Behind the velvet ropes...
You're
sitting on a hard chair at a dull party, and you're bored stiff; in
fact, the chick who's sitting next to you is so quiet you're getting an
inferiority complex from her, and you begin thinking: what's wrong with
me anyhow? But you decide to give her a tumble, playing it smooth and
debonair as you lean over, holding a cigarette between your fingers.
"Match?" "I don't smoke, thank you so much," she replies icily.
You
look at your watch and wonder if it would look bad for you to take a
powder after so short a stay, but you decide to stick it out a while
longer. Only you wish someone would take off that record of dull mood
music and get something with life and kick.
Your
boredom gives you enough heart to leave the chair and walk to the
phonograph where you spot this record. You put it on and...cha cha cha,
you fix your tie, polish the tops of your shoes on the back of your
trousers, loosen your neck muscles with a well-coordinated twist of
your shoulders and walk back to where the chick is still sitting.
This time you don't talk, you just hold out two arms, and she comes, man: left, right--left/right/left.
"Great, man," she says. "Sounds like Crazy Joe's music."
"It is Crazy Joe's music," you say, never at a loss for words.
She doesn't look so bad after all, and you throw her out for a few solo turns, giving her a once-over.
"I felt what this party needed was a little of that music."
"That's using your head, man," she says. "I got me a great collection of Surf Lounge music at home."
"Yeah?" you question, putting her to the test. "Which ones?"
"The whole box set, and even that rare MP3 off his website."
"I got those too." you reply with a knowing air.
There
are plenty of couples on the floor now, talking a little more to each
other and having a better time than they were having before.
"Crazy Joe is magic," you say, pointing them out to the chick.
"Nothing like it," is her smart answer.
She looks at the watch that sits prettily on her small wrist.
"Take you home?"
"All right," she says.
"Look,"
you whisper to her. "I see you got one of those big purses with you.
What do you say you walk over to the stack there and take the CD. Like
a souvenir of our meeting."
"Okay,"
she says, and walks across the room and takes it. She glides back to
you and there's the sweetest samba movement to the steps she's taking.
"Crazy Joe fever," she says, winking prettily at you.
So
you take her home and you reach her place and you walk her to the door
where she stands all nervous, rubbing the sleeve of her dress. She
looks down at the floor: "Thanks for an immense evening," she says.
"Don't mention it even," you say. "We'll do it again sometime."
She
looks at the door. "Guess I'l1 have to go in now. They're probably
waiting up." She makes a move towards the door, but you stop her. You
figure you better ask in a nice way first.
"You, er..heck." You begin again. "I don't know how to ask you, but..."
"Yes?"
she says, twisting the straps of her large purse with her hands. "Go
ahead and ask it...whatever it is, it's okay; actually, I mean, like I
feel we're friends a long time now."
"Okay, I will then," you say. "Can I have the CD that's in your purse?"
You
don't know why she gets so sore when she gives it to you, and why she
charges into the apartment, slamming the door only saying: "you can get
it online".
All
you can think about when you're bouncing down the stairs and into the
street, is how that magic moment saved this classic disc! |
