Alby's Tale

approximately 3400 words

Alby’s Tale
by
Max Griffin

         

         Falling in love again.  Alby never wanted to.  What was he to do? He couldn’t help it. 

         It all started whle he was on a trip to spring break in Fort Lauderdale, on a hot Atlanta night, in a hot Atlanta bar, crammed with hot Atlanta men.

         Albert Jankyn-Bath, Alby to his friends, leaned with his back to the bar and tapped his toe to the throbbing disco beat of “Dancing Queen.” Young men writhed on the dance floor, their sweaty, lean bodies speckled with rainbows from the revolving overhead glitter ball. Alby eyed one guy, in particular.  He was shirtless, exposing his swimmer’s bod with its rippling abs and sinewy muscles. His razor-sharp haircut, complete with a zig-zag pattern cut into the left side of his head, framed his craggy features.  Alby had known dozens of guys just like him.  Hundreds. He promised to provide exactly what Alby wanted: a night filled with erotic passion, a night to be forgotten the next day.

         His companion, Buzz, nudged him with an elbow.  “I see where you’re lookin’ dude.  He’s a Dancing Queen for sure.  One hunky himbo.”

         Alby suppressed a wince.  It had probably been a mistake to let Buzz tag along.  “I guess.”

         “I mean it, man.  What’s it been?  Over a year? It’s time you got out there again. Get yourself some nookie.”

         Alby clenched his jaws and didn’t answer. Nookie was what he supposed he was looking for, but it was just like Buzz to bring up Alby’s dead husband, Allen Bath. Buzz's tacky word defiled the memory of the love Alby had shared with Allen, a once-in-a-lifetime love that he'd never find again. Even after a year, the pain of the loss was still there, an ache that never went away.

         He touched the hearing aid in his ear. It would be so easy to shut Buzz up. All he had to do was turn it off and make the world would go away. Or at least the babble would vanish. 

         If only he could make the pain go away.

         Like always, Buzz didn't know when to shut up.  He smirked, and said, “I mean, look at the guy that himbo is dancing with. You got no competition. That’s one lonesome Lenny, if I ever saw one.”

         Alby looked again, and had to admit Buzz’s description of the guy fumbling around next to Dancing Queen was apt.  He wore dumpy, wrinkled chinos, high-top black Reeboks, and an Izod shirt. Even worse was the frizzy fringe of Art Garfunkel hair that framed his pale and shapeless features.  Alby gave a little snort and said, “I’d say Loathsome Lenny is a better soubriquet.”

         Buzz gave him a blank look, then said, “Hey, they’re headed this way.”  He waved at them.

         Dancing Queen tipped his head at Buzz and pushed through the crowd toward them.  His listless companion tagged along behind him.  When he got to the bar, he signaled the barkeep.  "GIve me what this dude's having."  He pointed at Alby.

         The man asked, “Scotch, neat, with water back?”

         "Yeah. Make mine with Glenlivet."

         The barkeep started to turn away, but Loathsome Lenny raised a finger and said, “I’ll have an old fashioned.

         The barkeep asked, “Any special brand of whiskey?”

         The loathsome one shrugged.  “Whatever.”

         Alby squinted an eye.  One trendy drink, and one old fart drink. No surprise there.  Each according to type.

         The Dancing Queen slid his credit card across the bar and turned to eye Buzz.  “What’s up, my man?”

         Buzz swiveled his hips and leered at him.  “The usual.”

         Before Dancing Queen could answer, the barkeep was back looking like he’d been sucking on lemons.  “Card’s no good. They said to cut it up.”  He pulled out a pair of over-size scissors and made a show of slicing it in half.  “Now, just how you planning to cover your tab?”

         Dancing Queen just shrugged, like this was an everyday occurrence.  “That’s the only card I got, and you just ruined it. I guess you’re outta luck.”

         The barkeep flushed and narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I should call the cops.  They cancelled all the charges you’ve made over the last week.”

         Alby saw his opportunity.  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”  He offered his corporate credit card to the bartender.

         The man’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead.  “A black American Express?”  He examined the card. “It says it’s for a corporate account.  House of Bath, Limited.”

         Alby nodded.  “That’s my company.”

         “No shit?  I guess you can afford this loser’s tab, then?  It’s like over three thousand dollars.”

         Alby frowned.  The amount wouldn’t make a dent in the fortune Allen had left him.  Still, the word scam percolated to the top of his mind. “He ran up that much in one night? And you only just now checked his credit?”

         The barkeep shrugged.  “It’s like I said.  They denied a week’s worth of charges that I thought had already gone through. Said the card was stolen." He turned a feral glare on Dancing Queen, who Alby now thought of as DQ.  "If you don’t pay, then I’ll have to call the cops.”  Then he tipped an eyebrow at Alby.  “Unless, maybe you’d like to make a deal?”

