Chapter Six --Ginger, Cinnamon and Cloves--

Had I not been so absorbed in the bountiful stern of the S.S. Randy I might have noticed that Mr. Lounge was nowhere to be seen.  The man and his Zippo, who had led us safely through miles of dank subterranean corridors to the hippest gin joint I had ever seen, simply vanished. Harleigh must have had the very same thought. "I'm thinking he stopped off at the 'gents'", he offered as we took our seats.

Randy snapped her fingers -- a tray appeared. Our waitress, Ginger a tall cool redhead, also tightly wrapped in sapphire satin, dealt three triple-ply coasters with the skill of a Monte Carlo croupier. 

The paper goods were top shelf.  Napkins, coasters, box matches -- all custom. Turquoise with silver embossed letters read 'The Modern Lounge', I palmed the matches and slid them into my pocket. 

Ginger, our smokin' hot redhead, took a fast survey of the room, gave me a conspiratorial wink and replaced them.  

"The usual." she said, more statement than question. She didn't wait for our order.  The bartender was already putting the spears through our lime wedges. 

My eyes followed gorgeous Ginger  as she clicked away to fetch our drinks on sapphire satin spike heels. Of the half dozen spectacularly beautiful cocktail waitresses working the lounge, all satin, pointy toes, pearls and girdles, Ginger was the pick of the litter.

"Sapphire, tonic, extra lime" said Ginger leaning close to my ear ... she smelled like hot apple pie. 

"Perfect" I said, staring directly at her perky, lightly freckled knockers standing proud of their satin drapery. Ginger stretched over me to serve Harleigh's and Mr. Lounge's cocktails(also Sapphire and Tonic with extra lime) giving me plenty of time to drink in her spice -- cinnamon with a top note of clove. 

         

        As she turned to go she mouthed the words "Call Me." I heard them viscerally, mostly in my gentleman's area.

"Dial 'L' for Lounge" Chapter 6

Chapter Seven -- Serge Trouserin --

The Master of Ceremonies tapped the microphone. The PA squealed. Some invisible sound tech wrestled the feedback and found the proper level. "Test Test Test". 

The MC was an imposing man, six four or five, dressed in expensive evening clothes --  a midnight blue cut away tuxedo, Turkish style velvet slip-ons and a white rosebud in his lapel . His hair, which shone blue in the spotlight, was pomaded straight back. He had a lavish mustache, waxed into wide handlebars ending in impossible curlycues. He wore a fez. Tucked under the big man's arm was a small brindle dog with keen orange eyes. 

The house lights and the hubbub trailed off ... all but the high end laughter and the chucka, chucka, chucka, of stainless shakers filled with gin and ice drifted away. 
  "Welcome to the Modern Lounge all you lords and ladies ... all you cats and kittens." chanted the MC. "Serge Trouserin's the name ... gin and jazz's the game." 
  His voice was slow and dark as diesel as he caressed the mic and whispered intimately to the standing room only crowd. 
 "You've been waiting patiently for the main event, the headliner ... the piece de resistance. 

Your patience, lords and ladies is about to be richly rewarded ... 'cause Mr. Lounge is in the house." 

The crowd roared it's approval. Serge waited for the din to subside then continued, 
  "Mr. L. has brought us some 'new talent' ( air quotes ) recently 'recruited' ( air quotes ) "from topside." 
 The audience responded with the back bencher's cheer of  "here, here, here" and a generous round of applause. 
  "Mr Lounge, as always, is going to seduce us with his sultry sax ... tonight on stand up bass, that would be the 'doghouse' to all you hep cats ... Lords and ladies ... put your hands together for Mr. Trig Mixter.  On the drums," Serge Trouserin continued, "the one, the only Mr. Harleigh Holmes". 

Serge Trouserin snapped his fingers two and four, his velvet turned up toe tapped four on the floor.  

 "Without further ado and nothin' in your pockets ... I give you The Modern Lounge's favorite band ..... Mr. L and the 'Retro Rockets'."

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 7 Serge Trouserin

Chapter Eight --No Ax, No Charts ... No Clue--

No Ax! No charts!  Ric had neglected to mention we were the blue plate special on this evening's entertainment menu. 

Harleigh and I, the twins -- Slack-jawed and Dumbfounded, froze while the crowd whistled and stomped. Mr. Lounge, who had been waiting just behind the 'teaser' curtains wetting his reed, stepped into the spotlight.  

Gone were the trench coat and fedora, replaced by a short sleeved Guayabera ( Cuban wedding shirt ) and white linen pants. The felt trilby he parked with Sharon at the coat check had been replaced with a straw pork pie hat with a bright blue band.  A vintage Selmer alto saxophone, silver with a gold bell, rested in a stand nearby. 

