“Violence?”

“Necessary.”

“Sex?”

“Necessity.”

“You do realize that your answers aren’t helping, right?”

“Come on, doc. I’m a half century old man with broken down hand coordination and eyes already stricken by age, what do you expect?”

“Just my job.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keeping you from edge of skyscrapers and gun barrels.”

“Then you failed. I’ve always preferred arsenic.”

“Mr. Ross, your son set up these meetings for a reason. Open up with me and start living a happy life.”

“Great. Now you sounded like a 70s hippie song. There is a reason he sets it up and not me, doc. Because I don’t need this,” a man in dark blue polo and cruddy trousers stood up and walked outside the room, dragging his slightly torn shoes with him.

“Don’t miss your next meeting,” said a woman sitting inside the room. The man kept walking, answering with his middle finger.

            “Back to the casual vacancy,” said the man as he entered his apartment, threw his hole decorated coat across the room, and slumped himself on a blue couch. His right hand searched the couch for a tv remote, finding no more than empty bags of chips and soda cans. He mumbled and his left hand went for a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. Disgruntled by its empty content, he threw it outside the open window. A group of cats rummaging the dumpsters in the alley downstairs replied, piercing the serene night. He laid his arms across his forehead, covering his eyes, and drifted into sleep.

            The man opened his shabby eyes and stared at a calendar nailed to the apartment’s plaster wall. March 29. He took a deep breath and mumbled. He shook his head a few times and walked to the kitchen counter, returning with an empty large plastic bag. He unlocked a wooden desk beside him and let his right hand venture its dark and dusty drawer, returning with a small sized revolver. He opened the chamber and inserted a bullet. Cocked the gun and laid his head on the prepared plastic bag. He drew the gun towards his temple and his fingers slowly caressed the trigger. “One,” he looked at a couple photo in his left. “Two,” he looked at an upright piano in the right corner of his apartment. “Three.”

            Knockings on the man’s wooden apartment door kept the bullet in the chamber. The man opened his eyes and laid his gun. “I thought faster is better, God? You’ll just let me make more sins!” he said in a raising tone whilst staring at the ceiling. He bit his lips and walked towards the door, half opening it, and peeked out. A woman in white dress stood in front of him. The woman differs from the others in this country. She lacked their brown tropical skin and often flat nose. Yet, perhaps that’s where her attraction laid. She’s taller than other woman her age. Her hair is black and straight, slightly longer than her shoulders. Her nose was tall and pointy, highlighting her thick lips in light red lipstick. Her brows curved down towards her nose, highlighting her eternal gorgeous eyes. Though her skin is white, it isn’t pale. Combined with the white dress and dim yellow light, people won’t call anyone claiming her a deity a liar.

            “Richard,” she said, exhaled, and continued, “So it’s true.” Richard raised his brows, “Excuse me?” She shook her head, embarrassed, and took off her glasses. She took a glance around the apartment. Her memory betrayed her. The apartment took a drastic change since the last time she saw him. The wooden piano in the corner has lost its shine. Dusts covered its maple skin and ivory keys from the long days of waiting to be played. Dusts weren’t only nested on the piano, it has also filled the bookshelf standing beside it. “Can I come in?” asked her. Richard didn’t answer. The woman knew him well enough to understand that silence is his way of accepting without answering. Soon enough she has guided herself to the couch that could have bathed in blood.  

            Richard poured hot tea into an oceanic blue porcelain glass. “You changed a lot,” said the woman as Richard walked closer towards her, revealing his scruffy half brown half grey beard under the dim light. “What’s with the long hair? A new style you’ve been trying?” she continued as he put the coffee on the table. Richard gave a small laugh. “You’ve become rich,” said Richard. The woman gave a puzzled look. A faint smile preluded Richard’s words, “Last time we saw each other, your perfume is still from a drugstore in the side of the street and your purse is from a basket tagged end of season sale,” Richard filled a chair across her, “One thing doesn’t change though, the silver Dakota Bonia watch decorating your wrist.” The woman smiled, followed by a rush of blood to her cheeks.

