Dancing to Barry White

DANCING TO BARRY WHITE

1976 – One week after the Ali-Norton fight.

It was one of those small neighborhood bars in Boston's South End. Seedy part of town. Inside was dark, back-lit bar, TV on the wall, neon liquor signs for decoration, a rack of nuts and chips on the far end by the ladies room. Older than dirt and only frequented by locals. So when the two walked in, everyone who could still see straight turned their head. 

Interest in the women was obvious. They took immediate command of the room as they sauntered down the bar to the stools on the end.  

The bartender directed his first question to Sheila, who he knew from the neighborhood. 

“What brings you, lovely ladies, in here tonight?” 

“Close to home,” she answered with a flirtatious smile. 

“And you, Miss?”

“Oh, just needed one more for the road.” 

They laughed and asked for change for the jukebox.

It was the '70s. The music was the best, and the drinks were cheap.

Getting low on cigarettes, Lennie (short for Lenore) searched for a cigarette machine, then exact change, which was always a challenge.  Once she found it at the bottom of her purse, she ventured across the room through cat-calls and propositions.

She saved enough change for the jukebox that had a nice selection of blues, current hits, and her favorite Barry White. As she put the quarters in the machine, she could feel someone behind her, not touching, but very, very close, so close she could feel the heat from his body and detect the faint smell of cologne. 

“Can I make a request, Baby,” he asked in a low, sexy voice.

She turned to see who dared to approach her without an introduction, and standing next to her was a most attractive man. 

“Sure,” she said, smiling, “as long as I like it.” 

He laughed, throwing his head back, “Oh, you’ll like it . . . how ‘bout Barry White, Never Gonna Give Ya Up”?

“Oh, my God. I love that song,” she said. “Only if you dance with me.” 

“That’s a deal,” as he looked for an empty tabletop for his beer. 

Lennie brought her vodka tonic back to Shelia for safekeeping; as she set it on the napkin, Shelia whispered a warning, “Stay away from him. He’s trouble.”

“Oh, we’re just having a dance.” She laughed and ran to the handsome man swaying on the dance floor.

“Let’s dance slow,” he suggested, pulling her in to him with rock-hard arms.

He had confidence about him, like he wouldn’t take any nonsense from anybody, yet beneath the surface, she detected a kindness, a softness not found in dives like this.

They played music and danced several more times. He suggested they go to the rooftop to cool off, and she let Shelia know where they were headed. 

“I told you. Just be careful,” she whispered.

Lennie thought this was to be more than just a simple chat on the rooftop. She was attracted to this guy and hoped for another date, a phone call, or something more.

They stood on the rooftop overlooking the city lights. They talked about where and how they had grown up, places they wanted to go, things they wanted to do. He seemed so sincere yet cautious in revealing his current situation. 

Lennie was careful not to give too much detail, remembering what Shelia said.

Having less to drink than Lennie and keeping track of time, said they better go back downstairs; the bar would be closing soon. He pulled her to him and kissed her, and she could sense the mutual attraction.

“Will I see you here again?” she asked. 

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not someone you want to get involved with.”

“Yes, I do,” she blurted out, feeling badly that he had put himself down like that.

“No, I’m not. I’m not a good guy. I don’t want to ruin your life. You’re too sweet a girl. Go back to your world and forget about me.” 

She didn’t want to appear as if she were chasing him, but she wanted to see him again. Once more he kissed her, held her tenderly, then took her hand and led her down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, he turned and said,

“Nice to have met you, Lennie,” flashed that beautiful smile and walked out the door.

Lennie asked Shelia to tell her about this guy and why all the secrecy. She explained that he was recently released from prison after serving several years, but she wouldn’t or couldn’t say what his crime was. 

She thought about him for the rest of the evening. She would make a plan to find him. He couldn’t be all that bad she thought. Maybe Sheila would go with her tomorrow night to find him. Maybe he would be back at the bar.

The next morning Lennie raced to shower and dress, grabbed a coffee and her briefcase and made her way to the car. Luckily, she had a parking space in the building so she didn’t have to fight everyone for the last space in the parking garage.

She raced through the lobby, plunked her belongings on the conveyor belt, waved to Gary, standing watch, and retrieved her stuff from the other end.

Inside her office, she threw the briefcase on her desk, quickly applied lip gloss, straightened her suit jacket, and walked through the side door to the pool of workers at their computers.

“Hi, Ladies. What’s on for today? Who has the list?”

Beverly, Senior Clerk, “Ma'am, here it is.”

“Okay. Busy day, I see.”

Lennie’s heels echoed as she made her way down the hall through the double doors.

“All rise,” the bailiff instructed.

"Good MorningMadame Clerk"

"Good Morning, Judge"

"Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with first this morning?"

First on the Docket is Russell Parkman, charged with assault and battery with intent to commit murder, illegal possession of a firearm, to wit 45 Calibur handgun, and violation of parole.

As Russell stood with his attorney by his side, he smiled slightly at Lennie.

In her head, she heard the scratching of the phonograph needle coming to an abrupt halt. Barry stopped singing. Lennie looked down, back at Russell, then nodded.