The jewel box stage at the Modern Lounge was barely big enough for three musicians and their instruments. There was tall, thin Ric and his saxophone, a primo three piece kit of vintage 'Sonor drums' for Harleigh and a fine old German gamba style doghouse ( in walnut ) for me.  Out in front was an upholstered podium with the double R which I assumed stood for 'Retro Rockets'. 

The rowdy crowd at Modern Lounge wasn't having any no. Harleigh was game ... after all he is a drummer.  

I could only hope that Mr. L was going to call a set of standards ( war horses we could fake without charts ). Or ...  that the crowd was already drunk enough and all they really wanted to do was dance. 

Squeezing the giant wedge of key lime, followed by a quick twizzle, I tossed back my perfect double 'Sapphire and Tonic'. The Gin was smooth ... even smoother than I remembered. The cocktail was strong but not 'burnt'. The tonic, handmade small batch, lots of fizz, one of those up market designer brands that cost nearly as much per ounce as the booze. 

Ginger materialized at my elbow and replaced my drink. What a great waitress, I thought. Later I'd like to throw her a really big tip. I downed that one too and jumped the footlights.

I'm pretty sure I remember what I was wearing when I left my flat this morning ... and it wasn't white linen pants ... must be the gin. 

Ric called his first tune.... "Sapphire & Tonic (with Extra Lime)"  in A minor.   

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 8 No Ax

Chapter Nine -- The Dog with the Clementine Eyes --

We found the groove straight away. My borrowed bass nearly played itself, and those hep cats and kittens lapped us up like a saucer of warm milk.  Add to that the bottomless Sapphire and Tonics -- Ginger would pucker up and blow me a little angel kiss as she dropped off each round ... I was higher than a kite. 

When we broke after the first set, Ric went off to find Randy the hostess with the incomparable derriere. Harleigh had his eye on Sharon the coat check girl and I went back to the table to wait for pretty Ginger. 

We clicked, just like that, and the night was just beginning. 

Ginger was nowhere to be seen. But the brindle pup with the orange eyes was sitting on my chair. There was a drink with a straw in front of him. Serge Trouserin was propped up in Harleigh's seat, his eyes were closed and his hands were folded across his chest. 

" You can leave -- but you can't take anything with you. " said the brindle dog sipping on his cocktail. 

" Ginger want's to go with you ... but that's the tricky bit ... not impossible ... but difficult. " 

How does he do that? I thought to myself.  The dog is a dummy and Trouserin was the best darn ventriloquist I'd ever seen.  The dog turned to me and enunciated clearly "My named is Choire, I'm not a dummy ... I'll just pretend you didn't think that ...  actually it's Trouserin who's the stiff. I'm the headliner in this dog and pony show." 

Choire cocked his head and stared straight through me with his giant orange eyes. He turned back to his drink and took a long slow sip draining the glass. 

       

 " You need to leave immediately following the last set, after that ... you're here ... and this, my friend is the gig that never ends.  And, make sure that you take nothing from this side with you." 

At that moment Ginger arrived with two drinks, one for the dog and one more for me. 

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 9 The Dog w/ the Clementine Eyes

Chapter Ten -- Miles at the Modern --

It was the first time all day that I was knocked off center.  I checked my mobile .... No service.

The trip down from the street -- about a million stairs in the dark to the Modern Lounge had been odd, but exhilarating ...  Ric's confidence infectious. Everything about the Lounge was happening, the drinks, the crowd ( who were actually there for the music ) and gorgeous Ginger ... I was already trying her on for size in my head.  The orange eyed, gin swilling pooch made it all come off the rails.  

Trouserin and the talking dog were on the stage again. As Serge delivered his slick poetized patter the brindle pup's orange eyed gaze burned a hole in my forehead. I studied his fuzzy muzzle for a tell ... not a whisker moved.  

Harleigh returned from a brief assignation in the coatroom with a smudge of tangerine lipstick on his chin. 

" I think I'm in love. " he said, sliding into the chair next to mine. He was flushed, sweaty and his shirt wrinkled. " Sharon is smokin' hot, and she's nuts about me. ... Trig, this kinda thing doesn't happen to me."  I smiled and nodded, there was no need to kill his buzz just yet ... I had suspicions but I wanted a second opinion.

Flawlessly, the brindle pup threw his voice, animating his mustachioed, fez wearing puppet.

  " Lords and Ladies ... cats and kittens " chanted Trouserin, " We have royalty in the house tonight and he's graciously agreed to favour us with a tune or two. " The dog smiled at me showing all his teeth and winked.  Although Trouserin's lips were moving I knew that it was Choire who spoke. " Lords and Ladies ... The Modern Lounge is pleased as punch to present ... I give you the one the only ... Mr. Miles Davis ". 

