Softly as in a Morning Sunrise

The crisp air hit my face when I stepped off the train onto the elevated platform above the street. I have always liked Chicago in the fall. The few trees that do line the street have turned wonderful shades of yellow and red. Practically hopping down the steps of the station, I looked up and the setting sun was reflecting off the glass of the skyscrapers. This caused the streets to glow a beautiful golden brown color. It’s the little things like this that keep me happy in such a large city. Stopping to take in a big breath of the cold air, Sam caught up to me putting on his sunglasses.

“A little late for those. We are already here”, I comment as we walk up to the black entryway enclosure.

“Oh, well you could have told me how close the place was so I didn’t waste my time”, he responded, holding the door open from above my head with one arm and removing his sunglasses with the other.

The space above the door reads Untitled Supper Club in gold scroll writing. Walking passed Sam into the main building, I started to head down the stairs when I was met with a wave of anxiety. This made me stop and look around for a second when I noticed the hallway was painted a deep red and thick floor to ceiling black velvet curtains hung on either side. Looking up, a large crystal chandelier hung above a mirror that loomed above the stairs. Red steps led into a dark room below. So, like many others before me, I took a deep breath and did one last check of my outfit before I walked in. My brown hair was a bit windswept given how close to the lake we are, but other than that my outfit was intact and looking good. I wore a gray mohair mockneck sweater, black pleated cigarette pants, a pair of vintage black leather loafers I got from my great aunt, and a dark green full length coat.

I felt electric. I had been wanting to visit a jazz club for a while. I really like to listen to jazz after work, while cooking dinner, or tidying up the apartment. When I hear a soft jazz song it’s like all of the excess noise in my head just disappears and I feel a warmth similar to laying in the sun on a perfect summer day. My heart lightens and my stressors of the day melt away. It’s just me and the music. I had never experienced that before and I wanted to see what a live performance felt like.

Getting Sam on board for this date was a battle. He hates doing anything that takes him away from his computer for more than a few hours. His idea of “date night” involves going to a drive-thru for burgers and chicken nuggets, maybe a milkshake if I am lucky. That doesn’t cut it for date night anymore, not when we have done that almost every week for the last 6 years. It’s boring and makes me feel like garbage. I told him I wanted to go on a real date; some place with a wine menu and servers. A place where we dress up in more than just hoodie and sweatpants.

When I told him I wanted him to plan the date he made up some bullshit excuse about not having time to research a place I would truly like and that I am always so much better at picking locations than he is. He does this a lot. Coming up with some perfectly explainable reason for why he can’t do something. Like planning date night or going to dinner with my family for my sister's birthday. It seems like a never ending stream of reasons why he can’t come with me and then I have to make up an excuse to cover his back. For once I wish I didn’t have to do everything. I plan our meals, cook, clean, manage bills, and now plan date night. It’s like I’m a single mother. Honestly I probably did it to myself. I was all too happy to do his laundry and cook all his meals when we first started dating. I think I was just happy to be useful.

When I found Untitled Supper Club online it seemed like the perfect spot for my first time at a jazz club because it had live performances and a full dinner menu. There are a lot of jazz bars in Chicago, but not all of them have a full menu like that. Also, it doesn’t help that I have a problem with drinking too much on an empty stomach and making choices I ultimately regret. So food was a must and it’s only a few stops on the L from our apartment in Old Town, so we can come back if we have a good time.

As we walked up to the host stand we were greeted by a lanky boy with perfectly curled black hair. He couldn’t have been older than 19 years old. His uniform consisted of a navy blue button up and black slacks. His name tag read Michael.

“Hi! Welcome to Untitled Supper Club. Do you have a reservation?” He chirped.

“We do, under Sam Biltof.” He responds. Michael looks down to confirm our reservation.

While scanning the room Sam took off his coat and handed it to me. “Can you handle this for me?” I take the coat and give him a sheepish smile.

From the other room I could hear the band performing; that strange feeling of anxiety creeped back in and started to take root. I looked around the space like Sam had and could not find a coat check. Do they even have those anymore? I let out a deep sigh. I just decided to hold onto the coats, it’s not truly winter yet so these are still manageable in size.

The space grows louder the deeper inside we get. There are multiple stages and I can hear both of them. I love jazz as much as the next person in here, but why two stages? That is so much conflicting noise.The online review made it seem like it was a couple of bars and a single stage. We weave through two rooms of tight set tables before we reach our seats. A corner booth with no view of the closest stage; my heart sank. Well at least I can only hear the closest stage now. You can’t have it all I guess.

I take the booth against the wall and Sam takes the chair on the outside. The table has only the basics; salt, pepper, a tiny lamp that looks like an inverted martini glass. I touched the rim of the light out of curiosity and the heat from the metal of the light burnt me just slightly. I cringed and covered my finger, glancing at Sam to see if he noticed. He was focused on Michael and the details of the menu. He hates when I hurt myself. I remember a time when I scalded my hand with hot water while straining pasta for dinner and he just lectured me like a child while I cried. Sam has never been the one to run and comfort someone when they are hurt, emotional or otherwise.

Michael gave us the run down of the menu, letting us know our server would be by shortly, and he went back to his station where a small line had formed. Another hostess had appeared at the booth and was assisting in his absence. I sighed as I watched him walk away.

Turning my attention to Sam I ask, “What are you thinking about ordering? I had checked the menu while I was on break at work and I think I want the halibut.”

