I’m pulled into the club by muted horns and ecstatic neon. A large bouncer in a high backed chair sits in front a satin curtain. The curtain hangs from golden hooks in ceiling; a deep red the color of wine. The bouncer’s half closed eyes follow my every move as I approach him. I can hear the horns just beyond the curtain. The bouncer raises a hand to stop me as I near.
You sure you want to go in?
I feel the drums pounding just feet away.
I have to, I tell him.
He nods in understanding and pulls back the satin. Thick blue smoke greets me in a swirl just beyond the curtain. I stagger through the music and find a place to sit in front of the stage. The sax growls low anger across the crowd as a fight breaks out near the bar. I signal for a drink from a waitress with hate in her eyes. She brings my whiskey but forgets my ice so I pay for the drink but forget her tip. Tension builds in the room as the saxophone crashes into a solo. Fingers blur across keys, vitriol spewing from the bell with each note. Violence erupts in every corner of the room. Sweat and blood pouring from faces, fists crash into jaws and eye sockets. Bones snap as glasses and bottles break across skulls and gash into skin. I cling to my chair praying to every god I know no one will notice me. The man sitting next to me looks unperturbed by the orgy of blood and hate surging around us.
Don’t worry, he says, it’s almost over.
On cue the sax reaches his climax and passes the melody to the trumpet. In an instant the fighting mellows to dull hum. People settle back into their chairs and their drinks. Waitresses circle the crowd with wet towels and ice packs as a blue guilt settles over the room. The trumpet weaves through the audience in a slow depress rag leaving crushed spirits to go along with the crushed flesh. The man next to me smiles as if appreciating the exquisite timing of the band. As the brass swells to his finish I hear the room break into wracking sobs. People smash their heads into the bar at the shame of what they have done. Blood flows again but this time depression is the knife that rends open the flesh. Just as the room approaches the brink of suicide the trumpet blows his last note and falls silent. People look around in shock as the seductive black and white ivory of the piano picks up the tune.
Tears are dried with the same bloody clothes that dabbed wounds earlier. The solo is sensual and I feel its notes crawl up my spine and settle with envy at the base of my neck. I never could tune sound to song. The music is infectious and spreads through the crowd like a plague. People scream at the piano in desirous rapture, begging to know his secrets. But he plays on paying the patrons of this cursed place no mind. His fingers dance across the keys in effortless motion driving the crowd to new heights of jealousy. People drop to their knees, sweat pouring down their faces, tearing out their hair in fistfuls as primitive offerings to the gods for just a glimpse into this man’s mind. But no answer comes from on high and just as the crowd prepares to rush the stage in an envious stupor the piano falls quite with one last seductive chord.
As the final note of the solo fades the band rejoins the song in full, bringing an uneasy balance to the room. My brain tells me to get up, you need a new drink, but my body refuses to respond. I manage to turn to the man sitting next to me.
Hey man, what club is this.
Club? You’re in the pithos. And that’s Pandora up on stage.
I sit glued to my chair as the band gallops through the rest of the song at unnatural speed. People have returned to their drinks and their conversations. Finally the band blows their last note and I rip myself up and make for the satin exit on uncertain legs. I sway and fall into a table sending drinks and patrons crashing to the floor. The waitress with the hateful eyes helps my to my feet with a look of knowing that I do not belong here. She sets me on my feet and I stumble for the curtain and freedom, knowing I need to make it before the band starts again. My eyes blur as I hear music begin behind me and I leap the last few inches, landing in a heap at the bouncer’s feet.
He stands me up and helps me to the door. I step outside into the cool night air and breath the fresh oxygen deep into my lungs. My head starts to clear as I straighten myself up and begin walking down the street. As the blocks pass and the music fades from memory I find myself drained of every emotion. A void of unfeeling blankness. But as I walk on I feel something, slowly, creep into the hole. A pure and joyous blossom of the one truly human emotion. And as I open my front door, I smile and silently thank the band for stripping away all they did, leaving only one thing inside me. Hope.
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