Gamble with Destiny
Now Chicago was initially well known for two things, although nights at the Nest were filled with three things: liquor and smoke. The third thing the lush plush nightclub was known for was the fire and soul cascade clawing its way from the shiny metal tenor cornet on stage. The blue sulky music seared the air cutting heart and soul with a dismal apathy.
The horn bobbed and dipped as the handsome jazz player continued his solo. His soft reddish hair glistened with the aid of the stage lights projecting gently from the crevices in the ceiling. His closed eyes made it appear like he was in some private Nirvana of his own creation; his dark goatee gleamed with his every movement. The music swelled around the room as the band emitted a gentle, bleak melody.
At the end of the last tune, a smattering of applause filled the musician's ears. Jack Shannon pulled his lips off the cup-shaped mouthpiece, lowering his cornet to his slender hips. His limbs felt heavy. Shannon rolled his shoulder lazily, trying to ease the pain. The sudden cold weather in Chicago hadn't helped his old gunshot wound.
There was an old motto Shannon abruptly recalled his older brother Harry once warning him about: In Chicago, no man has a true friend. He winched at the old memories, placing his instrument on a nearby stand, shaking. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come back to Chicago after all. Swiftly he ran a hand through his thick hair, collecting his composure as he rubbed his pounding temples. There's just too many memories, too many bad memories…
"Are you feeling all right?" came a clipped voice, breaking him out of his reverie.
"Yeah…I'm fine," Shannon mumbled uneasily. He then looked down at the speaker and into a pair of dark, compelling emerald eyes. Those eyes, I've seen those eyes before; the eyes of a person with nothing to live for. Whose life has been pulled out from right under them. The mixed feelings of loss and hatred igniting violently through their mind, like the flames of hell emerging from the darkness to engulf them in a fiery blaze. Shannon shook his head slowly trying to clear the potent haze that had devolved there, only to realize with unease that he was the person that he had been describing.
The raven-haired woman tilted her head in concern. "I've seen that expression before, are you sure you're alright?"
Her melancholy eyes were rift with silent pain as if someone had shattered her dreams, but her angelic face surpassed prettiness in the way that babies were cute in the eyes of their parents. She was dressed all in black, slender and curvy in the right places.
An angel from the underworld whose wings had been sheared away. Or a devil from paradise with a body that would lead an ordinary man into the pit of hell and grateful to be crucified in her bed.
"I'll be all right," Shannon replied warily stepping down from the stage. "It's just that it's been awhile since I've played. I'm still trying to get the feel for it back."
She turned toward a table near the back of the nightclub.
This was a real woman. Not one of those bobbed haired girls he'd seen with high squeaky voices and short skirts. This woman had a past, a certain ruggedness that he admired. Women weren't really his thing anymore, especially after his beloved wife's unexpected death, but Shannon was strangely compelled to know more about her.
"Can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?"
A soft, sweet smile flickered on her face blinding Shannon in a heavy radiance. Instantly he was smitten.
"I have nothing better to do," was her shrewd response.
Standing aside and sweeping his arm toward the back of the nightclub, Shannon directed the dark haired women to his selected table. Helping her to her seat he watched as she rolled her legs over the fine leather and perched. The jazz musician then went to take his own seat, surprised when he heard orders toward a nearby waitress already being made.
"That'll be two Scotches for me and my friend here will be having..."
"Just the usual, Cheri."
The waitress gave a slight nod along with a small smile when she heard Shannon call her name. Returning hastily after merely a few moments the young woman set two empty glasses on the table while she took a bottle from under her arm and began to pull the cork out.
"Is there any ice for the whisky?"
Shannon laughed. "Lady, this is Chicago, you can just about find anything here whether you want it or not."
The amber tongue of liquid sloshed in both glasses as the young waitress poured, followed by an ensemble of ice chunks. Giving a light salute the dark haired woman slammed back each drink. Coughing, she collected herself. "I needed that."
"Well at least you didn't sneeze. Then I'd have to bore you with an old Irish story one of my special friends told me once about fairies." Shannon grinned momentarily reminiscing over some of the good memories from his past, containing a certain famous fedora-wearing archeologist.
