The Cove

And he had. At first the customers, a loyal bunch, the large majority of them black, had looked at him like he was something escaped from the zoo, but Lilly had introduced him, made three off-color jokes about his sax playing, his sex playing, and his red sox playing.

She was one of his best friends. She’d even given him a raise in January.

“You’ll like Ms. Lilly,” Quinlan said to Sally as he shoved open the heavy oak door of the club. “I’m her token white.” Marvin the Bouncer was just inside, a heavy scowl on his ugly face until he saw it was Quinlan.

“Hullo Quinlan,” he said. “Who’s the chicky?”

“The chicky is Sally. You can call her Sally, Marvin.”

“Hello, Marvin.”

But Marvin wasn’t up for names. He just nodded. “Ms. Lilly is back in her office playing poker with the mayor and some of his lame-assed cronies. No, James, there ain’t no drugs. You know Ms. Lilly, she’d shoot anybody before she’d let ’em take a snort.

“She’ll be out before it’s time for you to play. As for you, Chicky, you just stay in my eyesight once James is up there wailing his heart out on the stage, all right?

“She’s a cute little chicky, Quinlan. I’ll take care of her.”

“I appreciate it, Marvin. She is cute, and a lot of bad people are chasing her. If you could keep an eye on her, I can wail on my sax without worry.”

“Ms. Lilly is going to try to feed her, Quinlan. She doesn’t look like she’s had a good meal in a month. You hungry, Chicky?”

“Not yet, but thank you, Marvin.”

“A chicky with real good manners. It warms a man’s heart, Quinlan.”

“Amazing,” Sally said and nothing more. But she was smiling. She gave Marvin a small wave.

“He’ll watch over you, not to worry.”

“Actually I hadn’t even thought about it. I can’t believe you just spit out the truth to him.”

“Ah, Marvin didn’t believe me. He thought I was worried some guy would try to pick you up, that’s all.”

Sally looked around the dark, smoky interior of the Bonhomie Club. “It’s got lots of character, James.”

“It gains more by the year. I think it’s because of the aging wood. That bar is over a hundred years old. It’s Lilly’s pride. She won it in a poker game from a guy up in Boston. She always calls him Mr. Cheers.”

“Lots of character.”

He grinned down at her. “Tonight’s just for fun, all right? You look gorgeous, you know that? I like that sexy little top.”

“You’re into jet beads, are you?” But she was pleased. He’d insisted on buying it for her at Macy’s. She actually smiled. She felt good, light and easy. Tonight, she thought, tonight was for fun. It had been so long. Fun. She’d simply forgotten.

Nightmares could wait for tomorrow. Maybe when James took her home he’d want to kiss her some more, maybe even make love to her. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her.

“You want a drink?”

“I’d love a white wine. It’s been so long.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if Fuzz the Bartender has ever heard of such a thing. You sit down and let the atmosphere soak into your bones. I’ll go see what Fuzz has got back there.”

Fuzz the Bartender, she thought. This was a world she’d never imagined. She’d cheated herself.

She looked up to see James gesturing back at her and an immense black man with a bald head shiny as a cue ball grinning at her, waving a dusty wine bottle. She waved back and gave a thumbs-up.

Where did the name Fuzz come from?

There were only about half a dozen whites in the club, four men and two women. But no one seemed to care what color anyone was.

An Asian woman with long, board-straight black hair to her waist was playing the flute on the small wooden stage. The song was haunting and soft.

The conversation was a steady hum, never seeming to rise or to fall. James put a glass of white wine in front of her.

“Fuzz said he got the wine a couple of years ago from this guy who wanted whiskey but was broke. Fuzz got this bottle of wine in trade.”

She sipped it and gulped. It was awful and she wouldn’t have traded it for a glass of Kendall-Jackson. “It’s wonderful,” she called out to Fuzz the Bartender.

James sat beside her, a beer in his hand. “The wig’s not bad, either. A little too red for my taste, a little too curly, but it’ll do for tonight.”