Singing the Blues

Bass Cleff Club

Bass Clef is a fair sized Jazz club with the lighting dimmed so that the booths and tables along the back and side walls of the cafe area are slightly shadowed and more private. Eight booths line the bricked walls, four on each side of the club. To get up into the booths there is a single step so that they are not on the same level as the rest of the floor. The walls are decorated with posters from past and upcoming events and entertainers. Several cafe-style tables have been set up in the center of the club with two to four chairs surrounding each. Closer to the bar there are taller tables, being close to forty-four inches in height so that someone could stand next to it and rest their elbows upon them as they leaned in against them.

Across from the large wooden door that is the entrance, there is a very short stage comprised of black marble. In the center of the stage is a grand piano, and enough room for the remainder of the jazz-band to set up. The stage is normally lit up with a spotlight, making it the most illuminated area in the entire club.

//Settled on the right wall is the bar. The lights around the bar don't seem to be as dim as those in the rest of the club, but the lighting is still very low in order to keep the atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Behind the bar the wall is done up in aqua-colored tile before the shelving for the various types of beverages; including soda. A door behind the bar presumably leads to the kitchen and storage areas. //


Characters:
desiree_icon.jpg steve_icon.jpg

Is it a little early to be drinking, perhaps? Not if the bar is open! That's Steve's motto, anyway. And he's here living it to the fullest at the bar. But you can tell it's well before the cocktail hour, because Steve is just drinking beer. He seems to be here all alone, but he doesn't look terribly bothered by that fact. He keeps mostly still except when he's picking up the bottle of beer.

~~@~~

Yes, it's a bit early to be drinking, but Desiree's hot and thirsty. She's been handling business all day: renewing the occupational license, doing the fiscal year end inventory, and settling some accounts. So, she went home, showered and got dressed up a little, and now she's going to enjoy "Happy Hour" when it hits. The Bass Clef has some good drinks and some great music, so why not spend the evening relaxing? She may even run into people she knows there.

Sure enough, the place is empty enough she has her pick of booths, and there's a familiar shaped body at the bar. She grins, sliding up beside the former "super hero" and says, "If you don't order me a drink right now, Capt. Sunshine, I, Vilina, will fire my death ray and destroy the earth." Of course, she spoils it all by laughing almost immediately after. "Care for some company?" is then asked. "I'm going to grab a booth, if you'd like to join me."

The "little black dress" she's wearing is sleek and narrow, sleeveless to accommodate the cast on her left arm. She moves away, heading toward the booths, choosing one within easy earshot of the bandstand, close enough to hear well, but not so close she can't hear conversation. The perfect spot, really.

~~@~~

Steve is especially familiarly shaped when he's hunched over a drink, but he opens up by turning toward the voice that's addressing him. He nods slowly. "Then I have no choice," he responds solemnly, which he also ruins by grinning. He orders her something and then slides off the stool, leaning on the cane. He asks the bartender to have someone bring it to their table, since it's not crowded yet and he can always get away with such requests given his apparent disability. He joins Desiree at her table. "Long time no see."

~~@~~

"I've been a little under the radar lately," Desiree replies. "Overseeing renovation to the studio, getting ready for Fall classes, taking care of business. Can't work with this," she tells him, lifting the cast. "Hard to dance when you can't use one arm." There's a soft chuckle, a little self-depreciating. "Max been keeping you busy?" she asks. "Ever hear from that weird movie place? I called, but the guy — Cameron, was it? — never returned my call." She shrugs her good shoulder.

True enough, it's early in the bar, and the bartender himself brings over Desiree's usual mimosa, Steve's beer and a pitcher of beer apparently so he won't be having to make second or third trips. He is thanked, and paid by Desiree. "First round's on me," she says, grinning, knowing Steve can't be doing well financially. Everyone's hurting as the economy seems to be heading into a downswing.

"Oh, yeah … any truth to the rumor some Japanese company wants to dub Capt. Sunshine and put it out as DvDs there? Max said he was looking into it, but hadn't got any confirmation yet. Figured you might know if anyone does."

