= = = CHAPTER 4 = = =
SEATTLE – CLUB CRASH
MAY 5, 1944
Max picked up the long necked glass allowing the contents – a 20-year-old Chablis – to work its way down her throat, appreciating the light but smooth taste. After shaking off the effects of a great wine she replaced the glass on the bar. "Never considered myself an appreciator for fine alcohol." Her words were directed at Logan Cale who had been the one that had ordered the drink for her. He seemed to wait in trepidation for her to finish her sentence and she sensed it. "But a hit as smooth as this one might swing me to think otherwise."
Logan tried hard not to be affected by the velvety smoothness of her voice, but it was as successful as trying to shove a baby back inside its mother's womb. "Then I'm glad I could be a part of the biggest thing to hit this club since Albert Prez showed up in '42."
"Don't rank me up there with the greats Mr. Cale," Max said pretending to be grossly interested in the remnants of wine that had puddled into the bottom of the glass. But then she seemed to change her mind and focused her attention on something else she seemed to like better – him.
"I'm just like all the other momma's in this scene lookin' for the few bits of liquid flavor left in this city." Her gaze never wavered from his when she said this. She wasn't afraid of missing the 'moment' of love that other women dreamed about. That kind of melodrama only existed in perfect worlds and the last time she checked she was outside the city limits for a place like that.
"But you're wrong there," Logan corrected, wondering if lesser men had gone insane having to restrain themselves from kissing this incredibly sexy woman when the were only a breath away from her. "You're not like any of the other 'mommas' out there." He gazed at her in such a manor that if it had been any other time and they had been any other man and woman they would be having pure, unadulterated sex right there on the bar. But they were both individuals with a much higher intellect most people carried around with them. So they opted against lustful demonstrations in favor for the art of mental seduction.
"Brotha's tryin' to tear it up in here." Cindy said giving Logan a truckload of verbal props for his successful 'non-player' line on Max. "Couldn't have happened to a more smokin' sistah." She laid an approving hand on Max's trench coat clad shoulder smiling larger then a teenage boy the first time he realized he had functional equipment between his legs.
Logan blushed slightly after hearing Cindy's remark. He had entertained the idea of getting Max alone all night. But actually hearing his thoughts out loud made him sound like nothing but a wolfish womanizer; and that was not a persona he wished to associate himself with.
"Why Mr. Cale you're blushin'" Max remarked letting her body language be influenced by his presence by un-crossing and recrossing one long well toned leg. Not in a hooker 'baby come get some' fashion but in a smooth move that let his brain come up with the meaning behind it. "You can't start working a girl with your suave intellect and smooth-as-silk tone and then be surprised at hearing your own thoughts out loud." She laid her hand down on the bar beside his, as close as she could get to without actually touching him.
"Excuse me-" a throat cleared behind them. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The voice itself was deep with an underlying hint of authorative masculinity, The owner of such a commanding virile tone turned out to be one Colonel Donald Lydecker, a 6'1" man in an green Army officer's dress uniform fastened all the way up with knobbed shaped brass buttons.
Cindy turned her attention towards Colonel Lydecker because it was her that he was addressing. "Can I help you with somethin' solja man?" Even though Original Cindy was an out and out lesbian she couldn't help but admire they way the Army Colonel fit into his dress greens. His hair was graying and cropped according to the military code that made him look like a handsome authority figure.
"I just wanted to let you know how much your singing moved me." Lydecker's voice was a mixture of auestere undertones and sexy suavism. He was a man who could blow legs off with an semi automatic weapon or take someone down in mad passionate sex – it all just depended on the situation.
Cindy was very flattered to receive any kind of compliment; but coming from an obviously prestigious and decorated military man was on a much higher plane with her then any of the drunk patrons' whistles and catcalls to her every night. "I'm glad that Original Cindy's lyrics were able to speak so deeply to a high caliber man such as yourself Sir."
"That feeling is very much returnable Ms. Original. Especially with a smooth voice like that." Lydecker complimented.
Cindy couldn't help the blush that coated her cheeks a light pink, reminiscent of the petals of a pastel rose. "Not that I don't appreciate the flattery Mr. Army Man but all this talk is just gonna go straight to my head and I'll forget how to sing."