“Oh the sauvignon blanc might be good with that. Do you want to get the bottle?” He looked up from his menu with a devilish smile.

I returned the mischievous glance and turned my nose up at him, responding in a mocking high brow tone, “Well if you insist, who am I to refuse.” We both started laughing when our server walked up to us.

“Hi, I am Sarah. I will be your server tonight. Do you have any questions about the menu?” We end up ordering crab cakes as a starter and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. I ordered the halibut and Sam ordered the NY Strip medium rare. He always has to make some comment to our servers about how anyone who orders their steak cooked more than medium rare should be institutionalized. It makes me cringe and apologize with my eyes to Sarah. She returns an understanding smile while she writes down our orders.

After a few minutes someone arrives with our bottle of wine and pours us two glasses. It’s dry and slightly acidic. Swirling the wine in the glass I look around the room and take in the atmosphere. It’s dim and slightly chilly, but the wine should fix that. I take a sip and let the flavors drift across my tongue. It makes my nose scrunch. It’s okay; normally I prefer a sweeter wine but Sam actually had an opinion for once so I went with it.

As the crab cake arrives at our table a band begins to play in the next room over. A little piano to start, soft and sweet. Then the rhythmic ting of a symbol on the drums and a bass plucks along with them. I feel like I am beginning to slip away from the effervescent combination of music, wine, and food. I thought that there was nothing that could ruin this moment. I was in pure bliss. That’s when I heard his classic sigh that lets you know he is bored and would rather be anywhere else. I tried to avoid his eyes for as long as possible but he was practically boring a hole through the side of my head with his glare.

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Nothing.”

I roll my eyes and point my body towards the music when the tempo picks up and the music swells. I don’t know if it was the fact that I was on my second glass of wine or the fact that he had been on my nerves all evening but I decided at that moment I had had enough. I will not let him ruin this night for me. I let the almost intrusive notes from the saxophone fuel my anger. I look back at him upset and confused. He feels miles away, but here we are cramped at a small table in the corner of this restaurant where I can’t even see the one thing I came here for.

“What? I don’t have the energy to deal with this -” Gesturing towards him with my hand. “With you judging me. Again.” I snapped. The dissonance from the saxophone over powering the ensemble almost seeped into my blood.

“What, I’m not judging you.” Rolling his eyes he continued, “Oh my god, you always get like this. Nothing is ever good enough for you. Not the wine, not the apartment, definitely not me.”

I put my glass down and look right at him. Sitting up straight I say, “See. This right here is why we are miserable. Jesus Christ.” Trying to stand up I realize I am stuck in the booth so I push the table away from me. “Fuck. Ugh” I had spilled some of my wine onto the table. I finally get out of the booth and grab my glass and take a sip, looking at the puddle it left on the table. I throw my cloth napkin on it. “You cannot stand me.” I look back and forth between both of his eyes. Looking for any spark of the person I fell in love with. I see nothing.

With a smirk he responded casually, “It’s not that I can’t stand you. It’s the fact that you are so weak. You don’t have a spine. How am I supposed to be attracted to someone who can’t even stand up for themselves in a restaurant.”

“It’s not that I can’t. I just really don’t feel like it right now. I am tired Sam. Why don’t you ever help me with anything. I am the only one who takes care of our apartment. I fixed the shower last week. You didn’t even notice for fucks sake. I have been asking for you to do that for weeks!” I express. My arms open waiting for a response. The saxophone has faded away and now an electric guitar has taken its place. The plucky nature distracts from the intense piano riff just underneath. My heart beat feels like it's matching the bass as everything seemingly converges on this moment.

“You know I don’t know how to use the washer and dryer. Really I tell you this everytime you ask. And with the bills, yeah sure I could help but you already do such a good job already. Why should I make waves?” He said not even looking at me. He is playing one of his mobile games on his phone.

It is at this moment that something in my brain short circuited. The piano has taken the spotlight. All the other instruments are quiet in comparison. The player must be slamming on the keys with how loud and intense the notes were.

“No. No. Not anymore. I will not be your mother anymore.” I said quietly at first. I don’t know if he even heard me over the band. “I have had it. I have tried every possible way to get you on board with a chore routine. I have laid out the opportunity for responsibility at your feet like a goddamn prince and you still reject it.”

“Okay that cleaning routine is stupid and you know it. Babe please, sit down. You are making a scene.” He said while glancing around the room at the ever growing number of people looking at us.

“No! Absolutely not. If you think I am going to continue this date with you, you are sorely mistaken.” The band has reached a peak and it only emboldens me further. The shrill of the saxophone hits me when I yell, “If you think I will continue this relationship, you are truly more of an idiot than I thought you were.” I let out a loud sigh when I realized the room was quiet. The band wasn’t playing anymore. The other customers were just staring at me with wide eyes.

Sam is looking up at me slack jawed. With a fire in my eyes and my heartbeat seemingly in my ears I grab his glass of wine and chug; slamming the glass back down on the table. “And for your information, the wine was fine.” I grab the bottle of wine and throw my coat over my arm as I walk through the dining room back to that ominous set of red stairs. I stop to take a sip from the glass of wine that is still in my other hand before leaving the club. That is when I heard the familiar sound of a jazz band starting their next song. It was probably the wine, but I swear it felt like a warm summer day as I exited into the cold fall air.