            They hugged tight. “How are you doing, Richard?” a muffled woman voice slipped through Richard’s arms. Richard let go of her and held the woman’s shoulder, “Couldn’t be better. I hate you need to see me like this, Elsa,” replied Richard. “Oh, come on now,” Elsa’s words flew in a tone of aggravation. She moved past him towards the dusty shelf and gave a light blow, sending dusts to the air. Her long thin fingers took a record album. The sound of double bass complementing an alto sax soon filled the apartment. “When’s the last time you played some music here?” Richard shook his head.

            Elsa sat across the wooden piano, her fingers ran over the keys cleaning the thin layer of dusts covering it. “How long haven’t you played? It’s dead here,” she said, looking at her now grey fingers. “Three years we haven’t met and you suddenly came out of nowhere. What changed?” Richard exercised his feet around the room. “Other than the fact that I am now rich,” mocked her. “Hope you haven’t become a hedonist,” replied Richard coldly. “Right,” Elsa stared at the stained ceramic floor and smiled, “I have an upcoming event to organize. I want you to play.”

            Richard took a can of soda from the fridge and emptied half of it. “As you can see, Elsa. I’m not in that business anymore,” he finished the can and threw it outside the window, “Sorry. It has become a habit. Remembering that you won’t go as easily, I have some names that I can recommend.” Elsa chuckled, “You missed the point. The client wants a jazz player.” Richard snapped his fingers a few times and walked in circle, “That’s no problem at all. They are the faces of young jazz musicians and,” Elsa cut Richard’s words short, “And how many of them can play Bill Evans and Thelonious Monk?” Richard can’t answer and said quietly, “I can’t Elsa. Time has changed. I can no longer play.”

            Elsa was already standing in the doorway when she decided to give her final offer. “It’s a choice you know. You choose to stop playing.” Richard, slumped on his couch, gave a quick glance at Elsa, “Nah. I can’t play, Elsa. I used to, but no longer. You can walk yourself out.” Elsa took her coat and held the knob, “Cut the crap, Richard. Stevie Wonder can play without eyes. What difference does it make? You can still see and move your hands.” Richard’s palms banged the nearby desk, “Not properly I can. And, Stevie Wonder isn’t jazz. You from all people should have known.” Elsa opened the door and gave a sharp stare towards the slumped middle-aged man in the middle of the room, “Bullshit, Richard. You stopped playing because it reminds you of her and your guilt. If you’re the same man that I used to date and almost marry, you could face the present and move on instead of,” Richard’s roar stopped her words, “Shut up! You don’t know what I’ve gone through. Get out!”  

***

            A few days have passed. Bougainville was out of season. Orchid’s purplish petals gave color to the morbid décors surrounding the tombstone. Richard sat a few feet from it, his palms covered his face whilst his coat shielded him from the melancholic spring breeze, melting the tears in his eyes. Richard disregarded the raven’s whispers from the trees above. It’s always the same here. Regardless what sound was made during the evening of his monthly visit, the only sounds entering his ears was screeching tires and a woman’s scream. The scream went louder and louder followed by a thickening scent of blood in the air.  

            Richard rose, startled by the firm palm shaking his shoulders. A man in polka dot suit stood by him, his hair combed to the sides and brown glasses encircled his slim eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. Richard Ross?” he asked in doubt. “Depends, who’s asking,” answered Richard, his fingers rubbing his eyes calling him to reality. “She is dead and it’s all your fault,” those words hardened Richard’s palms. He took a step closer towards the man and glared. “What did you say?” The man, in fear, replied, “Mrs. Stein wanted to meet you. I’m her assistant.” Richard returned his palms to his face and shook his head, “Who the hell is she?” “Mrs. Elsa Stein. She said you’re a good friend of hers,” the man tried to reach something from his pocket. “Just friends? That’s a shame,” Richard’s jokes hang dry, the man was too occupied taking a fifty-thousand-dollar check. Richard nodded at the huge sum of money and whispered, “I guess she will never give up,” stood and patted the man, “Splendid. Lead the way.”  

