Soft. Sultry. Melancholy. A haze of cigarette smoke. Slinky black dresses with slits up the leg, long sleeves, and low backs. Stiletto heels. Pinstripe suits. Low lights. The massage of a trumpet’s notes. Piano keys that dance under gliding fingers with a dark face turned down toward those black and whites or upward with eyes closed.
Memories of images never lived. Hidden places. Kisses in dark corners. A bare back against the wall. A drink. Tables with no more than four chairs. A hush but so much silent conversation. Waiters appearing from nowhere.
A stool with a singer. The voice that sounds like an instrument and comes from a face that sings as if no one’s there.
Patrons turned toward a stage, arms resting on the bar holding a beverage. Alone.
And all that . . . jazz . . . playing.
God, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent. Startling but true. Thank you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.