"Somehow I doubt that." Lydecker informed in the all-knowing voice his position in authority created.
"Excuse me-" This time the voice belonged to Bling the M.C. who had descended from his piano island on the stage and now stood in front of Max, a smile on his face. "Ms. Guevara, would you mind pleasing our ears?"
Max took another slow sip from her Chablis floating in the expensive stemware. "For you Bling, anytime." She set the glass back down on the bar and removed her hat, pulling the tortoise shell pins from her hair which allowed its chocolate brown length to cascade like a waterfall past down her shoulders. She undid the sash of her trench coat and the heavy material gave way to an ebony chiffon floor length gown with a soft but plunging 'U' neckline that folded over at the edges like a loosely placed matching scarf. The dress was cut low in the back stopping just short of the dip created by her spine, leaving supple flesh exposed to the artificially cooled air. The fabric clung to her but was loose enough in key places to allow her to move without being confined to a posture that no human being should ever be capable of pulling off.
She stood up with all the mannerisms of a woman who knew full well the effects her looks had on men. But it was a maneuver executed with the grace of a lady who was revered for her appearance, not a trashy scank who was ready to flounce it at any given opportunity. And the men in the club took notice of the sultry lady whose mere presence demanded their attention.
Bling gave a low pleased whistle, admiring Max for everything she did right for that dress. He stood there and allowed Max to go ahead of him, out of politeness, but more because he wanted to witnesses the full effect her journey to the stage had on all the men in the audience. He was not disappointed when whistles began to emit from the crowd. He led Max up the stairs and to the left wing of the stage that was cast in a shadowy darkness from lack of any lighting above.
"I'll cue up your entrance," Bling announced, grinning from ear to ear, one hand resting on Max's arm. He removed his hand a second later to step into the bold white spotlight beaming down on the black grand piano.
"Ladies and gentleman." Bling spoke with velvety smoothness into the microphone in front of him. He played a jazzy interlude as he spoke to the audience, allowing his charismatic voice to filter through every corner of Crash. "This is your M.C. again. I want to thank you first off for being such a smokin' crowd tonight." He paused while the audience broke out in applause to praise themselves. "And now a reward for your cool patience. I present for your approval tonight, a soulful seductress who I go way back with. A songstress with plenty of flava to sava. Ladies and gentleman, Ms. Max Guevara."
Max stepped into the hot glare of the spotlight, listening to the sounds of hoots and whistles being thrown at her. She hadn't prepared any long-winded introduction of her song because she wasn't one to over inflate the greatness of her performance before a single not even escaped her mouth. She placed one hand elegantly on the microphone stand in front of her, starting to sing the lyrics of a slow seductive jazz melody.
"You had plenty money 1922
You let other women make a fool of you-"
By her second verse the men in the crowd were whistling and hooting at levels that far exceeded her entrance on stage.
Max wasn't fazed in the slightest by all of the lust filled cries of desire. Many of the patrons had already gone over the safe limit of alcohol consumption, throwing out all worries of being courteous or polite in favor of cat calling and getting hard-ons.
"Why don't you do right, like some other men do
Get outta here, and get me some money too."
"Whatever you say baby!" A young brunette man in one of the tables closest to the stage waved a ten-dollar bill in the air at Max.
The band had broken out into a steamy slow tempo interlude and Max took this opportunity to slink like a Siamese cat down the three marble steps to the floor. The spotlight clung to her every move like a raindrop on her skin.
The man ruined the crotch of his new silk suit when Max took the money from his hand with deft fingers.
"You're sittin' here and wondering what it's all about
You ain't got no money they will put you out-"
She removed the brown hat from the man's head and threw the bill inside pulling her body so close to his that if he reached out his hand he could feel up her breasts.
"Get outta here, and get me some money too."
She pulled away from his body leaving his senses to smell her rosewood perfume and his sex fluid that emitted after her final contact with him.
The catcalls had died down bathing Crash in the collective silent longing all the men possessed to be near Max Guevara. Colonel Lydecker's eyes observed Max's every tactful move as she slowly made her way over to his stool at the bar.
