Bombs dropped from the London atmosphere like overripe apples falling from the trees in the orchard back home. Since the Blitz began last September, the London sky wasn't filled with clouds or stars; it was filled with explosive devices and the smoke plumes of their destruction.
I hadn't slept in seventy-two hours, and the only reason there was a lull in the action tonight was because the heavens had opened up and rained holy hell down on London with impressive lightning and thunder.
My name is Andrew, and like several American boys, I had volunteered to come to London and train with the Royal Air Force (RAF). We were going to be in this war, even if the U.S. couldn't make up its mind.
That night, the men wanted to take advantage of the reprieve. Some of the boys were going to the local pub for some rabble-rousing. Not me, I knew I needed a different elixir to soothe my blast-weary head. Otherwise, I would not be sleeping again tonight.
A fellow soldier had told me where to find The Blue Devil Room. A hole-in-the-wall jazz club, typically the best kind, in my opinion. I was just a humble jazz pianist myself, but I knew what gave life to my soul, and that's where I was headed.
The rain fell steadily as I walked the abandoned London streets. My stride fell into pace with nature's drum solo. The high tone of a snare drum as some raindrops pinged the rooftops and the low tone of the bass drum as other drops pounded against cobblestones.
My mind was already on the jazz stylings of Coltrane, Basie, and Armstrong, just to name a few, so I paid no mind to the sloshing in my shoes or the fact that my dress blues were drenched.
Even before I rounded the corner to see the club, the music swept through the air and wrapped around me like a warm blanket calling me home. My heart nearly lept from my chest as I followed a few other soaked patrons through the heavy wooden door.
A cloud of thick smoke hung in the air like dense fog on a lake in the early morning. I inhaled the familiar smell of expensive cigarettes and cheap cigars. It belonged in this space. It was one of the first things that felt right since I arrived in London. The same with the cracked red leather seats of the bar stools and the sticky, uneven flooring underfoot.
This was right. This was like home.
The music started again.
The reverberating tone of an upright piano made me close my eyes and sway to the first chords of I'll Be Seeing You. They may want a grand piano in a fancy concert hall, but only a stand-up could cut through the clammer in a club like this.
Then the upright bass started in, with its deep vibrato that resonated in my throat like the groans of the oldest oak trees bending their old joints, deep in the woods.
Then the horns, yes, the horns.
A sax and a trumpet were played with such soul; I could feel it deep in my gut. These players had known pain and tragedy and now poured it all into those instruments like liquid essence.
This was the tonic I had been looking for tonight. These torch songs fired my very soul, warming my heart on this dismal night.
My eyes were closed, and I swayed to their hypnotic rhythm. I didn't even hear her step to the mic or inhale her first subtle breath. All I heard was,
"I'll be seeing you…" spill from the speakers like top-shelf whiskey, going down so smooth.
My eyes flashed open to see her standing there under the spotlight in her black satin gown. Eyes raised. Head tilted back. One gloved hand on the mic stand, the other arched to the side gracefully. She was lost in the song, just as I had been.
I immediately fell under the spell of her sensual, mezzo voice. It was the seductive edge of Ella, Billie, and Rosemary, with the sweetness of Helen and Martha, an alluring combo.
I scanned the room; from where I was I saw that her bluesy voice transported everyone to happier times. Times before rations, sirens, and bombs.
By the time my eyes came back to the stage, the crooning beauty had sucked me in deeper; I was transfixed with the power of her musical mystique, telling me and telling me and only me in those intimate lyrics that she would be seeing me.
I glimpsed her gloved hand move slowly up the side of her dress, pulling the shiny black material up a few inches. It was a practiced move, just far enough to tease the audience, and yet my eyes drank in her garter belt that secured her stockings. Then she released the material that fell like a gleaming black waterfall, back into the perfect position.
Her hand continued slowly up her side, grazed the side of her ample breast, skimmed her cheek, and ended straight up in the air just as she finished the song,
"...I'll be seeing you."
I couldn't even clap when she concluded. I was paralyzed with wonder. All I could think of was standing behind her, running my hand along the same path hers had traversed.
