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 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 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 Thirteen -- Not One Detail --

Ginger was waiting for me by the coat room.  She had changed from her Modern Lounge uniform, the ice blue satin, skin tight sarong, into what she had been wearing when she died ... a wet floral sun dress accessorized with matching wrist and ankle ligatures. Her feet were bare. 

  Like a pair of proper bridesmaids, Ric's girl (and his attempted murderess), Randy, and Sharon the coat check girl, main squeeze of the recently deceased drummer Harleigh Holmes were busy arranging Ginger's damp clothes and hair. There was discussion of removing the butcher's twine from around her neck. 

The dog insisted that not one thing ... not one detail could be altered from the way Ginger had arrived.

" Nothing added, nothing subtracted that's the way it always been. Plausible deniability and not a shred of evidence that there is and 'after ' " Choire said, studying Ginger for any possible trace of  the Lounge. 

" Did she come with that earring? " the dog inquired. Ginger confirmed that she had only been wearing one when she died ... the other had been torn out in the struggle.

My feelings of tenderness for lovely Ginger were replaced with blind rage for the son of a bitch who had done this to her. Dead was one thing ... this was altogether a different matter. 

" There'll be none of that Mixter " Choire said, never bothering to look at me. " the guy who did this is doing life without the possibility of parole and when he finally arrives I'll assign him 'back of the house' where he'll wash dishes without gloves in bleach water for eternity. " 

Dial 'L' for Lounge Chapter13 'Not One Detail'

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. 

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 .... "