Body Language by Dahlia Salvatore

Author:Dahlia Salvatore [Salvatore, Dahlia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-01-14T05:00:00+00:00

My watch beeps once. It's six o'clock already. I close the file I'm working on and huff. I'm depressed. I know I am. With Janelle's passing, and my stupidity regarding Ms. Andrews' treatment, I can hardly help it. I need to see someone about it, but I don't feel like rehashing my personal failures or revisiting the past.

I do it anyway, every night when I sleep, and lately, anytime I'm left alone too long in my quiet office. The radio does very little to drown out the voices in my head, speaking in rhythm with the clock's ticking.

What have I done with my life?

I've gone to school, become a doctor, and made myself responsible for other people's lives. What have I got to show for it, but a framed piece of paper on the wall, a deficit of friendships, and no love life? Is this what I gave my personal life up for? I come here to an empty office. I go home to an empty apartment. I can't help but ask what I'm doing here.

I feel the uninhibited urge to get out, to go somewhere. The only place that comes to mind is the jazz club I went after Janelle's funeral. I've been there twice since, and heard Ms. Mabel sing on both occasions. I'd love to hear her sing again. I've never had the slightest interest in jazz until I visited The Royale. I've always been a rock kind of guy. Something about the way the old woman sings always captures me, though. Her song choice is invariably poignant, too.

Even thinking of the club now is distracting me from my doldrums, so I grab my coat and head for the door. A half-hour drive brings me to the parking lot, which isn't as full as it has been on my last few visits.

At the door, the bouncer acknowledges me with a nod. A waiter shows me to a table. I order my usual drink and a substantial dinner. It's odd that it's almost seven, but the lounge isn't full yet. Usually, there's a crowd by this time, even on weeknights.

Seven-thirty rolls around. The emcee steps onto stage, just as happy as ever.

“Good evenin', ya'll! Tonight we welcome the smooth sounds of Kid Dallas and his saxophone!”

The who with his what?

A sun-tanned man, dressed in a white suit, drifts out from the wings and takes a seat on the stool. “Good evening! Tonight, I'll be playing a little of this and that. Y'all sit back and enjoy, now,” he says, raising the reed to his lips. The orchestra cues up and begins playing along with him.

The waiter returns with my drink.

“Excuse me, is Ms. Mabel performing later tonight?”

“Oh... No, sir.” A look of anguish strikes his face. “I'm sorry to tell you this, but Ms. Mabel passed away last week.”

I gasp. “No...” But she seemed so healthy, so alive last time I saw her.

“Yes, sir. They're scouting new in-house acts. Until they find one, they are booking other live entertainment.

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