~~@~~

"Oh," Steve says, shaking his head. "No." He makes a face at her broken arm. "Oh, man, that'd jolt like hell. Take it easy," he advises, probably pointlessly. Then he nods at Desiree's picking up the tab. "Hey, thanks," he says. As for DVDs, he frowns thoughtfully. "No idea," he says. "I mean, I don't think they'd put any cash in /my/ pocket. I don't own the footage, you know?"

~~@~~

"No, but I'll bet Max will try to negotiate some kind of deal for you," Desiree tells him, sipping her frothy drink. "You were the star for how many seasons? — enough to get residuals, I'm betting. I mean, you already get something from the DvD sales here in the states, right? Well, according to international copyright laws, you're supposed to get something for them using your likeness." She shrugs once again. "I'm not up on all the laws. I leave that to Max." She takes another sip. "But, I'll say this: if there's a way to make money off of international DvD sales, Max's the one to get it."

Her laughter is soft and low. "So, what've you been up to? When's that Lifetime movie you did going to be on? I want to watch." She gives him a wink, teasing him slightly, having been told it was one of those typical made for TV films based on some romance novel. "Tell me a bit about it. I only know the basics."

~~@~~

Steve makes a face that suggests he's not terrible hopeful about seeing any money from overseas DVD sales. "American DVDs were in my contract, but I don't think overseas ones were," Steve says. "I mean, Max can do a lot, but I don't know what he can really do when I've already signed the studio the right to use my image, you know?" He shrugs. "I don't know, I'm not good at it, either." He clears his throat. "Uh, I don't know," he says. "I mean, they can put it on whenever they want, or never. But it's still in post right now." He pauses to take a long drink of beer. "Um, it was one of those usual Lifetime wifebeater movies. I play this soldier who comes back all fucked up from the Middle East."

~~@~~

Desiree nods, watching Steve's expression regarding the Lifetime movie. "Well, that's certainly topical," she remarks. "Not a pretty subject, but one which is sadly true more often than we'd like to think." She sips her drink, quiet for a moment, then, "It's a departure from what you've done in the past, which is good. Shows you have versatility, and can work even though your leg's messed up. You should actually be able to get more work in the same vein, considering how our guys are coming back from Iraq with injuries."

Then, apparently realizing how that might be taken, Desiree stops. "Look, Steve, I'm not meaning that to sound bad. I just mean you can turn a negative into a positive, that's all. I think it could be an asset, in a way, considering all the TV shows and movies being made about soldiers coming back with permanent injuries."

She blushes, embarrassed at having made such a social blunder. "Well, anyway, I look foward to seeing it. I'm sure you were good in it. You have talent, Steve. That's pretty obvious." Desiree lowers her eyes, stirring her drink and not saying anything else.

~~@~~

Steve scratches his jaw, smiling. "No, I know what you mean," he says. "That kind of work's about all that looks likely right now, you know?" he says, smile spreading. "Course, anybody can fake a limp, so it's not necessarily an advantage." He tilts his head slightly to one side. "Well, thanks," he says. "It was pretty hard work. We had a short schedule, so we were shooting constantly, so I couldn't do anything I wanted."

~~@~~

Steve scratches his jaw, smiling. "No, I know what you mean," he says. "That kind of work's about all that looks likely right now, you know?" he says, smile spreading. "Course, anybody can fake a limp, so it's not necessarily an advantage." He tilts his head slightly to one side. "Well, thanks," he says. "It was pretty hard work. We had a short schedule, so we were shooting constantly, so I couldn't do anything I wanted."

~~@~~

"Where were you, exactly? Not local, 'cause Max said you were on location when I asked." Desiree appears grateful Steve understood her meaning, and smiles. "Still, faking can look … faked. I've seen movies where you just knew the injuries weren't real. Anyone can limp, yes, but some directors are going to want the realism. No doubt, Max will find more work for you." She continues to stir her drink, not saying anything more for a while.

When the musicians begin to arrive, it's "Happy Hour," which means two for one drinks. There are service people now, and the place is beginning to fill up as office workers start coming in after their shift ends.

"You know," Desiree says as the band starts to warm up, "I wouldn't mind helping, if you ever need someone to run lines for you. I haven't had an acting role since that ill-fated attempt in New York. I miss being in front of the camera. Running lines with someone is the next best thing."

