Day 20 - Only Laugh - Chapter 20 (1521 words)

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ONLY LAUGH WHEN IT HURTS

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 20

The evening crowd was filtering in and Tony was busying himself at the bar trying not to think too much about what they had said to him. He just wanted a quiet existence here in this sleepy village but he also felt drawn to supporting young artists that wanted to perform.

He had expected the worst when the propositioned him, he assumed they had made who he was and wanted to take advantage of that in some way but they were just kids and full of themselves and their dreams, at once selfish and selfless in pursuit of happiness. They saw an opportunity for a patron of the arts, but someone closer to their age and someone not so rooted in the old that they would ignore the new.

What he thought would be the end of his idyllic life was a chance to have someone else find their passion. That made him pause though, was finding your passion, what your special thing is that sets you apart, is that always a good thing? For some it was evil and twisted, for some it was being the best and the envy of others and for Tony, he was yet to understand what it was that made him special, but that existed and he had spent the last few years running from it. Now these kids were barrelling down the road of their life at breakneck speed, intent on proving their individuality like everyone else wanted to.

They begged him for a spot, maybe a light turned their way. They would provide the sound system, guitar, keyboards, mics and an amp that would be their sound stage equipment. They had written songs of their own devising, they had covers ready to go of Italian and English pop songs if they needed to. They badly wanted to perform.

He wanted to say no, he wanted to send them packing and pour cold water on their dreams but instead as he was tensing up to dash their hopes he said.

“Yes.”

Scarcely had the words left his mouth and he heard the agreement and was shocked that he was not in the control of his willpower like he had assumed.

Three excited and surprised teens ran the gamut of cool disinterest, enthusiasm and over the top shaking with potential on the doorstep of the café. He dismissed them to go and plan their debut, which they had somehow worked into the proposal and now he was facing a live music trio with the Thursday night crowd, the night after Opera evenings at the church. Some of the people who were regulars would welcome the addition of some local talent, others would find the noise and attention seeking invasive to their placid late night drinking. Tony wanted to feel like he was giving them a shot and a chance to hone their skills, which they could take off to a larger stage. He also did not want to feel like they were teetering on the edge of a cliff, and he was standing behind them arms extended.

What was he going to do now? There was nothing to do except let them try out, hope that they were really bad and then let natural selection take its course. Or perhaps pray that they were the next big thing and therefore be out of his hair and out of his bar, taking the spotlight with them.

Embarrassingly the young girl had kissed him exuberantly, there was no romantic attachment but it felt out of place and awkward and she had called him Patron, a reference to his position, to his support and to his age. When did he become an artists father figure? Age crept up on him and settled on his shoulders like dandruff, visibly unwelcome. Now he felt that creaking weariness that others saw in him and he did not like it one bit.

A life out of the stage, a life lived more ordinary by design, and now he had aligned himself unhappily next to centre stage.

The evening wore on slowly and painfully, every drink poured took a lifetime and every whispered conversation between intimate acquaintances at his tables was shouted in his ears, he just wanted it all to go away, to close early and go to bed pretend the evening never happened.

“Patron?” The voice came from nowhere, and it made him cringe as he turned to see a woman standing at his bar he did not recognise.

He looked about to his left and right, hoping that she did not mean him, how could word have travelled this far, this rapidly even in this small gossip fuelled village?

“Excuse...?” He left the end of the query hanging, as if expecting her to direct the greeting to someone else, anyone else.

“My name is Aida.” She smiled and extended a hand to him across the bar.

“Like the Opera?” He did not take her hand, but she left it there hanging in mid air.

“Yes, my parents were, still are really, big fans of the Opera.” She kept smiling and the hand did not retract, her eyes steeling and yet amused, daring him to turn down the offer.

Tony was caught the gaze and did not move for a very long time, also said nothing.

“Are you going to just...” Her smile widens and then finally Tony takes the hand and blushes at his rudeness and his reticence in a single red faced gesture of capitulation.

“My apologies, I was … no one calls me Patron, it sounds so old and now twice in one night.”

“Twice.” She stated it but not as a question, but a confirmation.

“Twice. Once by a child which is understandable but still hurts at my age. And second by a … I assume less than middle aged but still not as young as the first girl.”

“You are treading dangerous ground tonight Patron.” Tony winced at her repeated use of the term. “I think your 'child' would object to her being portrayed as one and you assume my age is... what do you assume, Patron?” That smile has never departed and she leans over the bar to let Tony see her close up, and he cannot tell how old she is and knows better than to try to pinpoint it out loud.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender and motions to a seat at the bar.

“Old enough to be served, but young enough to be served on the house?” He put on a coy and innocent face, looking for amusement and forgiveness or at least a truce to move onwards.

“Well said, perhaps there is hope in you yet?”

“Hope in me?” Tony picked up on the phrasing as he poured his favourite wine into two goblets on the bar. “Do you mean for me?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“Do you not know your reputation Patron?” She waits patiently till both glasses are full and then raises her glass to his in a toast.

“Happily no. I do not. Salut.” They took a sip each and Tony savoured his while the woman tasted it, for the first time this vintage, this vineyard and appreciated it fully in a single mouthful.

“You are the man who has given up.” She purrs this out seductively as this was an attractive, amusing quality. She sees his face fall in response and then understands. “Now I can see it, that's why they say it.” She drains her glass. “But you must have some hope to give my child a chance at his dream.” Placing the empty goblet on the counter top, her gaze is direct and not flirting or seeking anything else. She is thanking him.

“Ah. Which one is yours?” Now it made sense how she knew and why she called him Patron. He figured out now which parent she was. She was the widowed mother of the youngest of the three. The girls father he knew, he was drinking at a table with friends even now in his bar. The other one, the middle boy who turned sixteen a few weeks after the girl, he knew the parents from the Opera Choir group, they did not come by often but they would speak to him on occasion about upcoming song choices.

That left the solo mother, the widow with two children who very rarely went out at night. If Tony had been more of a day person he may have crossed paths with her shopping or out for other errands around her children’s school schedules, but so far he had not.

And yet now, here she was. Out of the house, at his bar and talking to him boldly and not wearing black.

That was the other thing that had scandalised the village women, she had refused the black of a widow, refused the public penance and markings. No wonder she never wanted to go out and deal with that.

Why was she here now?