         Alby didn’t snort.  The scam must be coming, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. “What kind of deal?”

         The barkeep answered, “I’ve heard of the House of Bath.  If you own it, and if you’re rich enough to have a black AMEX card, you must be pretty smart about business.”

         Allen had been the one with business savvy, but Alby just shrugged.

         The barkeep continued. “Look, this bar’s been running on the edge for months.  I bet you could figure out ways to make it profitable.  You know, like that asshole on TV. Gordon somebody.”

         Alby nodded. “Gordon Ramsey.”  A cheesy TV show if ever there was one. “What’s in it for me if I answer your question?  Will you forgive the debt?”

         “Yeah, but your answer has gotta be somethin’ I ain’t tried yet.  If you come up with a new idea that sounds like it’ll work, I’ll forgive this loser’s tab and I won’t call the cops.”

         “And if I fail?”

         “You pay the debt and he’s off to the Fulton County lockup.  Let them handle him.”

         Sweat sheened the Dancing Queen’s forehead.  “I can’t go to jail again.” He turned imploring eyes on Alby.  “I’d do anything to stay out of jail.  Anything.”

         That was clear enough.  Alby let a sly smile bend his lips. He turned back the barkeep. “Deal.  The answer is easy.  Give the customers what they want.”

         “Yeah. That’s brilliant. So what, exactly, should I be giving them?”

         “For starters, how about music that isn’t from the last century?”

         “Tried that.  Didn’t help.”

         Alby frowned.  This couldn’t’ be hard.  Allen would have had a dozen ideas.  “How about finding a niche market? You’re downtown, so you probably can’t be a neighborhood bar. How about a twink bar?”

         The bartender just rolled his eyes. “Yeah.  Twinks always are high rollers with gobs of money. Tried that, too.  Gimme something new.”

         Alby thought about the bars he’d been frequenting in the last year. They'd always been jam-packed.  “Well, nothing draws like sex.  Make this a place teaming with sexuality. Put phallic symbols all over the place. Open up a back room where anything goes.”

         “Place like that draws the cops. They’d shut me down in a heartbeat, and I’d lose my liquor license, too.  No deal.”

         “A lesbian bar would be safe.”

         “Brilliant. Cut out half the population.”  He waved at the all-male clientele currently in the bar.  “Besides, you see any dykes here?”

         This was getting harder. “Have you tried strippers?”

         “Another way to lose my license.”

         Alby was running out of ideas.  The Tulsa Eagle was always busy on Saturday nights.  “Okay, how about a leather bar? Those seem to do well, at least in my experience.” 

         “Tried it.  It did okay for about six months, then all the leather bunnies went off to the next new thing. I said something new. Something I ain't tried yet.

         Loathsome Lennie lifted a finger. “I know what gay guys want.”

         The barkeep scowled at him. “The deal’s with Mr. Black AMEX, here, not you, loser.”

         The guy looked even more woebegone, if that were even possible.  A tiny pang of compassion made Alby ask, “What do you think gay guys want?”

         Loathsome Lennie stiffened his back, which just made his paunch stick out. “If I tell you, what’s in it for me?”

         Figures.  Everyone wants something from him, even a loser like LL.  Alby sneered, “What your price?”

         “How about you spend the rest of the evening with me?”

         Alby wrinkled his nose and took a step backwards. “What do you think I am?  A fucking hooker?”  Like he’d ever consider having sex with a dork like this creep. The mere idea roiled his stomach.

         Nonpulsed, LL replied, “I didn’t say have sex with me.  I said spend the evening with me.  There’s a nice, quiet piano bar a couple blocks away. Give me an hour or two of conversation. If you’ll agree to that, I’ll tell you my answer.”

         Dancing Queen took Alby’s hand and slipped him a piece of paper. “I’ll be real grateful if you keep me out of jail.  I’d do anything.”

         Buzz chimed in, “Go for it, Alby. Give Loser Lennie here his two hours, then you can spend the rest of the night with our new buddy, DQ.”

         Dancing Queen nodded. “Exactly.”

         The piece of paper must be DQ's phone number.  A clear come-on.  The barkeep's deal was worth a try.  Alby turned back to LL. “You okay with that? Two hours and we’re done?”

         His eyes flashed, but he replied, “That’s what I said.”

         Alby glanced at the barkeep, then said, “Okay, whisper it in my ear.”

         Lennie’s breath warmed Alby’s neck as he whispered his answer.  Alby expected halitosis, but his breath had a faint, minty scent.  Fresh, and rather pleasant. 

