= = =CHAPTER 2= = =
SEATTLE - CLUB CRASH
MAY 5, 1944
"Need a light?" The young bartender held out a silver lighter to the butt end of a cigarette that was stuck in a black lady-like holder.
A black fedora hat with a red ribbon trim raised itself slowly to reveal the face of its owner- a striking young woman with full lips and deep smoky eyes. The woman, whose name was 'Max', removed the holder from her mouth. "What this?" She held up the cigarette for the bartender to see. "Just a place to rest my lips." She yanked the stick by the end from the holder proclaiming in a low, but sensual voice: "I don't smoke." She discarded the Laramie Slim into the clear octagon ashtray that sat on top of the bar.
"You know you're killing me Ms. Guevara," the bartender insisted rolling up the sleeves of his white Brooks Brother's dress shirt. "The boss man's paying me to keep the ladies entertained and you're denying my free service kind of puts a wad in his garter belt."
Max Guevera- the twenty something brunette- pulls her lips into a smile at this remark. "We all have ways of being entertained Calvin, and it don't always require a clam up on a Laramie."
Calvin 'Sketchy' Williams smiled while picking up a newly washed highball glass to dry on the white dishtowel that was slung over his shoulder. "I don't get you sometimes." Sketchy commented as he wiped down the glass. "You've got truckloads more class then all these Al Capone cock chasers. So why are you hanging around a dive like this?"
Max stared into the brandy swirler in front of her before coming up with an answer. "I'll tell you up front Sketchy, it's not for the drinks." She dipped a long elegant finger inside the iridescent brown liquid, pulling it out a second later to suck the cheap tasting alcohol off of her finger. "It's for the music." She shifted her body – covered in an open double-breasted trench coat revealing a black dress of some sort that was almost completely obscure beneath the coat's heavy material- and focused heron the black stage that was lit from above by halogen lights.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Bling – the tall handsome M.C. dressed in black pants, white linen shirt and black suspenders – sat a black baby grand piano bombing his deep sensual voice into the microphone that sat next to the instrument. "Welcome to Club Crash." His hands glided out a bluesy piano cascade. "Now as your M.C. for this evening's night of fine performances it is my esteem pleasure to introduce to you all the foxiest jazz ticket to ever hit Seattle, the very sexy Ms. Original Cindy."
The lights overhead the staged all dimmed and a spot light switched on illuminating the face of Original Cindy, the club's famed singer. The light shimmered off her eggshell white A-line dress. The fabric plunged in the front wrapping around her full-bodied cleavage, leaving little to the imagination. The skirt to the bombshell dress cascaded down to the floor in ruffled layers that revealed matching white satin pumps that also matched the white magnolia blossom pinned up in her length of dark brown hair.
"That's my girl!" Sketchy cheered from behind the bar amidst the whistles and loud applause from those that were seated at the club's round oak tables.
Max crossed one long bare leg over the other with the slinky prowess of a cat, settling in to watch the performance.
On stage Original Cindy raised a hand – clad in an elbow length white satin glove- in a graceful gesture above her. The crowd immediately quieted down and only a few claps echoed after Cindy's movement. A minute later the band that was positioned behind Cindy began to play a hot tune and Cindy's hands locked on the silver microphone in front of her as she started to sing.
"Summertime, and the livin' is easy.
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is fine
Oh your daddy is rich and your ma is good lookin'
So hush little baby don't you cry."
Her voice was a mixture of harmonious melody and sultry jazz. She dipped the microphone in a sensual movement and switched her voice to a seductive raspy octave.
"One of these mornings your gonna rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings and you'll take the sky
But till that mornin' there's a nuthin' that can harm you..."
She dipped the microphone stand lower and deeper between her legs and several men in the audience undoubtedly came in the crotch of their pants.
"With daddy and mammy standin' by."
On the last note Cindy raised the microphone and stopped a hairs breath from kissing the top of it.
After the vibrato in her voice faded the crowd jumped to their feel in thunderous applause and catcalls.
"Bring it home foxy lady!" Sketchy joined in the ovation, watching Cindy throw kisses back to the crowd before turning to the 12 piece jazz band with a grand wave of her hand to give recognition to the people that had accompanied her on the number.
