cabaret blue

 
her song was a little too quiet as she sang it  –  it was a good song
if you paid attention. her backup combo were content to play their
set & collect a paycheck.

the drinkers in the club just drank & laid out their slick pickup lines;
each of the ladies did what she needed to, twirling a stray curl &
I-don’t-care lookaways, to out-glamour the dolls around her.

the chanteuse in her shadowy nook had a timid, earthy sound, like
a thrush in the snow, maybe, so I listened when nobody else did.
one night I shanghai’d her as she came offstage, told her I liked the
way she kept her eyes low & laid out her tune mellow, like it didn’t
mean anything to anyone but her. her own personal heartbreak.

‘let’s have a drink,’ I said. she gave me the lowdown on how she
doesn’t drink with every soldier blue who offers.
‘but for you, mister? maybe I would.’

so we drank & on her nights off we’d grab a meal, usually a burger &
coffee at Rose’s All-Nite café. after that, it’s a short walk for two lonely
people to a particular circle of moonlight, made out of sadness & romance.

sometimes I’d get bad things in my head, & I’d have a few extra drinks
to kill the perpetrators. we’d argue about it, & I might’ve hit her, I
suppose, before I blacked out.

came a time when she got tired of the low-cut gowns & the gigs at cheap
dives. she wanted the bright lights, the recognition. ‘ I’m very good at my
profession, Johnny, but I’ll never be somebody in this town.’

I got mad. when I get mad, I get stupid. ‘you’re right, baby. you’ll never be
somebody.’ I couldn’t look at her face then, whether she cried or not. she
was very quiet, & it was the saddest song ever.

so she took off for parts unknown. I didn’t follow her, there was no payoff
in it. these love stories… the lines fade, & a man’s got to lay down his pen  –
   there comes a time…


(Model: Adriana Lima)