A time out – what I need from a gent

Autumn, 2010 (a timeless sentiment)

I don’t get out much these days, socially. I have so many projects that contain me at the home office – book writings and web site designs that keep my nose to the computer.
     I need the isolation to process and express my creativity, and I relish the isolation.
     There’s another side of me that I haven’t attended to lately, the social me.
     Thank goodness part of my business includes “wine & poetry” pairings, featuring  my poetry book and select wine venues — like the one last Thursday at The House of Glunz, the oldest wine shop in Chicago.
     ‘Twas near the Pump Room, a classic nightclub at State Street & Goethe. I was dressed up, in a what I called my “champagne dress,” sleeveless and golden with little polka dots and and a crinoline to accentuate the skirt. I relished being away from the home office. After the tasting, I knew that once home, I’d confine myself again.
     So I elected to go to the Pump Room, and invited my pal Stella along. I hadn’t been to the Pump Room in several months. Yet I was comforted to know that my favorite Chicago bartender, Angel, was there. Also the cabaret singer, Nan Mason, remembered me and announced me, as a poetess, to the crowd.
     The crowd applauded. Many asked about my book, and I fell into conversation with them while my pal Stella danced with a fellow who asked her.
     We closed the Pump Room. Stella went home, and I ended up at The Red Head Piano Bar. I hadn’t been there in probably a year, yet the bouncer, whence I stepped outside the taxi greeted me with verve and a “how’s the writing?!”
     He escorted me inside, seated me at the piano where the waitress took my order. I heard a loud  ”Jacquee!” and looked to the bartender Jimmy behind the bar.  You remembered me I pealed as I stepped up to greet him. “Of course!” he responded.
     And I looked for the bartender Eric, who had known me before Jimmy. Eric arrived shortly at his post. To inform me, while referring to a fella on the other side of the island bar, “Jacquee, this gentleman wants to buy your next glass of wine.”
     “If he buys me a glass of wine he must dance with me,” I replied.
     “I told him that,” Eric averred, having predicted my response. “He said he doesn’t dance.”
     “If he doesn’t dance, he doesn’t buy me a glass of wine,” I said. And I returned to fellows who did dance with me to the live vocal and piano music. One of them bought me a glass of wine. He was the one who also lifted me to kick up my feet to the jazzy music. “You’re light as a feather!” he said as we both smiled.
     Only after arriving home, as the sky lightened, did I consider I might have been rude to the stranger who had kindly offered to buy me a drink.
     Yes I was, I thought, and I felt badly. He was making a kind and flattering gesture. No I wasn’t I thought, and felt resolved. I was tired of fellows who didn’t have it in them to ask a lady to dance.
     A dance, a simple dance, something we all should do in life and leave it at that unless it becomes more. Either way it is to be celebrated.
     I don’t have time for people who don’t dance – especially during my limited time out.

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