The door to the club lies open, music spills its way out onto
the street. Cherry blossoms bloom in the air and it's unusually hot
for an April night. Patrons stroll in and out the door lazily,
unconcerned about tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday, no need to hurry
home for a good night's rest.
A piano player, saxophonist and bass
player make up the small
band. They play old favorites, standards that everyone knows, can
dance to with ease. The crowded bar hums, celebrants struggling to
negotiate tight spaces through the indignity of their alcoholic haze.
A man and woman enter hand in hand and
claim seats in the back.
A harried waitress takes their order and they settle in, absorbing
the atmosphere. They speak softly, still unquiet after a long day on
the job. They've chosen an out-of-the-way place, one where no one
knows who they are or what they do all day.
They sip on white wine, finally
relaxed, toes tapping to
sinuous music. They hold hands under the table, moving closer,
stepping over the edge of their other world into this seductive,
surreal one. Soon, he asks her to dance, entwining both hands in
hers, coaxing her out of their dimly lit corner.
They move across the tiny dance floor as one, hands tightly
wound up with one another, arms coiled around waist and shoulder.
They are close, as close as lovers can insinuate themselves,
inhibitions erased as smooth wine and sweet jazz entrance them.
They are not the only dancers. But
they attract equal
admiration from wistful singles and conjoined couples alike. They
are completely absorbed in one another, oblivious to everything but
the smooth, sweet melody of the piano player. Their gaze never
wavers from one another, binding them with strong, sure burning
The music slows, pulling them closer,
locking their embrace.
He whispers gently in her ear, she draws him down to respond. Their
shared amusement brings soft chuckling sounds, sly, knowing smiles.
The music stops, musicians leave on
break and couples sway back
to their seats. The man and woman pull back from one another, still
bewitched by some mutual spell. He guides her back to their booth,
hand round her waist.
Auburn hair glows russet in the candlelight, blue eyes pierce
the smoky haze. Green eyes glow, soaking in dim light, reflecting
radiance to merely one observer. The woman looks diminutive now,
disentangled from the arms of her much larger companion. Absently
pushing dark, sweat-soaked hair off his brow, she shifts closer,
sliding into a warm embrace.
They only stay minutes longer, spell
broken and reverie
complete. Arm in arm they glide out, whispering that which cannot be
spoken aloud. Night slides into morning as they leave sweet respite,
travelling back to the darker world without.