Page 44 - SpontaneousSuccessFINAL6

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
house. A single lantern cast a warm glow around a
simple wooden door.
In front of me, winding stone steps going down, and
the sounds of jazz drifting up. It was dark and
dangerous. At the bottom in the gloom the place was
almost deserted.
A couple of locals cuddled up on a sofa in the corner,
while a rugged guy with a military haircut fumbled about
with a couple of girls in a booth. Perched at the bar, a
large middle-aged man in a tight suit knocked back Haig
whiskey while chatting-up Thomas.
I took a seat where I could see the steps. A young
waiter in a white shirt and black bow tie scooted out to
take my order. I asked for red wine.
Over the next half hour, three separate couples
appeared, downed a drink, then scurried off. A German-
speaking family of six groped their way down the steps,
looked around, burst out laughing, and left. The man in
the tight suit stumbled off his bar stool and clambered
his way out.
Thomas signaled for me to come and join him at the
bar. I sat down, he smiled, we found common ground.
England and Cannonball Adderley. We rambled on.
I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to
Thomas, and to this place, than met the eye.
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