~~@~~

"I guess," Steve says vaguely. "Oh, we were filming on a sound stage they have in California. Nothing location," he says. "Nothing fancy." He finishes off his beer and fills a glass from the pitcher. "No, I'm sure he will. I'm pretty impressed to be honest." He smiles at Desiree's offer. "Wow, really? You could get all kinds of work if you wanted. But sure. I'll give you a call next time."

~~@~~

Desiree's good shoulder lifts in a self-conscious shrug. "I'm more of a dancer than an actress, but I miss being on stage or in front of the camera." She grins. "I don't know about being much of a dramatic actress, but I do music comedy very well. You should've seen me in the local theater's production of CATS. Now that was fun."

Considering all of the dancing and action in CATS, it's no wonder Desiree enjoyed her role. "I didn't have a big part, but I had a ball. The guy who played Rum-Tum Tiger was a former circus performer, and he was just amazing. I understudied his role. Never had to perform, though, thank goodness. I don't know how I'd have managed to get my voice low enough."

She laughs, finishing off her drink, and lifting a hand to signal the waitress she'd like another. "I'm sure Rum-Tum would've come off as gay should I have had to actually take over his role." A shake of her head. "Might've been funny, but can you imagine?"

~~@~~

Steve tries not to cringe the way all straight males cringe at the mention of CATS, and smiles instead. But he's clearly only familiar with the show in passing. "Sounds like it would've been crazy," he says. "I've seen girls pull off guys' roles, but maybe not in musicals."

~~@~~

"Depends on the musical," Desiree replies as the waitress brings her a new drink. "Take CATS. With the costuming, you can hide all the … well, protuberances." Yes, she means boobs. "But, you can't disguise the voices unless the girl's an alto or tenor. Me? My singing range is too high." Another sip. "Something like a chorus, yeah, girls can get away with playing guys. Lead roles? Not so much."

She recognizes that straight male aversion to CATS, and laughs. "You guys are all alike," she says in a teasing tone. "If I invited you over to watch a movie, and it turned out to be CATS — you'd run screaming, wouldn't you?" Surely she jests. "But, seriously, if I were better at drama, I might consider auditioning for more roles, but — can't do anything until this heals." Something a little grim in her tone there. It must be frustrating and upsetting for her to not be able to dance.

~~@~~

Steve makes a half-apologetic expression that confirms Desiree's fear that he would run from CATS. He can't say that he wouldn't. "You can always take lessons in acting if you want to learn a little more," he says. "I mean…no matter where you are there are millions of acting teachers around. Some of them might even be worth the money." He grins. "I'm buying the second round, by the way." He drinks down more beer and then looks at Desiree's arm. "Tell me again what happened?"

~~@~~

The problem with telling lies is you sometimes forget what you told people. Deisree bites her lower lip, uncertain whether or not she told him the truth or made something up last time they saw one another. She tries to shrug it off. "I'd really rather not talk about it," she says, and that's the truth, at least. "It was just an unfortunate incident that hopefully won't be repeated." Thankfully, the band begins to play at that moment. "St. James Infirmary" happens to be one of Desiree's favorite jazz-blues numbers, and the black singer does it justice.

"A shame we can't dance," she says ruefully. "Between my arm and your leg, we'd be like the Keystone Kops out there." She figures she might as well laugh about her temporary disability. Sadly, Steve's injury is permanent. "So, have the doctors said anything else about your leg? Will it always be like this?"

Desiree's trying to be sympathetic, but the sheer thought of injuring her own leg is sheer horror for her. Without dancing, she'd wither away into dust. "I was hoping there might be some new surgical techniques that might reduce the damage." A pause. "Have you seen anyone since getting to Dallas? There are some fine hospitals and doctors here."

~~@~~

Steve narrows his eyes a little, apparently suspicious of Desiree's refusal to talk about it. He smiles at the idea of cutting a rug with her. "I don't know," he admits. "I haven't really talked to a doctor in the last few months. I mean, they said I messed up because I didn't do my PT after I got hurt." Steve shrugs and swigs down some more beer. "But whatever, I was bummed out."