Following his joke, Shannon was surprised when he heard a faint laugh emit from the woman across the table. "See, already I've pegged you as a woman of taste. You've chosen to be amused by my bad jokes."
"Are you always so charming to the women you've just met?"
"Only the one's that don't bite," Shannon chuckled just as the waitress placed a Martini in front of him. "But enough talk about me…now let's talk about you…and my reflection in your beautiful eyes!"
Upon hearing Shannon's tactless attempt at another joke the mysterious woman's eyes turned icy and her features darkened. "Listen pal, I don't know who you're used to dealing with, but if you keep on saying things like that you'll be lucky if you can still blow on that horn when I'm done with you."
The jazz musician smirked as he held up his hands in an attempt to ward off her anger. "Don't get excited. I devoted my life to the big guy upstairs; women aren't my style…least not anymore. That so called friend I was telling you about earlier took care of that," Shannon declared remorsefully.
"And how did he do that?"
"Well, he didn't have to try hard…" Shannon's voice trailed off as he closed his eyes and took a big gulp of his Martini. The jazz musician didn't want to remember what had happened barely a year ago, back in San Francisco. Had happened between him and his old friend just before his plane ride across the Pacific.
Slowly reopening his eyes and pulling a crumpled cigarette pack from a pocket inside his suit jacket, he lit his charm back up in an attempt to change the subject. "But…" he let the single word hang for a few moments, taking a deep puff on the cigarette before continuing. "I'm sure you've already heard my story from some low life before and I'm certain you didn't come into this nightclub just to listen to me drag on about the heavy cross that I have to carry."
"It's not like I have anything better to be doing," the raven-haired women countered with a shrug just as another scotch was placed in front of her.
"You never did say the reason why you came here." Shannon's dark eyes focused on her raising the glass to her pouty lips and for the first time he noticed the small freckles that were scattered around her slightly crooked nose.
She laughed. "I bet you'd like to know." Giving Shannon the once over, her gaze lingered falling upon his strangely sparkling but intense blue-green eyes. "The truth is I just met you, I don't see why I have to tell you anything."
"I'm not asking you to give me your date of birth, I was just trying to say that this isn't a nice place for a lady on the run like you."
"I'll take my chances." She sounded so lost, so alone. "What gives you the idea that I'm running from something?"
"The first mysteriously enchanting women I've seen ever since I've been here walks into a nightclub in Chicago? Either you're running to somewhere, running from someone, or you have a death wish. Take your choice." Feeling proud of himself, Shannon bent back in his chair drawing another puff from the cigarette.
"I have no where to run to, this place seems as good as any." The cold words sent a shiver down the jazz musician's spine as he leaned forward, seeing now in her misty emerald eyes that she was being truthful. She really is all alone, Shannon thought with regret.
Stubbing the cigarette out in his dry Martini and pulling a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit Shannon made his way over to the weeping brunette. He pushed her hands away from covering her face and started to dab her tears away.
Embarrassed and noticing Shannon's presence in front of her she brought her hands back up in an attempt to force him away. "Please, just leave me alone."
"Listen sweetheart, I'm only trying to help."
The gently soothing voice reminded her of the person that she'd grown to hate, causing her to become distraught with anger. "I don't need your help! I can take care of myself!"
"Well, it looks like you've been doing a great job so far," Shannon remarked sarcastically. Pushing away he handed her the handkerchief as he heard someone on the stage call out his name. Turning toward the voice he saw a member of the band waving at him. "Yeah, just a sec. Charley."
Shannon then spun back around and hesitated as compassion filled his eyes. "My break's over…so, you said you didn't have a place to stay, right?"
"I already told you, I can take care of myself," she grumbled trying in vain to wipe away the fact that she'd just been crying the moment before.
"Come on all the places around here are already booked full by now and besides I have a suite that I'm not even using at the Blackstone. You can stay there for the night; it's just down the block. You probably passed it on your way over here." Shannon smiled warmly rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess I'd…uh…better be getting back then. Take care pretty lady."