The band clapped and cheered for her as loud as the patrons in the audience and Bling blew Cindy a long reachable kiss from the seat of his piano.
"Whoo!" Bling complimented on the appeal of Cindy's song fanning himself with the open collar of his shirt. "After something as hot as that I'd say it was time for an intermission."
The crowd protested loudly, some of them going so far as to 'boo' Bling on the stage.
"Hey I know." Bling's low rich voice agreed. "But a sugar droppin' momma's gotta cool her vocals sometimes. So all you hot lover boy types cool yourselves off. There'll be another set in 15."
Bling stood up and leaned over to kiss Original Cindy's cheek when she passed him. "You were smokin' tonight baby."
Cindy smiled at the props. "You were bad yourself boo, ticklin' those ivories."
"That's because I'm workin' with one of the greats." Bling returned resting a firm hand on Cindy's bare shoulder.
Cindy smiled again. "You're the only male I really dig. She leaned over to kiss Bling on the cheek like he had just done with her. She pulled away after a moment wetting her lips with a quick tongue. "Now if you'll excuse me hot playin' piano man Original Cindy's gotta make the most of this intermission." Her eyes wandered over to where Max was sitting in the leather stool.
She stepped down the three black marble steps that lead to the floor and made her way over to Max.
"You laid it down smoother then silk." Sketchy praised as Original Cindy approached the bar.
Cindy nodded at him in silent appreciation. "Ms. Holiday and I just have a lot in common. We're two soul sistahs not livin' the ideal life, just livin' our own." She spoke of the legendary jazz singer Billie Holiday who was tearing up the music scene across the country.
"In that case can I interest my lady in an adult beverage?" Sketchy asked setting a skinny martini glass filled halfway with a green olive garnish floating on top.
Cindy smiled and accepted the drink. "Thanks boo." She took a slow appreciating sip from the end of the glass. "But don't think serving me a fine alcohol like this is gonna get you past my satin A-line." She pulled the olive out of its martini bath and trapped it between her full plum hued lips. It performed a vanishing act a second later, disappearing into the cave of her throat. "Original Cindy may sing like she longs for a Mac Daddy but that don't mean she wants to roll with one."
"I think Mac Daddy Sketch takes a lot of cold showers to keep that fact in line." Max said with the flavor of a smooth speaking lady of wit.
"He's not the only one." A new voice joined the mixture.
From behind a table comprised of a straight out pimp and his blond flesh entourage emerged Logan Cale, a reporter for the Seattle Star. His eight of 5'11" gave him barely a two-foot clearance underneath the bronze chandelier hanging above his head. His blue double breasted pinstripe suit complete with a matching vest and black argyle tie only gave away hints to the form that was housed underneath the expensive fabric. His eyes were not the drop-dead gorgeous type of players, but they were a strikingly rich blue behind black wire rimmed glasses. This entire combination gave his face a charismatic intellectual sexiness that more then made up from any lack of hunky movie star looks.
Logan made his way over to Original Cindy, stopping only one step short of coming in contact with her body. "This reporter says you were cooking tonight."
Cindy had a grin in her face that had never been achieved by another human being. She responded: "I just lay it out the way it comes out of my soul boy."
"That's why the public falls in love with it every time." Logan agreed. "You can't fake that kind of appeal."
"They don't call it 'soul food' for nothin'" Cindy's smile changed from innocent to sassy. "Can a news hockin' brotha kick back for a drink?"
"My editor expects my report on the steamy aspects of this jazz club on his desk in the morning." Logan responded. He was forever a slave to the buttoned down media world.
"Yeah well your boss is just gonna hafta cool it down," Max notified, enlightening Mr.Cale on her philosophy of bosses that cracked the whip. Her smoky eyes caught sight of the flame that was burning in his bottomless baby blue ones. "Cause even a hard working reporter man is entitled to a little down time." She took a hit from the brandy that up until then she had only been playing with. Her neck moved rhythmically as the warm liquor glided down her throat.
Logan Cale was the first one to notice this simple display that had such a lustful air, at least to him. "Ms. Guevara. It's wonderful to see you again." His voice exuded a quiet masculine allure that made him a mystery upon first hearing him speak. But he also had a certain way that he wore his smile that made women want to find out what that mystery was. He had met Max Guevara before – at this same club – and once again found himself under the spell of her charms.