            The black Buick he’s riding stopped in front of a one floored building downtown. A Chinese restaurant stood in its left whilst a bistro stood in its right. Richard led himself out of the car and stood in front of the building’s wooden door. He stared at the rusty metal pillars a few feet from the door, bit his lips, and hugged the door’s brownish golden knob. The scent of scotch and whiskey recalled deeply buried memories. Richard didn’t give too much attention and laid his back on a couch separating the bar and the stage. He raised his finger, looked at the aging bartender, and nodded. The bartender knew him well enough to know that an Old Fashioned is Richard’s go to during the evening.

            The face of this place didn’t change much, except the brownish stains complementing the carpet’s dark color. Though its paint has started to peel off, the photographs on the wall was still the same like the last time Richard left it. Pictures of Coltrane, Brubeck, and Davis were nailed to the wall. Its unfortunate dusts have started to creep around its frames. Richard didn’t pay much attention to the stage until the sax player started to perform Kenny G. Richard dropped his lips and swore under the wind. He finished what’s left of his cocktail and called for the bill, only to find his ten bucks returning to his pocket. “The woman over there paid for your drink, Sir,” said the waiter pointing at Elsa, her dark hat and dress emphasized the pearl necklace around her neck. Richard stood up, buttoned his suit, and approached her.  

            “Your suit is oversized,” said Elsa. Richard didn’t answer and display a dazzled look instead. “To be honest, you look better when your cheeks were filled,” continued Elsa. Richard let the wind answered for him and sat beside Elsa, looking at the stage. “I lived in an age when guys paid for their women’s drink,” Richard maintained his gaze at the stage, “Thank you though, but I know what you’re doing.” Elsa preluded her answer with a wide alluring smile, the edges of her lips poked her dimples, “And what’s that?” she snapped her fingers, “Waiter, come here please.” She looked at him sharply and her eyes jumped between him and the sax player, “Today is his last performance. Help me find a new sax player for tomorrow. Thanks.” Richard tried to react to her words but his tongue failed him.  

            “Haven’t I told you that the event will be here?” said Elsa over a new round of drinks. “Nah, you don’t own this place,” answered Richard. “Oh, I just did. Exactly a few hours before you arrived the paperwork is a done deal,” mocked Elsa. Richard fisted the bar, emptying half of his drink, “Goddamn! I should have seen it. You bought it so I can run it again.” Elsa toasted her glass in the air and finished it, “There you go. This is to the return of your wit,” Elsa looked at Richard, “You know, Richard, you’re one of the best pianists in town and other than that, this place is striving under you. Look at this shithole. It’s dying.” Richard dropped his gaze, “You know I can’t. It’s different now. See the stage, Elsa. I don’t know anyone here except the bartender whose days are already numbered by the Lord.” Elsa stood and walked, stopped a few steps from the stage, shot her index finger towards Richard and whispered, “Come.”  

            Richard didn’t understand what Elsa did but she managed to lead him to sit in front of a piano once more. She also succeeded in reminding him how great of a pianist she was, if not compared to him of course. As Elsa’s fingers jammed a random melody under the double bass’ detour, Richard gave a small laugh parallelizing how he attracted his wife through his melodies but him and Elsa, they attracted each other through their own created melodies. Perhaps it’s true what his PE teacher said once, regardless how he tried his best weapon would be his soothing and gentle touch. That’s the same day he’s expelled from the school’s rugby team.  

            “I forgot you play,” said Richard as the drums stopped and the music died. “You forgot a lot of things, Richard. I hope your skills won’t be one of them,” said Elsa. “How about if it is?” replied Richard flat. “Too bad, then it means I’m a better pianist than you now,” joked Elsa. Lines started to carve on Richard’s forehead as he searched for a reason, “I can’t Elsa. I need Ben.” Elsa gave a smile and laugh, almost sending Richard to fear, “Oh your bass player? There he is,” a man in flannel entered the stage and held the double bass, “Checkmate,” whispered Elsa.  