She had the body of a courtesan and the voice of a diva.
I wanted to listen to her sing all night long. But from deep within, the desire to touch her, kiss her, bed her, and claim her, burned in me like a streak of lightning, cavorting across the sky. She was the woman of my not-yet dreams, the dream that would leave me hard in the morning and my bunk linen wet.
My paralysis was only relieved when the house lights came on, and I realized the band was going on a break between sets.
But before she walked off stage, she looked out into the crowd one more time, and our eyes met.
Even in the dim lights of the club, I could see the twinkle in her emerald, green eyes that matched the emeralds in the combs holding her copper hair in an updo. My world was transformed. From this point forward, only one person would matter.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Shit, what are you doing? Stop this, Andrew, you have a fiancé back home. Waiting dutifully for you". I realized I was speaking out loud when I noticed other patrons looking at me as if I was crazy. I cleared my throat and sat down.
I ordered another shot of rum while contemplating my situation and had just talked myself into heading back to barracks when the house lights went down again and the stage lights came up.
I could stay for one more set. Not because of her, but because of the great band. I told myself.
But I wasn't fooling myself or anyone else. I had to get more of her. I couldn't resist her, despite what I knew was right. I thought of my fiancé back home and knew I should walk out of this club. But I didn't.
She and the band were even better in the second set if that was possible. They played That Old Black Magic, Always in my Heart, and It Had to Be You, plus everything in between.
Next on the playlist was Come Rain or Come Shine, a personal favorite of mine. Just as the songbird began the song, I could tell she was searching for someone.
The piano intro came to a decrescendo, indicating the singer was coming in next. She inhaled. And looked directly into my eyes as she sang
The enchantress held me under her spell I didn’t even hear the first lines.
But she cut through my fog with “…come rain or come shine…"
The rest of the audience disappeared, and I fell under her musical musing.
It was just the two of us in the room. I put my hand over my heart to show her that she had me.
She continued to croon her love ballad to me. As if her voice was not hypnotic enough, she moved her shoulders and her hips to the soulful tune, and they pulled me deeper into her dreamworld. She stretched her hand out in my direction.
I stood and walked towards the stage; I hungered to touch her.
I reached for her hand, and as she sang the final lines, our fingers touched, sending fireworks through us into the atmosphere. The songs finale came, “…rain…or…shine." and as we were born.
She leaned down from the stage; I lifted her into my arms and kissed her. It was a kiss like no other. Indeed, I had never kissed my fiancé like that.
A parade of excitement set off just by touching her crimson lips to mine. For a moment, the world was not in chaos. Marching bands played, children laughed, birds sang, and flowers bloomed again.
We both knew at that moment that we would never kiss another.
In fact, I thought I really could hear the whirl and whine of fireworks.
It only took me one second to realize the sound was not fireworks; the bombing had resumed.
And in the next second, the bar went black.
~~~~~~~~~~
Vivi opened her eyes slowly and tried to shake off her confusion.
She swallowed, but her throat was too dry, and the ringing in her ears was deafening. Vivi struggled to a seated position; the room was spinning like a top. She looked around, and all she could see was destruction.
There was a large hole where the roof once was, allowing rain to pour into the bar. There were piles of splintered wood where the tables and chairs used to be. There were piles of something where the patrons used to be. Vivi was trying to make sense of the overwhelming scene when she thought of the soldier. He had been kissing her. Where was he?
Our lips were literally touching; why weren't we together after the blast too?
As Vivi stood and began the search for her suitor, she heard the wail of ambulance sirens outside and saw the medics run into the bar like ants to a picnic.
The stage was mostly intact, so she went to where they had been standing and started searching through the rumble. She didn't notice at first, but tears had started to stream down her face.
Well, this is madness. Crying for a man you don't even know!
But she didn't stop; her aching heart urged her on. That kiss was more than a kiss. It was her future, she thought. Or at least she wanted to find out.
Then she saw the dark blue RAF polyester pants.
Who knew those would ever be a blessing? Vivi giggled to herself.
