I enjoy the 'Oasis' piano bar at this hotel. That's why I always stay here whenever I fly into Glasgow. It's contiguous to the airport, so I don't even need to go outside. Tonight, being Tuesday, was quiet in the 'Oasis.'
Charlie, the pianist, is in his mid-forties. His ringless fingers play a wide range of music, always with a cheerful smile. It personified a genuine expression of his personality, not just a feint for customer relations. He seems to love what he does and would not be happy doing anything else. Customarily, he wears a worn tuxedo with his trademark rainbow-colored bowtie, his brown hair up in a man bun.
Charlie plays a twenty-minute set and then takes a ten-minute break. He empties his tip jar into his jacket pocket on his way out. He always reminds me of Billy Joel's 'Piano Man.'
Charlie was playing the oldies. He knew the style of songs I loved to sing. He remembers me because I often pass through, and he knows I tip well. There were only six of us perched on stools around the grand piano. On one side sat a couple who relished this genre of oldie songs. The matronly lady enjoyed singing in an operatic style. Her husband delighted in listening to her. He tried to hum along quietly as he was a bit off-key and presumably didn't want to spoil it for her. A lone guy sat at the end of the piano arched over a ritzy cocktail reminiscing about days long gone. The fifth person sat on my left nearest to Charlie. She looked to be about my age, just short of thirty. Her curly ginger hair tumbled to her shoulders. I loved her little onyx-black cocktail dress that ended just above the knee. A glimpse of cleavage added a dash of provocation.
Singing around a piano is a great way to make friends. The congenial ambiance you build up is comfortable. I've even picked up some women that way. Between sets, you naturally talk. Chit chat back and forth about some song, share memories. It's so natural to start a conversation. You already have a lot in common. After the next set, you simply continue the discussion. Singers come and go. Patrons in a piano bar fall into categories. Some couples sit in booths quietly smooching like real or illicit lovers. Others want to be alone with their thoughts. Chatty types sit on stools at the bar. The real singers take or wait for a place at the piano. During the breaks, you could accumulate talk for an hour over an evening. Else chat together for a couple of minutes.
During the first break, we introduced ourselves. I discovered a lot about Justine. She is a 35-year-old hostess at an upscale chain restaurant. Her degree in cuisine and viticulture allows her to advise clientele on their selections. She maintains her sanity by playing music and mountain walking. A well-placed compliment could manipulate her artistic ego.
I asked Justine what she was doing at the hotel.
"I'm here with my husband, Neil." she answered." He's an airline pilot just back from a long trip. Since we live out in the country, sometimes when he returns from a long trip, I meet him here, and we stay over. Maybe we'll go into town tomorrow and do some shopping before heading home."
"That's a nice treat for you." I smiled.
"It is. If he lands after eight o'clock, it's all paid for. Not bad, eh?"
"So, has he gone to bed already?" I asked.
"Hell no! That's him there in the booth with a couple of bimbos. Probably airline hostesses. They all seem to know each other."
He'd rather chat them up than sit up here with me. It's a great deal for
them because he loves to pick up the tab. I don't know what else he picks on these long trips." she said darkly. I didn't want to go there now.
I built up a picture of Neil in my mind's eye from snippets I gathered from Justine between sets. I could see he was a big guy, over six feet tall. He became a junior civilian airline pilot after leaving the military, where he mainly flew transport flights. When he got established on the rungs of a decent airline based in Glasgow, they bought a home two hours out of town. He had a compact commuter car he could leave at the airport with free parking. Justine worked an hour further out in a small city.
He kept in good shape. His job demanded regular physicals. He did like to drink and worked at keeping his consumption under control. His most vulnerable test was when he returned from long trips, usually to Australia or Hong Kong. Justine worried when he had overseas stopovers. She worried about him having drunken liaisons. Whenever she brought this up with him, Neil denied it in a huff. His blond hair and blue eyes would put him in the sights of many airline hostesses of whatever airline.
This evening, he was drinking in a nearby booth with two hostesses still in their uniforms. They could be with the same airline as him. I guess they were probably waiting for a ride home. Neil had already changed into light Chinos and a golf shirt. He certainly was relaxing now, judging by the laughter coming from their booth.
"How about you? Here on business? she asked.
"Yeah, routine stuff. I drop in every couple of weeks for a day or two. I usually just spend the evening in the hotel. Great food, good gym, and spa.
Then, where better than the "Oasis" to relax before bed?"
"Your husband doesn't sing?" I asked.
"No. He likes it here because he can chat with colleagues, and I can't hear what they are talking about. Two different worlds! I would cramp his style."
Charlie came back for a new set. The older couple had left. The lone guy was no longer alone. He was now chatting with a leggy blond at the bar. Now it was just Justine and me.
We kidded around as we sang together using amusing gestures and getting Charlie in on the act. Her hazel green eyes sparkled as she sang. We had quite a few drinks by this time. We were singing louder, and her husband was talking a little louder.
At one point, Justine took a bathroom break. I marveled at her impressive figure as she sashayed across the room with a seductive movement of her hips. The little black dress accented her sculpted waist.
When Charlie reappeared for his last set of the evening, I ordered some last-call drinks as we warbled through a slower, more romantic list of ballads. The airline hostesses got up and left Neil on his own. Most of the other patrons were leisurely drifting out of the bar.
"Thank you, my friend." I crooned to Charlie." See you next time!" as I dropped ten-euro in his jar, the second of the evening. He smiled and waved as he left the dais. We got down from our stools and walked over to her Neil's booth.