"I fell for your jivin' and I took you in-"
She brushed past him, picking up an empty highball glass, tilting it to examine its empty bottom.
"Now all you've got to offer me's a drink of gin-"
She flung the glass against the Bordeaux wine bottles stacked on the pine shelves behind Sketchy's head where it smashed into uncountable pieces.
"Why don't you do right, like some other men do
Get outta here-"
She pushed Lydecker away like a jealous lover and walked a slow circle around him.
"Why don't you do right-"
She slid on top of the bar.
"Like some other me-n-"
She placed her right hand atop the bar and leaned way over to Logan Cale who was leaning up against the bar on the other side of Lydecker. Her free hand caressed the scratchy stubble the reporter had on his face.
"Dooo-"
She drew out the last note in a low hot toned voice, tracing the surface of Logan's salmon tinged lips with a single dextrose finger. She drew back in exaggeration, her eyes locked on his the entire time. Her final note finally faded from her lips in a whispery vibrato and the crowd broke out into thunderous applause.
Colonel Lydecker was among those clapping for Max. "She's got a way about her doesn't she?" He turned his head towards Logan, observing the shift in emotion behind the younger man's eyes at the mention of Max. Lydecker took Logan's silence as conformation to his own views.
"Here you go Sir." Sketchy laid the whiskey class containing Scotch on the rocks on top of a napkin and slid it across the bar to Lydecker. "Wanna start a tab?"
Lydecker picked up his glass and watched the ice floating around in his drink with such rapt interest that it looked like he expected it to do something profound like leap out of the glass and start singing an overture. "No thanks kid." He finally turned away from the bottom of his glass and laid a ten-dollar bill in the spot his glass had just vacated. "This is a hard breaking habit for me so you just better make damn sure I enjoy this one hit." He flipped the money across the counter so that it landed in a nook created by Sketchy's propped up elbow on the other side of the bar.
Sketchy picked up the cash and tucked it into the front pocket of his white shirt. "Whatever you say General Grant." He moved away from Lydecker to attend to another customer.
"He's just a kid you know." Logan informed Lydecker from his seat after Sketchy was successfully flirting with a blonde wrapped up in a silver fox stole at the other end of the bar. "You don't have to play rough and make him wet himself over something as mundane as a ten-dollar drink of Scotch."
Lydecker picked up his glass again and this time instead of examining it he took a swig from it, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass at his movement. "Scotch is no more mundane then a soldier surviving 20 weeks in a hole he dug in ground behind enemy lines son." Lydecker addressed Logan as 'son' to make sure he understood who was the higher power here. "Mediocrity is a crutch people lean on so they won't be asked to reach any higher then the knob to their front doors." He rotated the glass in his hand again; observing the way the ice tumbled against itself. "Surely a man in your line of work can appreciate the individuals who drop their sob stories and just admit their inferiorities and weakness straightly."
"You make it sound like all people are nothing but a bunch of liars," Logan stated leaning his elbows on the bar, waiting to see what the Army Colonel's reaction would be.
"That's because people are a bunch of liars." Lydecker enlightened. He set his drink down and gazed across the room to where Max was talking to Bling at the bottom of the stage stairs. "Even that beautiful number you've been eyeing all night lies about her life to people-" A pause as he watched Max end her conversation with Bling and started making her way back through the crowd towards the bar. "She conveniently leaves out little details about her past in order to keep it hidden where no one can question her about it." The tone in which Lydecker talked about Max made Logan uncomfortable. It wasn't the casual observation made about a stranger he would pass by on the road. It was the stuff of someone who knew her beyond her first name and telephone number. He raised his body higher in an almost domineering pose on the bar stool as she drew nearer. "But the thing about lies are there are lie detectors that can scope them out."
Lydecker's eyes met Max's when she finally approached him.
"Ms. Guevara." Lydecker's voice had changed from military analytical to charismatic faster then it took to someone to blink. "I must say I am very honored to have witnessed such a flawless vocal performance."
Max stopped walking and stared at stared at Lydecker like he was a misplaced Picasso in a room full of Monet. What the hell is he doing here anyway?