“Oh, they have live music tonight,” you think, as you walk in the club. As you’re seated near the bandstand, you notice it’s a singer who plays guitar and keyboards. As you finish your appetizer, you notice the music – and the musician – more and more, and are paying less attention to the friend at your table. At one point, you find yourself staring at him without realizing it. He notices you and smiles. You smile and look away. Just as you finish your meal, you hear him say, “I’m going to take a brief break. I’ll be back in a few.” He gets up and walks over to your table.
“Hi. I was wondering if there’s anything you’d like to hear this evening.”
With a puckish smile, you look up at him and say, “What are you doing for the rest of your life?”
There’s an obvious pause, as he looks at you with his blue eyes, an ironic smile playing around his lips. You feel as though he’s looking deep inside you.
“It’s a song,” you offer.
He smiles. “I know.” He looks at your friend. “Do you mind if I sit down?” Your friend graciously acquiesces, and excuses herself from the table.
“So, how long have you been playing,” you ask.
“Seems like forever,” he replies. “I grew up in a musical family – five generations, in fact. And my teenage daughter makes six. I started playing drums when I was four,” he continues. “Picked up the guitar in my 20s. I play vibes, keyboards, a little bass and some other instruments as well.”
Now, you’re curious. “So you earn your living playing music? That must be fun.”
“No,” he says. “I used to. But during the day, I’m a marketing director for a large church. And I have my own agency, where we design websites, create 2D animation, and handle marketing for clients.” He continued, “I play music because I love it. Graphic design and marketing pay the bills.”
You notice he’s not wearing a ring. “Your girlfriend must love getting private concerts.”
He smiles. “If I had a girlfriend, I’m sure she would.”
“Why aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask.
“Well, I guess the right woman hasn’t come along yet.”
You shake your head. “It can’t be that difficult.”
“You’d be surprised,” he replies. “I’m looking for a woman with a wicked wit, tall, with girl-next-door good looks.” He pauses. “I want someone that can hold their own in a discussion with me, and is self-possessed, self-confident, and classy.” He leans forward towards you. “I’ll tell you a little secret. I’ve never been drunk. Or stoned.” You look a little doubtful, as he is a musician. “And I’m allergic to tobacco smoke, and I absolutely detest tattoos.” He leans back in his chair. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re tall as you walked in.” You smile to yourself. “And from that line about the song title, I’d guess you have a pretty well-developed sense of humor.”
You nod. “I can hold my own.”
“I’ll bet you can,” he says. What’s your stand on tattoos?”
“I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to the bandstand and play another set. Will you be here, when I finish?” he asks.
“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Midway through his last set, he looks up and notices your table’s empty. He frowns to himself, then turns as one of the waiters approaches him.
“The lady at table nine left this for you,” as the waiter hands you a card with your name and number on it. He pockets the card, and thinks, “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."