~~@~~

Desiree doesn't look at Steve, either, a sure sign she's probably hiding something. But, she latches onto the other subject, and skillfully turns the conversation to his condition. "Steve, lots of people have come back from worse injuries than this. Look at the football and baseball players who've recovered from terrible injuries. I bet all of them didn't do their PT, either," she says earnestly. "I bet with the right doctor and the right treatment, you could make a full recovery." A pause. "Even after you messed up. Nothihng's permanent these days."

She impulsively reaches out to place her hand on his. "Look, you've got the will-power to do whatever you want with your life. If you really want to get rid of that limp, you can." She gives his hand a squeeze. "At least find an orthopedic surgeon and talk to them. Find out your options, and then … well, just do it, Steve."

Desiree's eyes are serious, and they're filled with concern. "I'll help you, if you'd like. I'll promise a night out on me if you'll just have it checked out down at the Medical Center."

~~@~~

Steve looks uncertain about all of that. "Well, I mean… I don't have any insurance," he mentions uncomfortably. "And I probably don't have as much will-power as you think." He rolls a shoulder. "So you think there's some surgery out there that'd fix stuff?"

~~@~~

"In this day and age, there's surgery to fix anything," Desiree replies, trying not to sound pushy. "You never know until you ask. A lot of doctors are starting to explore alternative treatments and even experimental surgery. Who knows what they can do? I mean, we're advancing so fast these days."

She stops talking, figuring she's said enough. His interest seems to be piqued, and that's a good first step.

"I've only got one thing to add," Desiree says to Steve. "Eventually, I'll need hip surgery. I was born with what most people call double-jointedness in my hips. They didn't have surgery to correct hypertension back then, but now they do. I overcame it by dancing. That strengthened my hips and legs. Now? — there's a corrective surgery."

She pauses, looking him squarely in the face. "What do you have to lose? The worst that can happen is you keep your limp. The best —?" Well, she leaves that unsaid.

~~@~~

Steve shrugs. "The worst that can happen is they tell me there's a surgery to fix it but to fix it I've gotta go in debt for the rest of my life. And then they fuck it up even worse in surgery." He shrugs. "But if you like this song, you oughta give it a dance or two."

~~@~~

There's not much Desiree can say to counter that. "Well, I can't argue with that, Steve. I'll stop pushing about it." She looks down at her half-empty glass. "Next round's on me," she tells him, planning to have at least one or two more drinks before she leaves. "There's no way I can dance with this," she says firmly. "I tried, and it throws me completely off balance."

She sits in silence for a long time, listening to the band. Her foot taps to the beat. Finally, they play a long, slow song. "I can't dance alone," she remarks. "Think you're up to it?" Desiree asks, smiling. "I won't be upset if you decline. I wouldn't want me stamping all over my feet either."

~~@~~

Steve reaches up to scratch his head, looking doubtfully at the dance floor. "I can't turn or goto the side," He says. "You can probably find somebody out there who can do a lot better with you. I wouldn't be a lot of fun."

~~@~~

"Nor would I," Desiree confesses. "I guess we're both shunted to the sidelines for the moment." There doesn't seem to be too much more to say. The music is good, and the drinks are doing their best to relax her. Finally, Desiree realizes if she has to much more to drink, she won't be able to drive.

"I should really think about heading home before traffic gets too bad," she comments. "Driving with this isn't all that hard, but it doesn't mean it's easy." She chuckles, downing the last of her drink. Money is placed on the table. "I'll see you soon, Steve. Come over for dinner and a movie sometime — promise it won't be CATS." Thre's a twinkle in her eye as she rises to leave.

~~@~~

Steve bobs his head. "Right, yeah," he agrees. "And I will, definitely. But you'd better not trick me. You don't want to see me run on this leg, man. But I will." He turns down the corners of his mouth as he smiles. "See ya, Des."

~~@~~

Desiree lean over to place a soft kiss on Steve's cheek before she heads for the door. "No tricks, promise. Just dinner, drinks and a movie. Not even a chick-flick. Cross my heart." She grins, then turns, heading for the door. "Night, Steve. Good to see you." And, she's gone, heading home in what's left of rush-hour traffic.

~~Fin~~

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