Chapter Three --The Lady or the Tiger--

The interior door closed behind us, heavy and resolute as lock down in a maximum security prison.  

Inside the lobby was an enhanced darkness ... suffocating, like moving between laundry lines hung with musty wool blankets. The tile floor was slick with something that a was glad I couldn't see. 

Harleigh flicked his bic. The lighter sputtered anemically -- on the third try the flame hissed to life lighting up the immediate area between Harleigh and me at chest level. I got a whiff of 'Old Spice', my father's brother Ralph came to mind.       

Harleigh was of average height, a good looking kid, twenty something,  His hair, was cut 'high and tight' former military, maybe.  The rock hard arm, which held the lighter, belonged to a power lifter. 

"Trig right?" he said, switching the bic to his left hand. We shook. Harleigh's hand, like Ric's was cold and his grip; bone crushing.  Three shakes, manly, but not too familiar. 

"Yup,  Trig Mixter." I said. 

Ric's lighter shot a six inch flame into the darkness on the far side of the room. "Zippo!" he explained, "Lights first time, every time." Dialing down his hand held flame thrower Ric held the blue light over his head illuminating the far end of the lobby.  Thread bare sofas lined both walls, separated by footed urns containing dead parlor palms. "This place must of been real nice back in the day", I said.  Soggy oriental carpet squished underfoot as we headed toward Ric and the Zippo. 

On the back wall were two carbon-copy  doors, the fancy kind with raised panels. Each identical door had panic hardware and an unlit exit sign above it. 

"The lady or the tiger, gentlemen?" Said Ric. His fedora hid his eyes but his smile was slightly unsettling. "Which door will it be?" 

"The right one." Harleigh said confidently. I was sure he was unaware of the reference." What do you think Trig ? "  

"The lady" I said, "definately the lady". 

"Dial 'L' for Lounge"  Chapter 3

Chapter Four -- Three Blind Men and a Lantern --

  Harleigh's lighter was nearly out of fuel -- the flame was shrinking fast. He moved with purpose toward the door which he had chosen and leaned hard onto the panic bar. We waited for the alarm. None came.

The exit door opened into a pitch black even darker than the lobby, it seeped across the threshold and over my shoes.  Ric, his Zippo extended arm's length in front of him, was the lead man. He stepped into the void beyond the exit door. Light flooded the landing -- things scurried into the shadows.  

  We entered the narrow stairway. I followed close behind Ric, one hand on his shoulder. The wooden railing had rotted away so I slid the left hand along the greasy particle board wall.  Harleigh two steps behind me held his sputtering disposable above our heads; three elongated shadow men in a Balinese puppet show tumbling down an invisible hill.

  "Are you sure this is the right place?" said Harleigh,  abandoning the spent Bic. It clattered down the steps in front of us. Seconds later Ric stepped on it cracking the plastic case open like the carapace of an overlarge bug.  The smell of lighter fluid followed. 

"This is the place, of that I'm absolutely sure." Ric said. "I was here before... it was a long time ago ... 

the lights worked then." 

  I started counting, fourteen steps interrupted by landings, five minutes into our descent. The only sound in addition to six erratic footfalls was the regular drip of water into puddles beyond the corona of Ric's lighter.  The wholesome yellow glow of the Zippo was our dog star on a voyage to God knows where;  Mr. Lounge our navigator through the Cimmerian night. 

Eventually the stairs ended.  It was then we first heard the sax, sweet, low and far away ... Harlem Nocturne.  The siren notes drew us on through the claustrophobic corridor like Calypso herself was blowing them. 

"Man that cat can wail!"  said Harleigh in ersatz hip speak. 

  "Word." I said, from a place decades in the future. 

   Ric flipped off the Zippo.  The three of us stood transfixed, sensory deprived in the subterranean hallway.  High, clear, ascending arpeggios, reverberated down the hall, ricocheted, and washed back over us.  

Then the sax plumbed the low notes near the bend before the bell, lingered long on a radioactive low B which rolled up from the concrete beneath my feet fusing my 'Gold Toes' to my 'wing tips.' 

    In front of us a door opened. Surreal sapphire light spilled out into the dark  ... with it came the tinkling of ice on glass -- followed by the faintest scent of juniper. 

"Dial 'L' for Lounge"  Chapter 4

Chapter Five --Hello, I'm Randy--

"Hello stranger." Said the coat check girl, handing Ric a ticket to redeem his fedora on the way out. 

"Meet Sharon, boys" Ric carefully laid out three silver dollars on the counter." Sharon smiled, put the coins in the pocket of her apron and directed us to the podium, where she consulted the reservation book.  Holmes, Harleigh .....Mixter, Trig .... and of course Mr. Lounge.  She ticked off our names and hit the bell to summon the Maitresse D'.  Double doors upholstered in turquoise leatherette, trimmed in stainless with porthole windows opened simultaneously. 