         When he heard the answer, he smiled and turned to the barkeep.  “You’ve tried niche markets.  You’ve tried dividing up your customers into little boxes, looking for the richest, most lucrative target audience.  Am I right?”

         The barkeep shrugged.  “More or less.  That’s good marketing. It doesn’t tell me what gay guys want.”

         Alby said, “Gay guys want what everyone wants. They don’t want someone putting them in boxes, whether it’s politicians or bar owners. Be the bar where customers are free to be who they are. Be the bar where everyone knows your name and doesn’t judge you.”  Alby remembered something Allen once said. “If you respect your customers and listen to them, they will come back to you. Make this the bar that listens.”

         “You mean like a slogan?  I admit, that’s one we’ve not tried. The bar that hears you.”  He pursed his lips. “I kinda like it.”

         “So we’ve got a deal?”

         He frowned. “It’s not exactly what I wanted.  How about you pay his bill, and I don’t call the cops?”

         That was good enough for Alby—it would keep Dancing Queen out of jail and close the deal. Alby nodded. “Done. Put it on my card.”

         Loathsome Lennie smiled at him. “Shall we go, then?”

         Alby hesitated.  “Your answer didn’t’ work. I still had to pay his bill.”

         “The deal was that I tell you my answer—don’t put the customers boxes and treat them like the unique individuals they are.  I didn’t say anything about your side deal with the bartender.”

         The barkeep had run Alby’s card while they were talking.  He handed the charge slip to Alby, who scrawled his name and handed it back.  The barkeep grinned and said, “He’s gotcha, dude.  That was the deal the two of you made.”

         Buzz said, “It’s only two hours.  I’ll take Dancing Queen here back to our hotel and keep him busy while you’re off doodling with Loser Lennie.”

         Alby clenched his jaws.  He could just imagine how Buzz would go about keeping DQ busy.  Still, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken sloppy seconds, and it wasn’t like he ever expected to see DQ again.  He sighed and turned to LL.  “Okay.  Take me to this bar.” If LL droned on too much, he could always turn off his hearing aid.

         He pocketed his credit card and followed Loathsome Lennie out into the heat of the night.

         Alby hesitated under the glow of an amber streetlight.  He wanted to ask how far it was to this piano bar , but realized he didn’t know his companion’s name.  He stuck out his hand and said, “My name is Albert, by the way.”

         “I’m Seymour.”  His grip on Alby’s hand was firm.  “Nice to meet you, Albert.”

         “You, too.  Just call me Alby.  Most people do.”

         A smile quirked the other man’s lips.  “People call me Seymour.” 

         “How far is this piano bar?”

         “A couple of blocks.”

         They walked in silence.  It was just after ten, too late for the early evening rush, too late for the post-bar cruising shuffle.  A warm breeze brushed against Alby’s cheeks and carried the pleasant aroma of garlic and ginger from a Chinese food street vendor. 

         They rounded a corner and a purple neon sign in the shape of a piano hanging over one of the establishments came into view.  The windows and glass door had been stained black and opaque.  Seymour held the door open and gestured Alby inside.

         A woman wearing a sleek, a pale blue evening gown sat in the back of the bar, at a grand piano under a single spotlight.  A blue angel. The smooth sounds of a jazz rendition of “Melancholy Baby” filled his ears.  An aquarium with tropical fish lined the wall on is left, and a sleek, ebony bar was to his right.  Tables with easy chairs scattered about the rest of the space, illuminated by muted indirect purple lighting.  Alby counted a half dozen couples, all male, in the bar. 

         He gave Seymour a tentative smile.  “This looks pleasant enough. Where shall we sit?”

         “There’s a private space over there.” Seymour pointed to a table and chairs in a distant corner, far from the other patrons.  He crooked a finger at the waiter and headed that way.  Alby followed.

         The chair’s leather cradled Alby, soft and plush.  He relaxed and reached for his wallet.

         Seymour touched his arm. “Don’t.  I’ll pay.  All I asked for was your time.”

         Alby shrugged.  “It’s not a big deal.  I usually pay with my friends.”

         “Maybe someday I’ll be one of your friends.  For now, let me be the one to pay.”

         The waiter arrived and doled out menus.  “Good evening, gentlemen.  My name is Walter. What can I get for you?”

         Seymour glanced up from the menu and said, “I believe I’ll have a Glenlivet, neat.  With ice water on the side.”  He handed Walter a credit card. “Please run a tab for us.”

         The waiter took the card, glance at it, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Glass.” He turned to Alby.  “What will you have, sir?”

         “The same, thank you.”

         Seymour asked, “Is the kitchen open?”

         “It is, sir.”

         “What would you recommend?”

         “The ikura with blueberry, hibiscus, and thyme is excellent tonight, sir.”

         “We’ll have that, then.”

         “Very good, Mr. Glass.  Is there anything else?”