As she watched the lanky redhead slowly turn his back to her and start to stroll away she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She felt strangely compelled to call him back and was even more surprised when she heard her wavering voice do just that.
Shannon ignored the irate looks he was getting from his band members and twirled back around toward the dark haired women, now standing an arm's length away.
"Do you take requests?" she asked.
Shannon nodded. "Sure, so what's your poison of choice? Stewart, Oliver, Louis Armstrong?"
She bit her lip. "I don't know the song by name. If I hum it could you play it?"
Odd request, Shannon thought but he was always up for a good challenge these days. "I'm sure I can pull it off."
She cleared her throat. A strange lilting melody sweetly eased from her lips. The short song nearly stopped the cornet player's heart and threatened to cleave his senses into tiny pieces.
He'd remembered the song from long ago just after he'd graduated college. Shannon dredged the memory. All the missed classes, the slumping grades, he didn't care just so long as he was able to escape to the barrelhouse piano saloons and listen to the jazzy music until the early hours of the morning. After he'd left collage though and gone off into the real world everything changed, that was when the Mafia came into his life. He remembered running off to Paris, trying to get as far away as he could.
On one of those days inside the Jungle, a boîte in Montparnasse he was trying to think of a new song to play on his cornet, when his old collage friend walked in. He recalled playing the song out for him, asking him what he thought. He had said that he liked it, giving Shannon a few more ideas before he left on a train to Greece. That song was the first he had ever written and after that day he had decided to drop it, never to play it again.
How does this woman that I've never met before know about a song that I created and have only played once? Shannon asked himself earnestly.
Trying to hide his shock he abruptly cleared his throat and lit up another cigarette. He's the only one I played that song for…wasn't he? Shannon drew a long puff from the cigarette as the song came to an end.
"Nice tune. Real easy to follow," he complimented. "Can I ask where you heard it? I'd like to add it to my song list."
The raven-haired women hesitated slightly before answering. "My…mother used to sing it to me when I was sick. If I was ever feeling bad that song would cheer me up."
She was lying, that much Shannon knew. Okay, mysterious lady with the melancholy emerald eyes keep your secrets, for now.
"What's your name, pretty lady?"
"Marion. It's a common women's name," she remarked shrugging her shoulders.
"My old buddy's girlfriend was named Marion, guess that's testimony enough." Shannon faintly smiled making the connection. "He left less than a year ago to see her too."
"I hope he has an easier time finding her then I had finding my former friend. As a matter of fact I'm still looking for him." Just by gazing into her wretched eyes Shannon understood that she wasn't searching for the man physically, but more emotionally.
"In any case maybe this song will cheer you up a little." Shannon threw her a modest smile realizing that he would probably never truly understand what the women had gone through in her shadowy past.
Taking her hand in his he guided her up to the table that was the closest to the stage and then leapt into the spotlight. Landing gracefully in the middle of the stage he ground out his cigarette and leaned over the microphone as the applause died down.
"Can't say that's been the first time I've had to hop around for some attention. I actually recall having to do the same thing to get Joey over there to give me a drink last night." Shannon nodded over to the bartender just as he started dozing off for the tenth time that night. The audience responded with bellows of laughter that caused a large smirk to spread across his face.
Turning to his band he swiftly grabbed his cornet from its stand. "Alright guys, I know that the tunes we've been playing lately have gotten kind of sour, so I thought let's have a challenge."
"You're the boss," Charley answered from the back.
Shannon smiled, he remembered a time when he wasn't even in charge of his own life. But that nightmare was behind him now, now he was free. "Okay boys, just follow my lead."
He then spun around and spoke into the microphone. "Now that you're all awake, I thought we'd start off the second half with a song request that I received from one of my special friends in the front row." Winking at the dark haired woman he bowed like an old fashioned courtier. "Okay, Marion…this one's for you!"
The dedicated song poured out of the metal horn like a wounded lover, a ghost who longed to be alive. As the melody gently swayed around the room, Shannon watched Marion's reaction. She just sat there, her eyes partly shut, listening to the rise and fall of the notes swirling around her like the water falling off a faded rose.