" Damn! " I said grabbing for Harleigh's arm. " Dude! ... Miles is dead. " Harleigh was already up and out of his chair headed back to the coatroom for a few more stolen moments with his new paramour.  He called to me over his shoulder, " Dude! ... So are we. "

Dial "L" for Lounge Chapter 10 Miles at the Modern

Chapter Fourteen -- Last Call --

The big round clock above the bar, a spectacular example of the golden age of advertising art, was a mosaic made of blue and silver mirror. Letters arrayed around the face between concentric rings of white neon, read, 

 "At the Modern Lounge ... It's Always Sapphire Time." 

It was ten minutes until midnight. The bartender raised his hands above his head and tapped his imaginary wrist watch. The waitresses cycled through their sections announcing  "last call for alcohol."

Charlie Parker finished up with 'Ornithology'. A double gin and tonic waited at his private table. 

Standing alone in the cold blue spotlight, Mr. Lounge began to play a one two punch called 'Powerhouse'. 

He spun a hologram of notes designed to make your nose bleed. Three minutes in, he pulled up on the throttle, teeing up Harleigh Holmes for a death defying seven minute drum solo. 

Choire,  the talking dog jumped up on to a bar stool and began to run down 'The rules for a safe return to the land of the living'. He was very specific.

" You need to leave before midnight... that gives you about four minutes ... Take nothing,  leave nothing ... you must leave exactly the way you arrived ... Are you both clear on that. " We nodded. 

" Now take hold of Ginger's hand. This is critical ... don't, under any circumstances, look back at her until you arrive safely upstairs. Don't speak to her or anyone you may see on the way out ... and leave the building immediately." 

Ginger bent over Choire and gave the brindle pup a sloppy kiss. She scratched him behind the ears and said "Catch you later kiddo."  

The Dog read the the question that hung in a bubble over my head. "You'll know you've made it ... the sun will be shining. Take her home ... love her... treat her right .... have kids ... get old.  This will all fade away in no time." Ginger slipped her icy hand into mine and moved behind me. 

Sharon the coat check girl refunded two silver dollars ... they flipped through the air and landed in Ric's outstretched hand.  Randy held the exit doors open allowing  the Stygian black to pour in. It was even darker than I remembered. 

Ric and I shook. Both our hands were cold this time. " Are you going to stay for good? " I asked Ric. 

" I have a special arrangement with the management "  Ric answered, " I pretty much come and go as I'm needed ... Something like a tour guide." Your going to need this " he said pressing the Zippo into my hand. 

I looked at Choire for the referee's call. 

" How the hell did you think you were going to find your way out ? " the dog said rolling his orange eyes  

" Leave the Zippo with the desk clerk upstairs. "

As Harleigh Holmes launched into his final assault on the cymbals I stepped into the dark hallway with my lovely, dead, Ginger in tow.

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter14 'Last Call'

Chapter Fifteen -- Resurrection Hotel --

The Zippo blazed filling the corridor with a halo of comforting light. I held the lighter at eye level to avoid catching a glimpse of Ginger's shadow on the walls. The Dog hadn't mentioned reflections or shadows ... I just wanted to be on the safe side. Behind us in the distance Ric serenaded  our escape with a reprise of "Harlem Nocture". I'll never hear that elegant old war horse in just the same way, I thought as we hit the first flight of stairs. 

I ran as fast as I dared. Ginger's bare feet slapped in the puddles behind me as we began our hasty retreat from the underworld.  As we reached the top of the stairs I felt my Ginger's fingers growing warmer. 

The dripping stopped. The tile dried and the corridor seemed less dank.  A pale green glow of an exit sign in the distance promised resurrection. 

The door was flush without a handle. I deduced that was because no one ever left. But Ric he comes and goes there must be be a way ... I felt along the trim and at the threshold.  Behind me Ginger began to sob softly.

I knocked. The door opened. Light poured in. It was not the sapphire light of the Modern Lounge but it also wasn't sunlight either ... we weren't out of the woods yet . The dog's words ..." no looking back no talking to Ginger or anyone you may meet along the way." 

The light was from a thousand golden A-lamps,  Edison's  first, and to my eyes, the finest light bulb ever made. Warmth, life ... gratitude washed over me. Ginger's hand was hot and sweaty. We stood in the same lobby Ric, Harleigh and I had passed through on our way to the underworld. The rotting carpets, and couches were new again the formerly dead parlour palms were brilliant green. 

I snapped the Zippo shut and walked toward the reception to leave it with the desk clerk. Who, as it turned out was none other than Harleigh  Holmes . He put his finger to his lips reminding me not to speak.  

I surrendered the blessed life saving Zippo. Harleigh winked and pointed to the vestibule, floor to ceiling sparkling glass, where I shared a cigarette with Mr. Lounge five minutes or a million years ago. Beyond the glass partitions ...  sun lit up the bluest sky.