Page 74 - Wake Up and do Your Thing

WAKE UP AND DO YOUR THING
Dim lighting illuminated brick walls lined with photographs of jazz musicians. Tables and chairs ran along one wall, and well-worn leather couches another. The bar, with its polished oak countertops and shelves and adorned with inviting bottles of liquor, stretched backlit across the back wall. A piano nestled in the corner under a warm yellow light that cast a cozy glow throughout the room. The deep bass and lively rhythm of recorded jazz filled the place with a contagious groove. Thomas had created an ideal mixture of comfort and retro sophistication making it seem as if there was nothing else in the world but music and mood. It’s a pity the place was almost deserted.
A couple of locals cuddled up on a sofa in the corner and a large middle-aged man in a tight suit sat up at the bar sipping whisky and talking to Thomas.
I took a seat and a young waiter in a white shirt and black bow tie scooted out through small arch behind the bar, lifted the flap in the counter and came over. I ordered red wine.
In the next half-hour, three separate couples arrived, had a drink then scurried off. A German family of six groped its way down the stairs, looked around, burst out laughing and left. The man in the tight suit left too, and a few minutes later Thomas signaled me to come and sit at the bar.
When he wasn't changing records, keeping an eye on the waiter and nodding at the odd new face that poked
74