourglass shape atop the straight lines of her stocking seams. If she were a blonde, it would be too cliche, but her softly waved brunette hair framed her deep green eyes so one could easily see the gold flecks reflected in the candlelight if one could muster up the courage to stare deeply enough into their mystery. Tim could.
They finally sat down and leaned into each other - knees to knees, holding hands under the table and softly kissing so that their lips barely touched. Debbie said it was more "electric" that way. Tim would never say that, but he believed it too. Holding back their lust in the candlelight so that passion could be unleashed when they were alone was the way of their love. Ollie didn't mind and went on about his business. He knew them both for a long time and it was about time those two got together. They'd been coming here separately for a couple of years, until one day, they bumped into each other at the bar when there weren't any available tables. Tim offered Debbie his seat - as any true gentleman would - and ordered her favorite cocktail... Manhattan, made with Scotch. Interesting... Scotch and water was Tim's drink of choice. At least, they blended this way.
There came a faint knock at the door of the backstage entrance. Ollie looked at his watch, shrugged his shoulders and went to the door for a look-see. Suddenly, there was noise as five guys with black musical instrument cases came wandering onto the stage. It wasn't the Count, or Dizzy or Miles, but these guys were all well known to Jolly Ollie from past gigs in his club. When all the other clubs in town closed for the night, a group of players would occasionally knock on other clubs' doors to see who might let them in to play for a few more hours.
It's hard to unwind and sleep after a show. Mostly the excitement of the crowds who enjoyed their music, sometimes it was to break in a new player or substitute, sometimes it was the speedballs that still had to wear off so they could sleep. The best times were when the band was in a strange groove and needed to create something new while they were all on the same wavelength. The stage lights were barely on, but all the guys wore sunglasses just the same. The bright stage light story is what they told to customers, but everybody knew what happened in the alley at break times. Besides, a musician can "feel" the music better when he's loose. Jazz has more emotional feeling than anything else. Blues music can give it to you or save you from it, but jazz music merely allows you to be you and travel on the breeze of sounds. They're separate and different emotions.
Ollie looked back at Tim and Debbie. They gave each other a thumbs-up, meaning it was alright for Tim and Debbie to stay and enjoy an extra set or two of experimental jazz. The pick-up band tuned their instruments to each other, and somebody counted off a slow song to get the tempo right while working together for the first time. It didn't take long, but during the solo-round, where everyone took his turn at spiraling around the main melody, the best jazz Tim had heard in a long while came barreling out of the tenor sax until the muted trumpet took it over a little softer,... a little slower. The clarinet player was on the same tune, but slowly picked up the pace and the volume until the leader reined him in a touch.
Ollie went about his business, pulling off tablecloths and putting up chairs making sure that Tim and Debbie kept their clear line of sight to the stage. He was thoughtful that way. After the third song, Ollie went back behind the bar and fixed the players a cocktail on the house. He'd known these guys for years and knew everybody's brand. Tim and Debbie had moved their chairs close together to watch the band. Tim whispered to Debbie about having another drink. Ollie saw her shake her head, no. Tim grabbed the two empty glasses, blew out the candle and pulled the tablecloth from the table and took them to Ollie. "We can leave anytime you say, Dave."
"Stay and listen if you like. I like to see you kids having a good time in my club. You two met here, so maybe you'll name your first kid after me."
"Might not happen that way, Dave. We're both always trying to convince each other to go straight in life. Neither one of us is house in the country, picket fence material. Maybe someday, we'll figure out what all that means, but Dave is a nice name, though. We have just enough juice to keep us together for now, but maybe not enough to keep us going. Be a shame to screw it up, but the challenge is to NOT to."
"Take it from an old sod who's been around the world nine times. I've been to Hong Kong, Pusan, Baghdad and Trinidad. You two have a gift right now and I can tell you it's a good one. You have romance. Ya know? There's not a thing you can't change, a rule that you can't bend or a lie that you once believed was true... that isn't. Life is what YOU make it. So, go make it with Debbie and she will make it with you. I'll bet you a bottle of 12-year-old Johnny Walker on it. Go take her in your arms, kiss her right and take her home. Be together and make her always feel special, because she is."
"I know you're right, Dave." Tim looked at his watch. "It's getting late, but I have a short day tomorrow. Fridays are always only a half-day for me. I'm going to rest-up for Debbie's show at the Burly-Que tomorrow night. I'm bringing some guys from the office. They say if she gets a fan club, they'll make her a headliner which comes with a big raise and a poster with her name and picture on the walls. I just want to help her reach her own goals if I can. She might get tired of it all someday and that's alright with me. She's smart and attractive. She can do anything, I'd bet."
"You'd better take her home. The band is going to quit here in a little bit and old Mr. Sandman is beating me to sleepy-town with his stick. You two come back when you can. Better slip out the stage door. Never know when the cops might be driving-by. Don't want you to get yourselves into trouble."