She was spray painted into a glacier blue satin sarong. The drapery of her dress teased out every curve; each pleat terminating at the good bits.  Audacious twin peaks presided over cleavage deep as the Mariannis Trench. A plastic name tag over her heart read;  

Hello, I'm Randy 

"Short for Miranda" she said aware of our keen interest in her identification.  She smelled like lavender and warm sugar cookies. "Right this way boys, your tables' waiting." Her voice was deep, grade A maple syrup a 'Lyric Contralto' with a vocal range somewhere between F below middle C and my wedding vegetables. 

Randy turned;  gun - turret - tank.  Her hips swayed like an engraved invitation all the way to a table reserved for three directly under the sax players chin. 

"Dial 'L' for Lounge"  Chapter 5

Chapter Eleven -- Backside Story --

If in fact I really was dead, then I had missed the dying bit ...  which, I thought, was not altogether a bad bargain. My only regret was I hadn't gotten around to doing much in my very short life. Had I know that I was going to check out this soon I would have burned the candle at both ends with more enthusiasm.

My first impulse was to examine my hands. I have no idea why ... I just turned them over looking for some sort of proof of life ... or not. My finger tips were getting cold.  

" Sorry kid " said Ric, pulling his chair in close to mine, " I thought you knew ... you showed up right on time.  Actually the bus, was running a little early ... you never knew what hit you. And Harleigh ... well suicides often run late.  They can't make up their minds ... it's a big step." 

" I don't feel dead " I said knowing full well that I had no idea what dead felt like.  

Ric pulled the Zippo lighter out of his pocket. He polished it with a cocktail napkin and put it in front of me.  " This lighter saved my life " he said. " I'd like to tell you it was war related, dodging bullets on the front line,  bravely leading my battalion ... but, in fact, it was about a dame. " 

On cue Randy arrived with a fresh Sapphire and Tonic for Ric.  The way she squeezed his lime and slowly swizzled his gin bordered on pornographic.  As she sacheted away,  her glorious posterior told the tale.

"Say no more" I said to Ric,  " Who could blame you."

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter 11 "Backside Story"

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. 

Chapter Sixteen -- " See You Around Kiddo ... " --

We had only to cross that last threshold into the perfect light of our first day. 

Ginger squeezed my hand ... we both stepped back into the land of the living. The fresh air and sunlight landed like the first hit of a very pure drug.  " When the dog told you we'd know ... this is what he meant. " said Ginger. She came around in front of me and folded into my arms ... we stood still listening to the sounds of pigeons and distant traffic.

Ginger stood on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss that put my entire future clearly in focus. The butchers twine was gone from around her throat, as were the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. Her sun dress and hair were dry ... her feet were still bare.

" Take me home and take me to bed." she whispered. 

The streets which had been deserted and decaying on my way to the Modern were familiar again ... the urban mix of ethnicities, the languages, foods and the United Nations of pedestrians were from my old neighborhood. My building was less than four blocks down and the bus that had my name on it passed without incident.  Today, as it turned out, was not a good day to die. 

On the corner stood the coffee shop where I had eaten countless 'Lumberjack' breakfasts and 2:00 AM, after the gig, cheeseburgers. Waiting patiently by the front door for his master sat a brindle pup with remarkable orange eyes. Ginger stooped to scratch him and he stood on his hind legs to lick her face.  " Isn't he adorable? " said Ginger, as though she had never laid on eyes him. I was sure I had seen him somewhere but I could not recall the circumstances.

" I'm famished. " said Ginger dragging me into Otto's Home of the Bottomless Cup. All the tables were full but there were two seats open at the end of the counter. A man in a trench coat moved his coffee mug down so we could sit together. " Thank you sir. " said Ginger,  jumping up onto the stool. I put out my hand to acknowledge the kindness. " Ric's the name. " he said. His shake was firm but his hand was on the cool side. 

Ginger ordered the menu ... the whole menu. " I feel like I haven't eaten in years." she said, chowing down her third blueberry pancake, washing it down with yet another diet coke. " You'll need a second job to keep her fed " said Ric.  Otto came by and refilled my coffee cup and Randy the waitress brought the check. 

" While my girlfriend cleans out the kitchen, I thought I'd step outside for a smoke. " I said.

" Mind if I join you? " said Ric.  We stood outside the front door down wind of the brindle pup. Ric unwrapped a brand new pack of Marlboros, he tapped the pack and offered me the first soldier. He went for his pocket to light us up ... " You know I lent it out and said leave it for me at the front desk of my hotel. " he said. 

I could see my Ginger from the doorway she was pouring syrup on a fresh short stack. She was so beautiful ... mad sun-bleached hair, freckles, tanned legs and barefeet ... why, I thought would she have left home this morning without shoes ? 


“ I might have some matches. " I said reaching into my trousers. 

From my pocket I pulled a box of matches ... the  custom sort they have at really fancy places. On the sapphire foil box, in raised letters it said,  Compliments of the Modern Lounge.

The instant I read the words, I knew. " Take nothing with you ! " the Dog had said it a hundred times. 

The last thing I saw .... Ginger getting smaller as she and Ric, Randy, Serge and Choire receded into the darkness at the end of the counter. The last thing I heard was my Ginger crying out ...

" See you around kiddooooo .... "