The Pearl -Lee Gates

She told him that she would go to one of his shows one day. She told him that twenty years ago.

It was late on Saturday night. or was it early Sunday? The crowd had thinned out at the club as the ethereal jazz band was going strong. A striking woman in her fifties sat at the bar. She was wearing a long, camel-colored wool coat; her white cotton-candy textured hair fell to her shoulders which bobbed to the rhythm of the music. As the bass player grooved on a solo, the woman called to him in a smoky, sultry voice, “Yeah… tell it.” In her head, she was back in that pub just down the street where she used to live. She sold that house so she could retire comfortably. The proceeds of the sale of that house allowed her a level of comfort she currently enjoyed. There were times she missed that house with an urgency that surprised her. She also loved the vintage bar down the street. It was a dimly lit British pub that felt like home.

It seemed like a really long time ago, it had been a mere fifteen years, when one could actually smoke in a bar. She was a smoker back then and most would agree smoking hot. This, especially true, on the night that stirred up this memory. It is a magical conundrum, how the human mind selects what it shall wax nostalgic about.

But there she was across a crowded hazy room dancing on the light from planet to star. She seemed to emerge from the smoke like a midsummer night lightning bug out of absolutely nowhere.

Lee Gates was a complicated man. Upon leaving University he went on to do post graduate work in Theology. He was not a particularly religious person,yet he loved to study every aspect of religion hoping that one would tickle his fancy. He loved the spiritual and intellectual community of the Unitarian Church but the UU was simply an extension of himself. They were a bunch of people trying to figure out religion and where it fit in with their belief system. 

Lee stood on that stage, late at night with a vision of the gal across a frosted hazy bar.

Lee retired from work at a fairly early age, not because he was set for life, rather he had the sinking feeling he would not live to be very old. There was really no genetics at play or any radical life style choices that would hasten this equation. He had quite a few deep and meaningful relationships in his life. As from most people every single one of his relationships including the last one had ended. He remained close to his children Walter and Anna throughout his life. He was a zealot for the deadbeats, misfits and outcasts who toiled to get by and sometimes prosper. He realized life was not fair, and it was his mission to make life on this earth equitable for all. He was an exercise enthusiast and consumed very animal products, He cheated sometimes because he spent plenty of time in two bit smarmy bars. He thought of animals as equals and not as pets or holiday dinner. His music was an extension of himself. It was his respite, it was his gateway to other worlds.

And in a strange turn of events, At two o’clock in the morning one could augue that strange should be expected,. He reluctantly staggered center stage with a muted flugelhorn.

“By jazz standards this here is a fairly new song, yet so old. it’s my guilty pleasure and I think you are going to like it even if it goes against the run of play. “ This is exactly how he introduced rhe song in a husky voice he seldom used.

The flugelhorn cut through the smoky night air and musician stayed with the extended opening of the song for a good three minutes. Most people know the scaled down up beat portion of the piece. He stuck with the somber ethereal yet beautiful opening of the song and stopped right there.

“It is judgement day, Feels So Good, Goodnight”

He left the stage without a word, marched across the room and kissed the girl in the camel colored coat.