         Seymour closed the menu.  “Not at the moment, Walter.  thank you.”

         Alby eyed his companion. “You changed your drink.”

         “So I did.”

         The pianist changed tunes, this time to a jazz arrangement of “Someone To Watch Over Me.”  One of Allen’s favorites.  Alby tried to ignore it. He waited for Seymour to speak, but the man just leaned back and half-closed his eyes.

         Apparently it was up to Alby to start a conversation.  “Why did you ask to spend time with me?”

         “It was something about your eyes.”

         “These squinty things?”

         “They leak loneliness.”  He opened his eyes, leaned forward, and his gaze penetrated Alby’s soul. “Maybe I thought you could use someone to watch over you.”

         Alby caught his breath. Without thinking, he murmured, “It’s been a long time.”

         “I thought that might be the case. You had someone once, then?”

         Alby whispered, “Yes.” If he said it out loud, his voice might shatter his calm and let his grief escape. 

         “Tell me about him. What was in his eyes?”

         “Love.”  Alby’s voice caught in his throat.  “I lost him a year ago.”

         “Tell me about him. About when you met.”

         The song changed again, this time to "Memory" from Cats. Allby bit his lip, then said, “We met at a banquet, a fund-raiser.  We were strangers sitting at a table with other strangers.”

         “What did you talk about?”

         “Movies.  It turned out that we both loved Hitchcock.  We talked about Vertigo.”

         That made Seymour smile.  “One of my favorites, too. Hitchcock had a thing about obsession.  Like in Rear Window.”

         “Yes.  Exactly.”

         “What else did the two of you share?”

         “Food.  Music. Travel.”  Alby took a tremulous breath. “Life.”

         Death.

         Walter appeared with their drinks and hors d’oeuvres.  “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?”

         Seymour raised an eyebrow at Alby, who was too bemused to respond. “No, thank you Walter.”

         Alby tried to concentrate on the tang of the gin, the pungency of the ikura, and the sweetness of the hibiscus. The pain of losing Allen still lingered, but in some strange way he felt better.  As if talking to this odd duck had somehow made a difference.

         He sneaked a glance at his companion, lounging across the table from him.  In this light, with a jazz rendition of the “The Shadow of Your Smile” oozing in the background, he wasn’t loathsome at all.  When he smiled, he was quite handsome, actually. He had the most arresting blue eyes. Eyes you could dive into and swim around. Alby had seen that color once, in the sky on crisp winter’s afternoon in Aspen. He wondered how he could have ever found Seymour loathsome.  Maybe it was the light tonight, in this bar.  Or the music. Or even the food.  Or perhaps a combination of things. He ventured, “This is really good.  Thank you for ordering it.”

         “My pleasure.”  Seymour hesitated, then added, “Now we share a pleasant memory about something, you and I.”

         The pianist had changed to “Bridge over Troubled Water.”  Alby said, “About music, too, I think.”

         “Indeed.  She seems quite talented.”

         Alby looked more closely at the pianist, at her Adam’s apple and lanky body.  “I think she might be a drag queen.”

         “I wondered, too. I thought perhaps she might be trans.  But it doesn’t matter. She presents as a woman. We should listen to her.”

         After a time,the blue angel's piano murmured "The Way We Were." They spent the next two hours talking, sharing, remembering.  For Alby, it was an afternoon at Falling Water, moonlight over the painted desert, and sunset at Malibu.  For Seymour, it was the view from the Eifel Tower, sunset on Capri, and dolphins dancing in Mission Bay.

         They spoke. They listened.

         Eventually, Seymour looked at his watch. “Your two hours are up.”

         Disappointment chilled Alby’s core.  “So soon. It went by so quickly.”

         “It always does.  What will you do now?”

         “I don’t know.”  Buzz would be waiting for him.  And the other guy, the Dancing Queen.  Alby didn’t even know his name.  It all seemed so empty.  Pointless.

         “Your friend will be waiting for you.  Galahad, too.”

         “Who?”

         “I think you called him ‘Dancing Queen.’  He’s quite attractive.  And athletic in bed.”

         “If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather stay here.”

         A quiet smile bent Seymour’s lips.  “Me, too.”

         The pianist changed songs. For the first time tonight, she sang, her voice a throaty contralto with a faint German accent.  Like Marlene Dietrich.  Like a blue angel.

Falling in love again.
I don’t want to.
What will I do?
I can’t help it.

         


                                                           
For completeness, I've included links to some of the songs mentioned in the story.  Where I could find jazz piano versions, I included those.


Dancing Queen


Melancholy Baby


Someone to Watch Over Me


Bridge over Troubled Water


The Shadow of your smile


Memory


The Way We Were


Falling in Love Again