Softly with the Keys
A Short Story
Felix worked the music machine, long fingers stretching, flitting along the keys. A wide grin was all of his face under the flat-brimmed baseball cap. As he struck the notes, he head tossed with the beat. Dark hair, fine, jutted from under his hat. He loved playing, all of his body moved, the rhythms flowing through his soul.
Guitar, bass, drums made up the rest of the band. They played blues well into the night, from the stage just big enough to hold them all. The storefront club had a bar at the back and twenty-some tables behind the dance floor.
People swayed, bounced their legs, tapped their feet, clapped hands, whooped, hollered. All kinds of people danced, close when the song was slow, fast and loose when it was not. Dresses, skirts flowed through spins and twirls, dips and dives. The smells of sweat and beer hung in the air.
The set was number two of the night, and closing in on the intermission. Felix had his eyes on a blue dress. She sat two tables deep, near the wall, alternating legs crossed left over right, right over left. It was simple to lean and peek.
From toes to top, white shoes, slim calves, long blue dress, full of curves, tall neck, and short indigo hair. He worried he was looking too much, getting caught by someone watching him play. She moved to the bar, almost floating along with the music. On her toes, leaning to get the attention of the barkeep, he could see a flash of metal on her ankle.
Mona played to the audience, sliding on the guitar neck with a blurred hand. She smiled at Felix, and called out: "B, double change." A bite in her voice stopped the rustle. The microphone glistened near her mouth. She struck a chord, the crowd resumed gyrating, and the next song was on.
Felix nodded and let his fingers bounce. He searched for the blue dress, losing concentration, almost dropping the beat. Dancers danced, not noticing a thing, finding it impossible to control their bodies. A glass hit the floor, the crash barely audible, sending glints of light under shoes, chairs, tapping soles.
The dress was a blue he couldn't place, not like the sky or the lake he swam in as a kid. it wasn't like the jeans he wore, nor the crushed velvet of his grandmother's couch. He thought of all the blues he could remember, and thought maybe it was like a sports logo.
She was returning from the bar, dancing her way across the dance floor, through quadruples of arms and legs, heading back to her table. She was alone, seated again, when the song came to an end. The last of the set.
Felix spun, ready to launch in her direction, dreaming of lines he might say. Mona laid her hand on the keyboard, leaning heavily at him.
"Hey Mona," he said. "I'm feeling preoccupied tonight."
"The crowd is digging your sound." They had played together weekly or more for nearly six years.
"I can't concentrate."
"Maybe you should go talk."
"You always know." He stood.
The drunk voices, stomping feet, clinking glassware amounted to a kind of music, almost louder than the band. The crowd was clustered, coagulated patches of bodies. They talked too loudly, struggling to hear their own thoughts. Felix wove between the clumps, leaning away from elbows, ducking under flailing arms. Ten straight line feet became twenty or thirty swimming against the eddy currents. He kept his eyes fixed on her, watching her sip from a martini glass, two green olives drowning in clear liquid.
"Hi," she said.
His brain traveled through time. He wasn't sure how long he was standing there.
"You're good," she said.
"Hi. Thanks."
She looked at her watch, a slim silver piece wrapped around her wrist. She frowned, pink lips glistening. Looking toward the door, she recovered her phone.
"Are you enjoying the music?" he asked.
"The woman plays guitar really well."
"Mona."
Felix gripped a chair tightly, the wood smooth, polished, unforgiving in his fists. The woman was looking at the door again.
"Our lead is Mona. I've been playing with her for, I don't know, five or six years."
"Yeah."
"I just thought I'd say hi."
"Hello." She smiled. Their eyes met, lasted a year, decade, he wasn't sure. Time ceased. Again, her glance flitted to the door.
"I can see you're waiting on someone."
"Huh?"
He leaned, the chair slipped, tumbled to the floor. Felix caught himself, but felt wet with shame. The drummer tapped the snare and stomped the bass drum.
"Five minutes until round two." The sounds of the crowd came back to him. It seemed loud, beyond the control of the people.
She sipped her martini, now only half full.
"I can see you're introspective tonight." He turned to the stage.
"You're really good," she said. He turned back, to see her face, her eyes, a wrinkle in her nose, the wet lips. "On the keys I mean."
"Thanks." He sat, and his fingers played mindlessly on the table top, running through scales and riffs.
"Sorry for before. I'm waiting for." Her shoulders lifted. "It's a long story, that is coming to an end. Or it's not. I never can tell until it's already done. Whatever is going to happen then, that time. Which happens to be this time, in this case."
"What's your name?"
"I wish he'd come and we could get this over with."
Felix stood. "It's time for the next set."
"It was nice to meet you," she said. But she was watching the door again.
A flood of sound rushed from the stage. Mona charged into a slide solo, kicking off without warning. The shock wave froze the bodies, tension building, energy reaching out invisible. A woman, with incredibly long brown hair, overalls, strutted to the dance floor and flowed across it. Collectively an exhale passed through the room.
Felix rushed back to the stage, as Mona could call on him without warning. For a moment, Miss Martini was lost to panic. He waited for a cue. Mona tipped her should, and he began with a flutter of fingers. The bass followed. Drums began to crash.
The door opened, a cold draft swept into the bar. Light spilled around a figure with a long cold, a winter hat, a silhouette. It didn't move.
Someone yelled, "Born in a barn!"
The door swung shut, slamming with a thud, mistaken for a drum kick. The band kept playing, either used to ignoring distractions or too deeply into the music.
Coming deeper into the bar, the figure became front lit. He had a full beard and shock of thick blonde hair protruding from the bottom of the hat. His features were soft but not unremarkable, a teddy to snuggle with. He wore sunglasses, protection from the street light snow glare.
Felix wondered if this was him and watched Miss Martini, the music unwavering. She stood when he came into the light, lifted up on her toes to look at the man. Her face showed expectation, hope, but she fell flat footed, frowning. Felix grinned, thinking of what he'd say next. The song picked up pace and he let it flow, pressing the keys faster and faster, shaking his hand, sliding the other. The concentration demanded he close his eyes, feel the heat, quicken his breath.
As the music climbed to crescendo, him with closed eyes, Miss Martini put on her coat. Felix missed her check her purse, swipe on her phone one more time. She slipped through the dancers, and paused at the door. She glanced back to the stage, to Felix, his eyes clenched tight, before she reached for the handle. A burst of cold entered when she opened the door, but leaning into the night she was gone.
Felix finished the song. He massaged his hands, stretched his fingers. Sweat glistened on his arms and face. He looked to the table, where only a single green olive remained in the martini glass.