            “What’d it be, boss?” asked the plump short man behind the bass. Richard took a few quick breaths, rubbed his fingers on the keys and exchanged look with the bass player. He hasn’t answered him when his fingers started to dance and jump from one octave to the other. One minute has passed until his yell can be heard piercing his waltz like melodies, “Waltz for Debby. On my cue,” his right fingers took a last leap up and played sustained chords, “Now!” The bass and drum entered in unison, overwhelming the singing of crickets outside. Richard can only notice the sweat flooded faces of his bassist and drummer after Elsa called him several times. He stopped playing and looked at her. A hug soon followed. “That’s really good! That’s awesome, Richard! You didn’t lose your game after all.” Richard kept his lips closed and Elsa’s voice filled the night for the next five minutes leading to the main question, “Since you can still play, would you accept my offer? For the event?” Richard’s face hardened. Elsa’s words and chuckle started to interchange with that of his late wife. He jolted and walked away. “I’ll think about it,” he said coldly, walked into the starless night leaving her in wonder.

***

            It’s two days from the event and Richard knew his text last night won’t make Elsa go without a fight, but he didn’t know that her way of fighting would be in a form of a newly fitted linen suit now laid on his couch. The suit was dark blue in color, a white shirt and leather belt can be seen not far. A black shoe sat near the coffee table’s feet. Richard looked around his apartment and ran his finger through the suit’s lapel. “Gosh, Elsa!” said Richard turning his body to the bedroom. “I knew you would have said that,” a woman voice replied him, sending the brown grocery bag Richard was carrying to the floor. Richard bit his lips, failed to catch Elsa’s figure sitting on his kitchen sink. “I could sue you for trespassing,” Richard bowed and took few cans of beer from the floor. Elsa turned the tap, washed an apple, and talked, “But you won’t do that.” Richard gave a sharp stare at her, “And why not?” Elsa bit her apple, “Cause it’s not you.” Richard shook his head and paced towards the bedroom, “And what do you know about me?”

            Five words were all Elsa need to stop Richard. “What did you say?” Richard looked at Elsa and sat on his favorite couch. “You’re not a pussy,” Elsa repeated her words and took a book from the dust coated shelf. “Too bad, I am what I eat,” Richard smiled. Elsa threw a book towards him, “You can’t fool me. You haven’t got laid for months,” Elsa took another book and threw it again to him, “Those books can be a good playlist for tomorrow. I know you’ll be there.” Richard took a blue covered book from the floor, Art Tatum written in bold was printed on its cover, filled a glass and skimmed its pages, finished his drink and stared at Elsa, smiling, “I think I’ll manage.” Elsa replied with a smile and they broke into laughter.

            “You made me wonder if you’re playing hard to get or simply wanting me to come over,” said Elsa before sipping a newly created Mojito. Richard winked and gazed at her momentarily, then turned his eyes to the tequila, orange, and syrup in the shaker. He closed the lid and raised the shaker, soon stopped by Elsa’s voice, “You forgot the lime.” Richard nodded and started shaking, “I know. I can no longer handle its sour taste no more.”  “Weakling,” mocked Elsa whilst finishing her Mojito.

            The glass hasn’t’ kissed his lips when his apartment door was knocked. “It’s fine, I’ll get it,” said Elsa and rushed to the door, leaving Richard to enjoy his margarita in peace. A tall man in leather jacket stood on the doorway. Even from afar the brightness of the man’s pomade bathed hair is still blinding. Shades covered his eyes and a stubble covered his cheeks and chin. The man and Elsa talked, first in quiet then rising in tone. Richard remained seated. He knew that if the man is for him he would just leave a letter at front. Richard was just not a guest accepting type of person.

           A yell pushed Richard to the doorway, the sound of a slap hastened his steps. Richard found Elsa in tears, her hands on her face. Richard waved her hair away, revealing a red mark painting her left cheek. “Gosh! Are you alright?” asked Richard as he walked her to the couch. He took a wet cold cloth and some ice in front of her, wiping it on her cheek, “Ease up. It should kill the pain.” Richard walked back to the door and stood across the pomade hair man. “What do you want?” Richard’s tone was flat, covering the anger underneath. “I want my wife,” answered the man. Richard chucked, “Your wife? You’re dreaming dude. I’ll walk you out,” Richard put his hands on the man’s shoulder. The man pushed him lightly and gave a cold smile, “Oh she didn’t tell you? She is married to me. Since a few months ago. You can ask her if you want, but a liar will always be a liar.” Richard’s palm formed into a fist and he smiled, “Alright. I think we can straighten things out. But right now, it’d be better if you get lost.” “Okay,” the man shrugged and took a few steps back and looked at Richard once more in front of the elevator, “I don’t know what’s worst. The fact that my wife is cheating or that she chose to do it with a half blind crippled man.” What’s next wasn’t important, but Richard surely nested his fist on the man’s face.