"Over here. Help me. Please hurry." She yelled to the medic.
Two young medics worked quickly to remove the rumble and get her new love onto a stretcher. As they were taking him out to the ambulance, Vivi stopped them.
"Wait," Vivi pleaded, "Can I go with him?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, there is just no room. But you can come to the base hospital."
Tears came faster and harder now, she leaned over and whispered in his ear,
"My name is Vivi, and I am going to take care of you." Then she kissed him passionately as if to imprint herself on him so he would never forget her.
As they closed the door to her soldier's ambulance, Vivi looked over and saw medics loading a waitress from the bar into another ambulance. Vivi wondered if she had a suitor, a lover, or anyone that knew her name.
~~~~~~~~~~
Vivi kept her promise to this man without a name, with kind blue eyes and callused hands. She went to the hospital faithfully each day. She brought him fresh flowers, read to him, held his hand, and caressed his face. And, of course, she sang to him.
She started just quietly singing at his bedside, an intimate exchange between two people who, days before, were strangers but now were, well, not strangers.
Then the other soldiers started harassing her to sing for them too. Of course, she had to oblige the wounded men, so she would do a few numbers for the whole ward.
The men would hoot and holler, which made her feel good. But she always came back to him. Her man. Her soldier. Even though they still did not know his name, he was hers, and she was his.
When she finished singing for the rest of the boys, she would always sing one last song just for him. It was their song now. After all, they had their first kiss to its final chords; Come Rain or Come Shine
She had run her fingers softly along each of his arms so often; she had memorized every bump and bruise. She wondered if the scar on his chin was from sliding into first at a baseball game or if the one on his hand might be from a bike accident. She couldn't wait to ask him. She wanted all the passion she knew would be part of their new life together. But she also wanted the getting-to-know-you part, all of the sweet little details that make up a person.
Vivi would lean in and kiss him tenderly, willing him to open his eyes with her soft velvety lips and her hair that smelled of lavender and lilac. She whispered sweet words of encouragement in his ear, not even knowing if he could hear her.
She held his hand and even pushed it tightly against her breasts when no one was watching. She had a pull deep inside when she thought of this handsome soldier making her his wife and then taking her on their wedding night. But she could never say this out loud. She wouldn't want to start a scandal.
He had been in the hospital, in a coma, for three weeks when papers finally arrived confirming that her wounded love was Flight Sergeant Andrew Stansberry from Virginia.
He is American!
Being an Alabama girl herself, Vivi set forth to double her efforts to heal Andrew and get them both back home.
The day after the papers arrived was the best and worst day of Vivi's life. Andrew opened his eyes and started to talk again. An hour later, his fiancé walked onto the ward, ready to take him home.
~~~~~~~~~~
Vivi and Nurse Bridgette were sitting on either side of my bed, and we were discussing my memory when a familiar-looking platinum blonde burst through the double doors of the ward, yelling, "Where is my fiancé?"
You could hear a pin drop on the ward. This buxom beauty was the epitome of an American southern belle in her sunshine yellow and white gingham dress, with its figure-flattering waistline and sweetheart neckline that dipped just low enough to hint at her perfectly shaped cleavage. With her bright red lips and her four-inch peek-toe heels, Annabeth looked more like she was ready for the Miss Lemonade Pageant than visiting a war-torn London.
I spoke up and said, "Annabeth?" I knew who she was after all.
Vivi turned to look at me in astonishment. In fact, everyone was looking pretty shocked since no one knew I had a fiancé and had assumed Vivi was my gal. Now here was Annabeth.
"Annabeth, what are you doing here?" I choked. She glanced over the room as she sidled over to my bed and stated in a chilly southern voice, "Hello y'all. I am Annabeth Montgomery, soon to be Stansberry. I am Andrew's fiancé, and I am here to take him home just as soon as possible."
Nurse Bridgette broke the stunned silence, "Miss Montgomery, I am afraid Flight Sergeant Stansberry's discharge has not even been discussed yet. He just woke up yesterday, and the doctors still have evaluations to do."