            “Your hand is bruised, are you okay?” Elsa tried to reach for Richard’s hands. Richard threw her away and drank his margarita. “You’re married,” said Richard. “Look, I should have told you and it’s my bad. But Richard, I do still have feelings for you,” explained Elsa. Richard slammed the glass to the floor, “Cut the crap, Elsa! Maybe this is just the way so I can play for your event.” Elsa took a moment before replying, “What? No! Of course not! My feelings are sincere, Richard. Don’t say that.” Richard walked to the window and stared at the mocking pigeons, “I think you should go, Elsa.” “Richard, you must understand that,” after hearing the wooden floor near him squeaked Richard cut her words, not letting her move closer to him, “I mean it Elsa. Get out.”  

***

            Richard stared at the crowded jazz club, reminiscing whether he should go or not. His father once taught him that it is every man’s obligation to learn from his mistakes, but not in their nature to regret it. He betrayed his words already so far, he’s now considering whether he should betray it again once more. “Screw it,” said Richard and tied his tie. He went out of his car and wore his suit, few music sheets in his left hand and a white rose in his right hand. Perhaps he did waste five years of his life regretting and thinking what would happen if he took a left turn or decided to take a cab instead, but then again, his wife might die because of their apartment ceiling fell off. At least if that happen he can blame his obnoxiously annoying neighbor upstairs.

            Richard caught a glimpse of Elsa in a lavender colored dress, standing near the backstage. Elsa looked different tonight, though still a stunner as usual. Her black straight hair was combed in a different manner, forming wavelike motion through it. It’s hard for anyone to miss her, especially since her black stilettos caused her to hover over the other guests. Richard rubbed his suit pocket, ensuring the presence of the white rose, and walked towards the stage.

The club was packed with men in tux and women in cocktail dress. His eyes visited the corners of the room finding for Elsa’s tall figure. Richard looked down at his white rose and shook his head, discouraged, and moved towards the piano on stage. “What’s for tonight boss?” asked the bass player. “In Your Own Sweet Way. One. Two. Three.” The club went quiet after the last note was pressed. “Ben, did I screw up?” asked Richard. His bassists laughed out, “You kidding boss? You killed it!”

            “I almost thought that you’re going to play Isn’t She Lovely,” said a woman leaning to the piano. “Stevie Wonder isn’t jazz alright? Now if you’ll excuse me, I got some things to wrap up,” Richard stood and tightened his tie. The woman moved into the light, “You always come through.” Richard smiled at the sight of Elsa, “Some things never change.” Elsa took a deep breath and held Richard’s hands, “I’m sorry, Richard. I should have told you.” “Keep it,” Richard took out the white rose he’s been hiding under his suit. Elsa took the flower and poked its petals a few times, “You know red is my favorite, right?” Richard bit his lips, forming a reason, and saved by Elsa’s laugh, “I’m just messing with you, Richard. White is my favorite. Thank you.” Richard nodded, “What now?” “What’s what?” Elsa returned his question. Richard returned to his seat, “The tender is closed. Is everything that sincere?” Elsa patted Richard’s shoulders and sat beside him, “It’s always open for you, and yes. I mean every word I said about you. You’re a nice man.”  Richard nodded, satisfied, “Let’s go out after this.” “Sure, but definitely not your place,” said Elsa while walking towards the bar. “Why not?” asked Richard, smiling. She returned to Richard and whispered, “Your taste might have died, but mine is definitely still sky high,” she walked back to the bar, gave a wink, and ordered a Manhattan.